Dr Kira Moto

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Access Denied. Invalid Credentials.
"Ugh, this again? What's Carl even doing?" The newest addition to Site-250 muttered. "Maybe Director Hyuse can do something about Carl?" Kira switched tabs, figuring out how to address the older woman.

To: Site Director Hyuse
From: Junior Researcher Moto
Subject: Fix this, please

I know I'm just a junior researcher, but seriously? Everyone has to be trolling me, and I hate it. I can't even get my work done like this. Can you please tell the others to stop stealing my username? While you're at it Carl's been ignoring my requests for days now.

"This better work," Kira mumbled, hitting send, "or I'm going to brain myself." Once more, she attempted to log in as she had work to do, only to once more be met with 'Access Denied.'
Before she could smash her head into her desk, a message appeared.

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Re:Fix This

To: Junior Researcher Moto
From: Site Director Hyuse
Subject: Re:Fix this, please

I don't know what you're talking about. You know there are only a few of us here, and everyone else is busy with their other tasks. Mr. Automaton's been working on your issue for weeks now. What's the problem exactly?

To: Site Director Hyuse
From: Junior Researcher Moto
Subject: Re:Re:Fix this, please

What do you mean? I can't get anything done with everyone stealing my username. SCiP.net doesn't even allow me to do anything without it.

Just as she hit send, a pair of messages popped up.

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Re:Problem?

To: Junior Researcher Moto
From: IT Director Carl Automaton
Subject: Got a problem?

I'm still trying to fix your issue, but since it's taking so long, I've moved your account to ten.PiCS|KotoM#ten.PiCS|KotoM. Until I figure this out, which may be a while since I think it's anomalous in nature, all your stuff will be routed there.
P.s. You didn't need to get Hyuse on my case too. I've got enough shit on my plate being the only one working IT here.

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Re:Listen

To: MotoK
From: /_*=#>`-;
Subject: Just Listen

I know you won't believe this. I know I wouldn't. But all of us are real. We've all had the same problem with our usernames being stolen. We're not sure what's causing it yet, but it's just us Kira Motos that are affected. Feel free to message me back when you want more information. I'll send another message with a link for you when you're ready.

/=/
The following day
/=/

KilerMoto: Guys! All we have to do is change our usernames. See?
<KiraMoto, KiraMoto, KiraMoto, KiraMoto, and KiraMoto have changed nick>
MotoK: Hello?
KilerMoto: Oh? You actually decided to join us.
MotoK: Us? How many of us are there?
KilerMoto: Don't know for sure. There's at least 42 that have gathered here.
KilerMoto: I'd imagine there'd be more.
KiriMoto: A new one? Been a while.
MotoK: Whats going on here?
FanonMoto: It's a chat for all us Kiras in the Motoverse.
KiraPoyo: *sigh*
KilerMoto: Stop that Poyo.
KilerMoto: Anyway, MotoK, you work for your Foundation, right?
MotoK: Yeah? I take it that most of us do. What do you want to know?
KilerMoto: Which site do you work at? We've been figuring out what everyone does so we can see what we're working with. Most of us have answered. Though I'm pretty sure a few of us aren't even in the Foundation.
MotoK: I only recently joined. I was assigned to site 250 in Japan.
FanonMoto: That a country? We don't have that on my Earth.
MotoK: Yeah. Its a little set of islands east of the rest of Asia.
FanonMoto: That's probably why. My Earth's sea level rose to the point that it's a water world. Everyone lives in underwater domes or floating cities.
KiriMoto: At least you have water. We're struggling to survive on this dust ball. Hell, the interstellar program is our last hope, and we're struggling to even get the fuel for that.
KiraPoyo: you havent even mastered space travel
KiraPoyo: no wonder your planets on the verge of collapse
KiraPoyo: i was assigned to the regana 4 intergalactic deep space station
KiraPoyo: we study new life in the gce 823 galaxy
MotoK: GCE?
KiraPoyo: greg chudley eternal
KiraPoyo: humanities god has united us like never before
MotoK: So KilerMoto whats your home like?
KilerMoto: Pretty standard. You're normal stuff like feasting on the battlefield, and drinking from the skulls of my enemies, but that's about all.
MotoK: What.
KilerMoto: Is that not a normal thing in your universe?
MotoK: No. Not at all. You sound like a mercenary group I heard once. Val-something.
KilerMoto: Valration? Yeah, that's what my universe's Foundation is called.
MotoK: Well alright then.
MotoK: So…
MotoK: You guys got any defining characteristics?
KilerMoto: Got a scar on my neck from a bad breakup.
KiraPoyo: weird
KiraPoyo: i have one there from my little brother
KiraPoyo: he was a bit of a dick.
KiriMoto: I fell in the desert when I was little. Got one from being sliced open on the way down a hill.
FanonMoto: I got attacked by a school of carnivorous goldfish when I was little.
FanonMoto: You guys have a bad breakup when you were 17?
MotoK: Yeah…
KiraPoyo: ye
KiriMoto: Got the bastard thrown into the desert.
KilerMoto: He was a demon, but yes. Killed him and stole his throne. I am now next in line for leadership.
KiraPoyo: speaking of leadership
KiraPoyo: any of you know our lord and savior
KiraPoyo: greg chudley
KiriMoto: The janitor at my high school?
KilerMoto: High school? He was the last Vice President. Though he and the rest of the politicians were killed a few centuries ago when the world became united under one leader.
FanonMoto: Pretty sure that's the guy in charge of feeding the carnivorous goldfish. The last guy got eaten.
MotoK: I think Ive heard of someone by that name. I was almost assigned to work under him but got told 'Im not putting you under that bumbling idiot so Im transferring you somewhere else.'
FanonMoto: What's the first thing you can remember? Mine is seeing the ocean with my parents.
MotoK: Oddly enough mines pretty similar. We had just moved to Japan and my parents had taken me to the ocean.
KiriMoto: My first memory is of the only time I've ever seen mine. I was later told they were forced to walk the desert a few hours later.
KiraPoyo: i think mine was watching my parents
KiraPoyo: they were giving themselves over to our lord
KiraPoyo: it is considered the greatest of honors to die for our lord so that he may live
KilerMoto: My house was on fire. The Valration torched our town because of heretics. I remember their expression as I was thrown from the window and landed in someone's arms.
MotoK: KilerMoto are you sure your alright? Your world sounds brutal as fuck.
KilerMoto: It's fine. Most people have gone through similar things.
MotoK: Well.
MotoK: Now that we know about each other I think its time to get to the more pressing matter.
KilerMoto: Agreed. We still need to figure out why this is happening.
MotoK: So were here trying to figure this out? I can get on board with that.
KiraPoyo: we havent gotten very far yet
KiraPoyo: and we still don't know what caused this
MotoK: Dont you have any leads?
KiriMoto: No one wants to take us seriously, so we're on our own.
FanonMoto: ^
MotoK: Well, we have to start somewhere.
MotoK: What do we have so far?
KilerMoto: Not much. Only that the first we knew of it was sometime around Halloween 2054.
MotoK: So we should figure out if theres anything that any of us did in that time that wouldve caused this. We should start by examining like a month or so around Halloween then.
MotoK: Did any of us encounter anything anomalous that could have caused this?
FanonMoto: Nothing certain.
FanonMoto: Though KiriMoto mentioned something about an anomaly when they first joined.
KiriMoto: I told you I don't know much.
KiriMoto: Just that I think I encountered something. Still not sure though.
MotoK: Well what did you encounter?
KiriMoto: Not sure. I was heading home and bumped into someone.
KiriMoto: Got a strange feeling. I tried to locate them, but couldn't.
KiriMoto: The problems with the logins started shortly after.
MotoK: And yall havent been able to figure anything else out? What have you tried?
KiraPoyo: just about everything
KiraPoyo: weve run out of ideas
MotoK: Lets give it some more thought.
MotoK: I have to go but Ill be back tomorrow.

/=/

KiriMoto: No. Stop asking.
FanonMoto: You know you can't hide it forever. We all have a right to know.
MotoK: Whats up?
KiriMoto: Nothing.
KiriMoto: They're just being stupid.
<NDMoto has entered the chat>
NDMoto: Hi guys!
NDMoto: Oh! We have someone new!
NDMoto: Hello MotoK!
MotoK: Um…
MotoK: Hello there?
MotoK: I dont suppose you know anything more about all this?
NDMoto: Nope! But this is pretty cool!
NDMoto: I mean, look at it! There's so many friends here!
<FanonMoto: has left the chat>
<KiriMoto: has left the chat>
NDMoto: Aww! Whyd they leave? Everyone always leaves when I join…
MotoK: Did you try asking them?
NDMoto: I tried! But they always leave so fast!
MotoK: I doubt they mean it.

MotoK: What was that about guys?
FanonMoto: Nd's odd, even among us Kiras. Something about them feels off.
FanonMoto: We're not even sure they're in the Foundation in their universe.
MotoK: I guess they did seem a bit weird.
KilerMoto: Stay away from ND.
MotoK: What? Why?
KilerMoto: Just do it. Something's off about them.

NDMoto: Hiya!
NDMoto: It looks like its just us!
MotoK: Yeah.
MotoK: Hey. Since were alone rn you wanna tell me why everyone avoids you?
NDMoto: Whatchu mean?
NDMoto: I just wanted friends. All I had was a brick, but then it wasn't a brick anymore.
MotoK: Oh? You just want friends? What's this about a brick?
NDMoto: Yeah!
NDMoto: I'm all alone here! And I don't wanna be! I was holding my brick and I really wanted friends and then it became this thing.
MotoK: Youre alone? Do you not have a job? Or friends?
NDMoto: No
NDMoto: I'm still little so I'm not allowed to leave this room.
NDMoto: Wait, I need a minute.
MotoK: ?
NDMoto: Sorry. My dad came to yell at me again.
NDMoto: He gets like that a lot so I'm used to it.
MotoK: What
MotoK: Wait how old are you?
NDMoto: I'm not sure. 10?
MotoK: Then howd you end up in here?
NDMoto: What you mean?
NDMoto: I was the first one. Everyone else came later.
MotoK: So you were here all alone until the rest of us showed up?
MotoK: That must have been lonely.
NDMoto: Thats aight. Cause now I have friends.
NDMoto: Theyre coming again, I have to go.
NDMoto: Thanks for talking with me.
<NDMoto has left the chat>

NDMoto: MotoK, youre here, right?
MotoK: Whats up?
NDMoto: Youre not going to leave me alone like the others, right?
NDMoto: They think im weird and don't like me.
MotoK: Im more interested in how this all happened.
MotoK: You said you were the first one yeah? Do you have any idea how all this started?
NDMoto: no?
NDMoto: Its always just been me here. I wanted someone to talk to, and it just happened one day.
MotoK: It just happened? How?
NDMoto: I dunno
NDMoto: I was just alone and wished for friends. Then the brick thing happened and I was able to talk to people!
MotoK: Ive been wondering this for a while…
MotoK: But why are you alone?
MotoK: NDMoto?
NDMoto: hmm? Sorry. My parents came back, I had to hide this.
NDMoto: My parents dont let me leave the basement. Im not allowed to go out.
NDMoto: They dont come down here much. Just make sure I'm still here and breathing and to feed me.
MotoK: Im sorry but wtf. Your parents are awful people.
NDMoto: Are they? I thought this was normal.
MotoK: Dude. This is the furthest thing possible from normal. This isnt even alright.

MotoK: GUYS!
FanonMoto: ?
MotoK: We have to start looking for a way to get to NDMoto. I just learned the kids being neglected.
KiriMoto: Is that our problem? I thought we were trying to figure out this whole anomaly.
MotoK: Thats just it.
MotoK: Nd is the anomaly.
MotoK: Their shitty parents being shitty parents is the reason were all connected.
KilerMoto: So you want to test the theory that taking ND out of their home will disconnect us? That's further than we got.
KiraPoyo: i dont see that we have anything to lose. what do you think fanonmoto
FanonMoto: I might be able to get some help with this through my site director. You guys should try as well, though I don't think this is that bad to be a part of.
NDMoto: :D
NDMoto: Friends?
MotoK: Yes Nd. Friends.

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Re:Proposal

To: Site Director Hyuse
From: Junior Researcher Moto
Subject: Proposal

I've figured out the problem. There's an anomaly in play here that's affecting me and every other me out there. I would like to put in a request for resources to get to the bottom of this.
View Attachment

To: Junior Researcher Moto
From: Site Director Hyuse
Subject: Re:Proposal

After looking over your proposal, I have to deny it. We don't have the resources here to even begin an expedition like this. As much as I understand your wish to help, there's no feasible way we can do it here.

/=/

MotoK: Anyone have anything yet? My site director shot my idea down…
KiriMoto: I was able to get some help. We've got MTF here who go into other universes to gather resources.
MotoK: How are we going to use them to help ND?
KiriMoto: I… Had a thought about that. ND's not in a good place right now. Assuming there's a Foundation in their universe, wouldn't it be better to take them there? Mine's focused on leaving the planet, but we weren't always like that. If ND's is concerned with securing anomalies, they'd be safe there.
FanonMoto: You want to turn the kid over? What if their Foundation's worse than their parents? Besides that, how do you think we'd even get them out of the house?
KiraPoyo: dont you think its worth trying tho
KiraPoyo: nd deserves help even if its hard
MotoK: I think its worth that chance. Nd doesnt deserve to suffer like this when we can do something to help.
MotoK: Do you think you could get them in to confirm the Foundation's presence there?
KiriMoto: I can try. Though I'm almost certain I'm going to get in trouble for this. Resources are tight, and they'll be sure to notice the moment the MTF leaves. My life will probably be over when I'm caught.
KiraPoyo: you sure you want to do this then
KiriMoto: I've already decided. As much as my earth needs me, I'm leaving with the MTF. If I stay behind, I'll be sent to walk the desert as punishment for wasting what resources we have.
KiriMoto: If there is a Foundation in ND's universe, I'm going to join them. I'm sure I'll be able to help, no matter what they're like.
MotoK: If youre sure about this.
MotoK: Keep us updated aight?
KiriMoto: Will do.

KiriMoto: Going through now. You guys locate ND's place yet?
KilerMoto: MotoK's working on it. She'll tell us when she's got it.
KiriMoto: Alright, we've made it over. There's… So much life here.
KiriMoto: Are these… Trees?
KiriMoto: Gods, there's so much here. It's almost unbelievable.
KiriMoto: Sorry. We're on our way now. I hear sirens, so someone's coming for us.
KiriMoto: Guys, we're surrounded. These look like they could be Foundation staff, but they're acting weird. I think it's because I'm messaging you.
KiriMoto: Shit. They're tsaskj f
KilerMoto: KiriMoto?
KilerMoto: Hopefully they'll be alright.
MotoK: Guys! I managed to locate Ndmoto!

KiriMoto: I convinced them to give me my phone back. The team and I are on the move.
KiriMoto: It looks like we're getting close. I hear shouting.
KiriMoto: We're at the door now. There's shouting, and things are getting thrown.
KiriMoto: It just went silent.
KiriMoto: We entered. This place is a dump. Everything's frozen in place. Things are just floating in the air.
KiriMoto: Wait, I think I hear sobbing.
KiriMoto: Just opened a door to be met with a man with a shotgun. Looks furious.
KiriMoto: There's a woman here holding a knife. She looks like she was heading somewhere.
KiriMoto: That sobbing's louder now. There's blood on the floor. Gods, I hope it's not ND.
KiriMoto: There's a broken phone on the ground. It's stuck on my message from a few hours ago. Shit, this is definitely ND then.
KiriMoto: The sobs stopped. I think we're close.
KiriMoto: Opened another door. There's blood everywhere. I can hear whimpers now. They're coming from a closet.
KiriMoto: Guys… I found him… He's… Not doing well.

MotoK: Kiri hasnt checked in for hours. How do you think theyre doing?
FanonMoto: I hate this waiting, it's killing me.
KiraPoyo: we just have to be patient
KiraPoyo: kirimoto will tell us when she has something to report
FanonMoto: Doesn't mean it sucks any less though.

KiriMoto: Guys…
MotoK: Oh no…
FanonMoto: What is it?
KiriMoto: He's going to be fine.
KiriMoto: Also he's my son now.
MotoK: Asshole. Dont scare us like that.
FanonMoto: How'd it go with that Foundation?
KiriMoto: Oh yeah! I got a job considering my experience in my home universe. My primary assignment's going to be the newest skip in their databanks.
KiriMoto: Apparently they see value in having the one person a reality bender trusts being the one to watch them.
MotoK: The kids a reality bender? With what specifically?
KiriMoto: From early examination, it seems he can control the space around him as he wishes, though he's still unable to do it on command. I don't think he fully knows he's even doing it. I think he was able to contact all of us because he was focusing his anomaly on just one spot, instead of everything around him.
MotoK: Kids crazy dangerous if thats true. You sure you'll be able to handle him?
KiriMoto: Not really, but the two of us will stick together, so I'll keep an eye on him. Besides, there's always you guys if I need help.
KilerMoto: Well, good luck then. I'm glad for both of you. Just make sure to keep us updated.
KiriMoto: We will.

{$prevtext}

Motoverse

Motoverse 2: Electric Boogaloo


the beam glows brighter than
the sun on the day when
i spoke to my friend for one of
the last times and i remember it was
a summer afternoon and
it was so hot that
i thought the roads would boil like
concrete and we were
at a baseball game when he
turned to me and said
i can't believe it's been all
these years and we're still
hanging out like we used to back
in our elementary school days and
i hope we never stop and i
told him not to worry and that
we never would but i knew
that i couldn't promise him that and
sure enough after high school we
started calling each other less and
less until we never heard from
each other except when we would
bump into one another at the
grocery store and spend half an
hour catching up and swear that
we would start reconnecting before
going home and forgetting again but i
still hear about him every so often and
i know that he still lives around
here with his wife and two children and his
aging mother and i wish i could
save them in some sort of
teleportation machine but
all i can do is hope that
i'll find him somewhere in
the roaring acid flames of hell and i'll
be able to tell him that i'm sorry and
that i did
everything i could
and the beam does not give.

it's been a few days.
i left my house
for the first time today
since it happened.
i'm just getting home
from the park.
in the living room,
my wife is playing
with our two daughters.
they grin and giggle
as she moves a toy airplane
through the air
and makes vrooming noises.
i reach for the phone.


Heistoween

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Tonight was Halloween night, and Mike thought his Bigfoot costume was perfect: the hair looked realistic, it made him look much bigger while still allowing ease of movement, and most importantly he was totally unrecognisable while wearing it. That last bit was crucial, because he was going to wear it to rob a bank.
The Monies Exchange bank, to be precise. Bastards in management had fired him after one sick day and finessed their way out of paying him severance. Now he had to take his money the hard way.
He couldn't do it alone, which is why he had gathered a crew of likeminded people, who really wanted money and had the skills to go get it.
Anthony, the guy looking like some horrible bug thing, used to be a top costume designer back in Hollywood, but when his team started talking about unionising, they found themselves without a job. He's the one who made the costumes, and he is a little sad they'll have to ditch them after they're done.
Jo's husband has cancer, and her job as a sales assistant in a specialised hardware store doesn't pay nearly enough to cover the hospital bills. It does give her access to a bunch of power tools though. She keeps them in the back of her centaur costume.
The kid still adjusting his vampire mask is Conrad. He said his family owes some money to bad people, and he hasn't said much more. Mike thinks he's a good kid though, which is why he put him as their getaway driver. He wants him to get out if there's unexpected trouble.
In case of that unexpected trouble, they had Lucy. Mountain of a woman, and the werewolf suit only makes her more intimidating. She joined the group late so Anthony didn't have time to make her a costume, but she had this one ready. She said it's her kid's and she's borrowing it, but she showed the group pictures when talking about college tuition, and Mike thinks there's no way the little fella wears that size. He won't judge though, as long as the job gets done.
That's all of them, dressed to the nines, ready for their heist on halloween night.

The streets were already lively when Conrad dropped them off near the target.
There were a bunch of excited kids running around trick-or-treating, smart kids plotting which routes will get them the most candy, and lazy kids just buying them from a stand called "Scary Candies and Pastries". All the buildings were decorated with pumpkins, spiderwebs and fake blood. In the center of the plaza, a magician was making a skeleton puppet dance to his strings and do some pretty great tricks. And in the middle of all that, four soon-to-be robbers, blending in perfectly.
Anthony pointed at the little plotters and jokingly said that they were in the same line of business. Lucy thought it was funny but Mike told him to shut the hell up in public. After all, you don't want unwanted attention while heisting.

"Jerry! Hey, Jerry!
"Shut up James, I'm handling orders. By the way, would you mind doing your job and helping me out?"
"I'm doing our actual job moron, look there!"
"What- oh shit there's four of them, what do we do?"
"How about we close the stand before we discuss you-know-what stuff?"
"Right, let me just… I'm sorry kids and parents, but the shop must temporarily close. We're uh, out of pastries and have to make more. Have a spooky night, and goodbye!"
"Damn, those things are really just strolling around in broad moonlight."
"Yeah, luckily for us the Veil doesn't break as easily on halloween night. Who do you think they're with?"
"A gaggle of freaks like that? I'm guessing either Serpent's Hand or Miracle Liberation Front. We did hear reports of their activity in the area after all."
"Dangerous crowds then. What do we do about them?"
"What do you think? Call the Site for backup!"

The crew entered the bank through the back easily enough. Obviously, Mike's keycard had long since been revoked, but he had learned that the wall next to the back door was fitted with a small access panel. When opened –which Jo handled– it revealed a keypad that could unlock the door. The code was supposed to be changed regularly, but Mike knew for a fact that the maintenance staff was both understaffed and overworked, and such items ended up at the bottom of their agenda.
And as predicted, the door clicked open and they made their way in.
From there, it was almost a straight shot to the security room, where a guard was keeping an eye on all the bank's cameras. This job requires his undivided attention, and Lucy exploited that to sneak up behind him and knock him out. She boasted about the stuffed pads on the bottom of her suit's paws: modeled after real-life examples, they kept her steps from making too much sound. And they made walking around conventions much more comfortable, she added, before remembering to clarify that this was all according to her son. By this point, Mike was pretty sure no one was buying it.
They left Anthony in the security room to cover their backs while they headed for the vault. The bank was practically empty as the staff went home to spend the night with friends and family, those that stayed were easily avoided with Anthony's directions.
The vault door was big, and locked tight. It didn't have a wall panel to open it, but it still shouldn't be a problem for Jo.
"Trick or Treat." She joked as she tapped the lock with her drill. Mike smirked, and told her that what they would get tonight would be much sweeter than any candy.
Mike and Lucy left her to her work and positioned themselves around the door that connected the vault room to the main hall, keeping watch. Power tools did make a lot of noise, and were bound to draw some attention. They had always known this part would be the most complicated, so when Mike's earpiece buzzed and he heard Anthony's voice, he was fully expecting bad news.
"Mike, something's wrong, the whole surveillance system went dark."
"Shit, I told you to only erase all that stuff after we were done."
"I know! I didn't do anything, it just happened without warning and-"
"Anthony? I can't hear you, what's going on?"
"Footsteps coming my way, I'm getting out and joining up with you."
Mike turned to Lucy and nodded. They had both heard the same thing, and knew they had to prepare for trouble.
Trouble, as it turned out, came in the form of a full squad of people in full tactical suits bursting out from the hallway on the left and rushing towards them with gear like Mike had never seen before.
He barely had time to utter "What the fu-" before bullets flew and the two of them had to take cover behind a wall.
"YOU ARE OUTNUMBERED!" One of the attackers yelled. "STAND DOWN AND LET YOURSELF BE CONTAINED!". It sounded like a fancy word for going to jail, and none of them were keen on that.
Mike fired back three rounds. He didn't hit any of them, but they all took cover anyway. It was a standoff then, but not one they could win. Between the three of them –Jo had left the vault to join up– they had two handguns and one shotgun. The guys on the other side had…
Mike wasn't sure what they had exactly, so he tried to peek out and get a better look. He barely had time to see one of them open up a crate of what looked like grenades, before a bullet pierced the top of his mask and he quickly retreated. Thankfully, Bigfoot's head was much taller than his, and the bullet hadn't actually hit him.
"What do we do now?" Lucy asked.
"We all go out there, I'll draw their attention and cover for you two while you escape. Grab Anthony, go to Conrad, and get as far away as you can."
"And why should you be the one who stays behind? I'm the one you brought in to handle fights, remember?"
"You're here to win our fights, but there's no winning that one. Besides, this heist was my idea and I've got no family to come home to, it just makes sense. Now let's go!"

Foreword: MTF Omicron-31"spooksbusters" has tracked down a group of four anomalous entities to the inside of a banking establishment and have entered a firefight. These four entities have tentatively been designated "APE"1, "WOLF"2, "CENTAUR"3 and "BUG"4
The following footage is recorded from squad leader Alpha's body camera.

APE, WOLF and CENTAUR rush out of their cover, firing upon MTF Omicron-31 with conventional firearms. All members of MTF Omicron-31 take cover and Delta deploys a Grade 3 Augmented Incapacitator5. It stops in midair and activates, all three entities appear startled.
Despite the Incapacitator reaching peak activity, none of the entities are affected. Delta shrugs. APE fires again and advances towards MTF Omicron-31, while WOLF and CENTAUR run in the direction of a door to the right. Zeta throws a steel bolas at CENTAUR's rear legs. Upon being hit, the entity stumbles but continues running, seemingly unimpeded by the fact that its rear legs are now dragging on the ground.
APE aims its weapon towards Zeta, but is disarmed by a shot from Delta. The weapon drops behind a desk and APE dives after it, now out of sight. The Incapacitator deactivates and clatters to the ground.
WOLF and CENTAUR reach the door but find it to be locked. Beta and Gamma advance upon them, blocking WOLF's gunfire with reinforced shields.
Delta kicks the desk away from APE, who had discarded its weapon due to it being broken. Zeta tackles the entity to the ground and attempts to restrain it.
A noise from behind draws Alpha's attention and they turn to see BUG entering through the same door MTF Omicron-31 had come in. BUG stops dead in its tracks and attempts to run away, but Alpha catches up to the entity, throws it to the ground and restrains it.
Alpha begins to lead BUG towards the other three entities, when their attention is drawn by a loud crash overhead. They look up to see something falling through the bank's glass ceiling and landing heavily on the floor. It is a limp human body with all limbs disjointed, wearing a black and red attire.
BUG: Is that the magician from the plaza?
Suddenly, Alpha's camera is obscured by an explosion of black and orange confetti as the body rips apart and an animate skeleton jumps out of it. Alpha shoves BUG to the side.
Skeleton: Down with the Jailors!
APE: WHAT THE FUCK?!
Skeleton: Fear not my brethren, I have come to rescue you. Follow me and we shall-
The skeleton is interrupted by Alpha headbutting it. It recoils a few steps but soon steadies itself and takes a battle stance.
Alpha: Thick skull eh?
Skeleton: Typical jailor, you're not only content with stealing our knowledge and freedom, you also have to steal our jokes.
Alpha and the skeleton engage in hand-to-hand combat, exchanging a series of blows and throws. All four other entities stare at the scene and cease all other actions, save for shaking and incoherent mumbling. This allows all the other members of MTF Omicron-31 to apprehend and restrain them with ease.
Alpha throws a punch at the skeleton, but they miss and their arm becomes stuck in the entity's ribcage. The skeleton firmly grasps Alpha's shoulders and maintain them in place while it begins rotating its ribcage independetly from the rest of its body.
A loud crack is heard as Alpha's arm breaks in multiple locations. The skeleton steps away and releases Alpha, who collapses on the ground in pain.
The skeleton flashes a victorious smile, which quickly fades once it realises it is surrounded by the rest of MTF Omicron-31, weapons drawn.
Skeleton: Guess I'm boned.
It chuckles.
Skeleton: Or not.
Bringing its fingers to its mouth, it whistles a tune from Bobby Pickett's "Monster Mash". All members of MTF Omicron-31 immediately drop their weapons and begin dancing erratically. From their facial expressions, it is clear they have no control over these actions6. The camera shakes as Alpha begins dancing, despite their broken arm and still being collapsed on the ground.
The skeleton approaches the four other entities, who are also gesticulating rhytmically, their restraints preventing them from fully dancing. It snaps next to each of their ears and they all stop moving.
WOLF, APE, BUG and CENTAUR, all in unison: WHAT THE FUCK?!
Skeleton: Oh this? Just a seasonal cognitohazard. It will not hold them for long however, did you have a plan to leave?
APE: Uh yeah, but…
Skeleton: Wonderful, let me have a look.
The skeleton places its forehead against APE's, who startles and backs away. The skeleton grabs APE's face and brings it back against its forehead.
Skeleton: Oh come on, this is hardly the time to be shy, and besides this doesn't count as skin contact.
The skeleton stays still for a moment.
Skeleton: Ah? A little lower?
It shifts its position against APE's face.
Skeleton: I see, a van! Let us away then!
The skeleton chants and draws a glowing circle in the air. The circle widens over the group and descends, they disappear as it engulfs them. CENTAUR is heard screaming in terror before disappearing, for reasons unknown.
Alpha performs a dance move that involves swinging both of their arms. They yell, but notice that the pain from their broken arm has released them from the compulsion. They quickly go around slapping all members of MTF Omicron-31 until all have been freed.
Alpha: Search every van in the area! Don't let them get away!

Mike was staring at the ring of light when it engulfed him and he suddenly found himself in the back of their getaway van. He instantly felt dizzy and stumbled backwards before he felt Lucy's hand holding him steady. He could feel she was shaking.
Jo was still screaming, and she scrambled to put as much distance between her and the skeleton. This alerted Conrad to their presence, and he leaned back from the driver's seat.
"Oh hey guys, when did you come back?" His gaze shifted across all five of them. "Hold on, who's this?"
The skeleton perked up: "My name is Fabien, Vice-captain of the regional Serpent's Hand cell. Nice to meet all of you." It extended a hand towards Conrad, who reached out to shake it.
"Sure, nice to meet you too. I didn't know we were gonna work with a gang tonight, but I guess you knew in advance because your costume rocks! How are you even doing that?" It was then that he grasped the hand and squeezed. Mike saw his eyes widen under the mask and he pulled his hand away, staring at it.
The skeleton –Mike still hadn't processed the fact it had said its name– turned to adress the group.
"Now folks, I understand that we all feel a little more daring on Halloween night, and that we all want to enjoy a fun and free night out; but seriously you should have known that a group as flashy as yours would attract the wrong people's attention. You're lucky I was out partying myself."
"This doesn't make any sense!" Jo shouted from her spot in the back.
Fabien –Mike was now pondering the fact it had a normal person's name– made a face that looked like it would have been raising an eyebrow, if it had one. "Sure it does. The Jailors and their ilk have caught on to our escapades and they know to be on the lookout for groups that stand out: large groups or varied ones. Next time you should put a bit of effort in looking slightly fake."
Anthony gulped. "Wait so you… you think we're like you?"
This time, Fabien appeared as confused as the crew. "What do you mean?"
Then, Mike took off his mask. "We uh, we were just wearing these to rob that bank."
Conrad, Jo and Anthony followed his example. "These are just costumes, I made them to be very detailed so they'd hide our identities. They worked, I guess."
Lucy took hers off as well. "And I'm just a furry. 'S mom. A furry's mom."
Fabien's jaw dropped to the floor. "Oh I royally messed up, didn't I?"
There was a long moment of silence as everyone in the van went deep in thought.
"So you're like, magic?" Conrad asked.
"No, not exactly."
"Ah, alright."
"Oh but, magic is real. It's just not what I am."
The silence resumed for a while, before being interrupted by a rustling sound. Jo was taking the rest of her costume off. "Look, I don't want to deal with all this crazy stuff okay? I just want to go home and since none of those black ops guys have seen us without our costumes, I'll just ditch mine and go. Like we planned to do, back when this was a regular heist."
She shuffled out of the legs part, picked it up to retrieve her toolbag which was stashed in the rear, folded the legs and handed them off to Anthony. They must have weighed heavier than he expected, because he let them slip and they fell to the floor with a "THUNK".
A "THUNK"?
They all stared at the pile of fabric, worried, until Anthony picked them back up and revealed the source of the noise.
"Oh right, that bolas they threw at you."
"I forgot it was there. Now that I'm looking at it closely, it looks awfully high-tech."
"It sure does. And it's beeping, too."
"It must have cost them a lot to make. Shame it didn't work and they're gonna lose it."
The group chuckled. Then, a look of realisation passed over their faces.
"IT'S BEEPING!" They all yelled, and Anthony bolted to the back window, throwing costume and bolas through the glass.
They watched as the bundle flew through the fresh night air, over some of the cars that were parked in the street… then hit one hard and cracked its windshield.
Everyone held their breath for a moment, hoping, before the car's alarm inevitably started blaring.
"Conrad?"
"Yeah Mike?"
"Get us out of here."
"On it!"
The van's wheels screeched as it barrelled out of its parking spot and sped away from the scene.
"How fast do you think you can get us out of the city?"
"Pretty fast: look at these streets. There's no one here, I won't have to worry about traffic."
Then Fabien said something no one liked: "Uh oh."
"What's wong?"
"Why do you think there's no traffic?" And without waiting for an answer, Fabien pointed a boney hand through the hole in the window. "So they can catch us without witnesses.
"They" were a pack of bikers in tactical uniforms, speeding after the van. One of the bikes was dragging a sidecar, and in that sidecar was a person with one arm in a sling, aiming a gun at them with their remaining hand. They fired, and the rest of the squad followed suit.
The crew and Fabien backed away towards the front of the van and ducked. They could hear the gunfire, see the dents forming where the bullets impacted. Mike found himself worrying about how to explain the damage to his insurance.
Conrad swerved hard, to get out of their sight, but the bikes soon caught up.
"They'll be on us soon. Can you guys shoot back or something?"
"We could, if Fabien had teleported our guns with us."
"I'm sorry, I didn't think to pick them up. We usually do not need those, you know."
"Alright well can you do something then?"
"From this distance? No. But I have an idea. Driver! Take the next right!"
"Sure!"
"Good, now left!"
This went on for some time Fabien directing Conrad while the four others huddled in a corner, hoping with all their might the van could sustain more fire. Mike risked a look through the back window, and noticed they were surrounded by warehouses and factories.
"Hey, this is the industrial zone! We're going away from the city's exit!"
"We wouldn't make it to the exit, but I know a place around here we can leave through. There's a Way."
"In here? No, the best way to go would be to turn around to the city center and try to lose them in here, they cant have cut off all the traffic everywhere."
"No, I just told you, there's a Way. Right you don't know, see it's like a-" the rest of his sentence was cut off by a loud pop as one of their pursuers finally hit the van's tires.
The vehicle began drifting out of control, propelling them against the walls. Finally, it stopped. Fabien sprung to action, throwing the side door open and hurrying them all outside. Before they had time to start running, they heard the sounds of motorbikes approaching and slowing down.
Fabien seemed to hesitate for a moment, before he –Mike suddenly realised he had stopped thinking of Fabien as an "it"– sighed and reached his hand through his neck, into his skull. Jo gagged. Fabien pulled out a shiny card and handed it to Mike, pressing it tight in his palm.
"See that old warehouse in front of us? Get in, walk backwards into the far left corner and tap that card seven times against both walls. It will open the Way out for you. Take the others, I will hold the Jailors back."
"But-"
"No time to argue. I got you into a bigger mess than you deserved, it's only right that I get you out of it. Besides, I've fought the Jailors plenty of time, I know they won't kill me. Not that they can, really."
Lucy interjected "But we're not even the "brethren" you thought we were!"
Fabien flashed them a toothy smile "I know. And you can be so much more."
He turned away and walked towards the sound of stomping books, before looking at them one last time. "While you're there, try to learn as much as you can. Do it for me."
The rest, Mike only remembered hazily. He remembered that they all ran through the warehouse's doors while shouts and gunfire echoed behind them. He remembered backing into the wall, following Fabien's instructions, and falling into a warm light. He remembered a lot of books, and a ghost shushing the group. According to Lucy, that was when he fainted.

"Wait, I don't get it, why do I have to share a cell with this thing?"
"A thorough analysis of the facts and evidence shows that you mobilised and lost a lot of resources tonight, even going as far as implementing a wide-area lockdown, all to pursue a group of civilians who were comitting a non-anomalous crime."
"But that was because of the report from those two-"
"These surveillance agents have been reprimanded and disciplined, but we believe you bear more blame after failing to recognise the truth of your situation and escalating beyond what was necessary."
"At least put me anywhere else, please."
"Our tempoary holding cells are full at the moment. This is quite the busy night, you understand, and it doesn't help that a certain incident gave us a great deal of witnesses to amnesticize."
"There has to be something, we can still work this out."
"This is non-negotiable. Now if you'll excuse me, I have more pressing matters to attend to."
SLAM
"If it is of any help at all Jailor, I can say that at least one of us two is finding this situation very humerous."
"YOU-"

Footnotes
1. Leader figure, previously believed to be an instance of SCP-1000 but was seen resisting a normally fatal wound.
2. Believed to be in advanced stages of Theriatrhopy.
3. Origin unknown.
4. Believed to be an instance of SCP-████, how it escaped current containment procedures is unknown.
5. A device exploiting thaumaturgical backlash to induce sharp pain in beings with EVE levels above baseline.
6. The post-mission debrief would reveal that all felt forced to imitate what they believed to be the titular "monster mash", with Epsilon notably performing the choreography associated with the song in the "Just Dance" game series.


The Old Masters

Click. Click. Click. Click.
There was a sense of power in how Officer Calloway's boots rang out against the silence. Perhaps it was the raw individuality of it, a solo performance — Jules was the only source of sound now — or perhaps it was the memories of their schooldays, of sharp-dressed administrators and the heel clicks they'd come to match. Whatever the case, they stepped proudly, surveilling the halls and knowing nothing would dare to cross them on a night like this.
Though, judging by the buzz in their pocket, that didn't mean that nobody would. Their pacing halted with a click-ksh as they checked their notifications.

Goodnight Homey
Homey
Honey
!

haha, hey ma
sleep well! im at work

So late?
Be safe!
Remember that Article I sent the other day ?
Woman found dead? That was near you!

ma that was like four cities away
i can take care of myself
promise
now go sleep. i love you bunches

You too !
Call soon too
I had a dream your brother's wife was pregnant.
Very weird.

haha im sure
night!

There was a line an older coworker of theirs had said once. It was nice to have someone worry about you, or… something like that. Except Jules was nearing twenty-eight, and it was all getting to be a bit much.
Besides, it'd been almost a year since anyone had wanted them dead.
Sighing sharply, they jammed their phone back into their pocket and continued on their route.
Click. Click. Click.
The beam of their flashlight made the frames on the walls shine. Some of these paintings were hundreds of years old, some worn enough to need restoration. On their unluckier nights, Jules had to share their domain with the man who headed up such efforts, Adam Morrows. Fucker got to actually touch the paintings — they had to settle for just quietly admiring them. They clicked their way over to an empty space at the wall and aimed their torch at the poster that hung there.

Martin Drolling's Interior of a Kitchen has been taken down for restoration.

We apologize for the inconvenience.

—The High Museum

Even a photo displayed how cracked the surface was. He was right, the old thing needed fixing. And once he was done, it'd look as perfect as ever. On one hand that was good, because history and culture and preservation very well did matter, but on the other it meant Adam wouldn't be fired any damn time soon. Insufferable prick though he was.
Jules stood for a while in front of the piece, glaring at the figures smiling back at them. At least this job was giving him some trouble. Issues with one of the paint colors being hard to match. They'd tried talking with him about it when he'd first undertaken the project about two weeks prior.
"What, so you don't mix some colors and slap 'em on?" they'd jeered, leaning over his shoulder as he took notes.
"Not quite, no." He'd pushed up his stupid magnifiers and smiled at them. "We have a mastery of several pigments — Egyptian Blue, even, though it was lost for so long — but this one is difficult to emulate. Its rich tones are largely due to its…well, unsavory composition."
"Y'mean…?” They'd gestured vaguely towards their lower regions.
"Wh- no, goodness, but perhaps a bit more sinister."
Jules thought it over for a moment. Came up blank. "I'm not followin'.”
He'd stared at them for a moment, looking like he was trying to calculate an answer… No, not calculate. Tailor. "Nothing you need to concern yourself with."
"You're a lil' too quiet for me to not be concerned."
"I'll just leave it at this…" He'd stood, looming a few extra inches over them. Something of a sense of superiority, they figured. "Art and its history are complicated matters. If we tried to measure the past by the ethics of the present, we'd deem everyone a criminal. It's…best not to judge the old masters, and better to simply appreciate what they gave us. Can you- do you understand that?"
Jules could. Jules did. But it didn't mean they had to like it.
"I know there's somethin' up with you," they told the poster. "I don't… really know what, but there's somethin'. Spooky shit for a couple of broads."
If the picture had opinions, it kept them to itself.

Jules was a person of many talents. At least, this was what they mused to themself as they circled around the staff area and checked the entry logs. These talents included their security work, of course. The one time someone had broken in, he hadn't stood a chance, and then there was the work back in… hell, they were beating around the bush. Their real talent was extreme patience. So much patience, in fact, that when the log displayed a sign-in from Dr. Adam Morrows just two hours earlier, they didn't send the display console hurtling towards the opposite wall.
So much for solitude. They noted down the activity in their logbook and pushed open the door to the restoration space. That saintly patience came into play once more as they caught themself before they flicked on the harsh fluorescent lights, instead just turning up their torch beam and aiming it square at the cloth-covered workstation.
"Protocol says you owe me a heads-up before waltzin' in here."
The beam glinted off his glasses, tossing shards of light at the wall as he looked up at them. "Apologies, Officer Calloway. I couldn't sleep a wink. I thought I might get a little extra work done on the Drolling work."
They scowled. If he could see it, he didn't react. "Guess I better head out, then. I'd hate to disturb all your high-tech mixin' efforts."
"Oh, they're hardly high-tech." He reached over to adjust the lampshade, letting the bulb cast a faint, warm glow across his face. "You're welcome to take a look if you'd like. I've made some progress mimicking the old pigmentation. Nothing can quite match the original, of course, but I believe it should suffice."
Jules raised an eyebrow, but after a moment's pause, they crossed the room to join him at the broad table. Secured to its surface was Interior of a Kitchen. Now that they were up close and personal with the damned thing, its cracks were all the more apparent. There was some level of poetry in here, they mused. A beautiful piece tarnished with time, cracking to reveal… well, something Morrows obviously knew, but something Jules was still in the dark about.
Those faces were mocking them. They were sure of it.
"Not bad." They examined where cracks had been carefully sealed and colors had been precisely matched. God only knew what kind of concoctions he'd used to patch up the damn thing. The fume traps — really just large fans — were on full blast, but Jules could still pick up traces of a chemical cocktail. "Still fuckin' creepy, especially with your being on some kicker about the paint comp. But I guess that's not changin' any time soon."
"Comp?"
"Composition. It's, what, 2 AM? I stop bein' a wordsmith past 12. You want a sonnet, go talk to Bill Shakespeare."
He stared at them, his expression steadily growing more disturbed. "…William Shakespeare.”
"You got it." Jules stepped back from the table, giving the flashlight a twirl. "See, I know stuff. About… things. I'd know more, y'know, if you weren't so weird about shit."
Adam bristled, closing his eyes and taking what Jules felt was an over-exaggerated deep breath. "Is this about the conversation we had the other day?"
"You should try for MENSA."
"Look, Jules…" He trailed off, pinching the bridge of his nose and heaving another deep sigh. God, what was it with that stance? Seemed like every guy who thought he was something big struck it to make a point. "There's a lot of complexity behind the history of that painting. Things that horrified artists like Drolling. You wouldn't believe some of the things people come across in this job."
They raised an eyebrow. "You work with paint, dude. Past huffin'-induced hallucinations, I doubt you're going up against much."
"…Huh."
For one long, disturbing moment, he was silent. And Adam wasn't a man who did silence. He did quiet, sure, in that little voice of his that both demanded you respect him and begged you to listen to him, but never silence. And never the blank silence Jules was being met with, calculating, ice-cold.
"Perhaps there is just a bit more you should learn, then, Jules."
"Past shelterin' me? I'm honored. Next you'll be teachin' me about jaywalking. Or maybe showing me how to shoot off a few rounds, you know, just for self- hey!"
But Adam was not listening. Their rant had bought him the time needed to shut off the fume fans, and now there was stark silence, the only sounds being Jules' struggles as he grabbed them by the back of the collar and dipped them towards the surface of the painting. They flung out a hand to catch the edge of the table and keep from plowing into the damn thing, but now their nose was practically touching the still-drying surface. The faces below blurred out of focus as they strained to regain sense. Struggled to regain posture, too, but couldn't find a weak point behind them, couldn't pull the collar away from their neck enough to not gasp for air, couldn't lash out for fear of damaging a priceless artifact.
And in all of this, all Adam offered was one word: "Listen."
They listened.
But he wasn't speaking.

(hello)

Hel-

Hello There You Seem New You Seem A New Face Seem To Be

(can i ask you something)

Does he often treat you in such a way?

(are you going to bury me again)

Your Eyes Open Wide Wide Eyes Moon Sky Like The Sky

I would have little patience for such a thing.

I Liked The Sky When I Saw It Higher Than I Ever Made It Higher Than The Gallow Higher

(could you do it right this time)

You seem pained.

(it keeps getting darker)

Higher Than My Soul The Sun The Son The Father The

(are you joining us)

He was at least kind enough to ensure they fell back when they collapsed.

At least, above all else, Jules was dutiful.
After the Shit With The Painting, as they had dubbed it, they'd finished their shift and returned home without another word to or from anyone. They'd slept for five hours, gone to the store, straightened up their apartment, and… well, and then just sat back and stared at the ceiling for a while.
How were you supposed to deal with things like this? Contacting the police, probably. At the very least contacting the museum to let them know their restoration specialist was batshit insane. But HR complaints were mounds of paperwork and legal proceedings were time and money, and Jules was exhausted just existing these days.
So after another nap that afternoon, they did what they always did when times were rough and money was tight: they went to work.
Click. Click. Click. Click.
Flashlight. Poster. Hallways. Art. Check-ins. Adam — No! Kitchen. Paint.
Clear it and move on. Don't stop to talk. Don't look where you shouldn't. Text your mother.
Although they'd tried convincing themselves several times over that they weren't concerned for Adam, they couldn't quite master the lie. Elitist he was, and condescending, but not violent. Never before violent. And if they'd heard those voices at his insistence, he'd heard them too, so they were either really there or they were both screwy.
A few nights of pondering these matters prompted Jules to call a therapist. A night awake prompted them to cancel the appointment. Something like this was likely to get them medicated or worse, and mandatory reporting would come back to bite both of them.
Besides, the museum at night was their domain, and it was that thought above the rest that kept drawing them back to pace through the halls. Flashlight shining, boots click-ing. In the moments where all they thought about was the silence itself and not what lay underneath it, it felt like they were back in control. Jules knew these halls. They knew these paintings. And they knew that if Adam Morrows grabbed them like that again, they were going to have a hell of a lot more than something to say about it.
But every night they felt the urge to return, to listen to what the choir had to tell them and to understand who and what they had been. When had ghosts become a thing? Jules had gone urbexing as a kid, having hopped fences to walk through abandoned houses and tag their walls. Even the places that gave the local tough kids a pause barely fazed them. So why, why did things have to become real now, right when they were trying to put their life back together?
"Are you joining us?"
A year ago, maybe. They'd been a hotshot young detective assigned to an art theft case that nobody took too seriously. Just another painting to be intercepted on eBay, and the damn thing wasn't worth that much anyway. The Art Theft Detail had welcomed it as a break after going on a months-long goose chase for a painting that had been in grandma's closet.
Then people started getting killed.
It'd escalated fast. Jules had been on the online side of things, grabbing details, and intercepting emails. But suddenly they were stumbling across the names and numbers of people working the case, details about their homes and families, all up for grabs for interested parties. They'd done what they could, but soon enough their own name had popped up, and nobody wanted the department rookie's death on their conscience. They'd been not-so-gently instructed to disappear.
They had. They'd hunkered down in a nice little job below both their pay grade and their skill level and now had to worry about getting choked out in a restoration workshop while a bunch of ghosts ranted at them. Rock bottom was beginning to feel like a fragile surface.
A stinging sensation in their palm dragged Jules out of their sulking. They pried their fingernails from their skin and eased their grip on the flashlight as they approached the screen. No names. No Morrows. Good. They cracked open the door, doing a quick once-over with the torch. Coast still seemed clear. They stepped back and pulled the door shut. Continued on their way. All routine these days, everything as quick as possible.
Except… except the issue was the routine. They'd been dodging around the room ever since the attack, doing their best to avoid running into Adam. The museum at night was supposed to be their domain, damn it, but here they were tiptoeing around Mr. X.
It all had to stop. They at least had to know, had to figure out what the hell was going on with that painting. And if he wasn't there, this was as good a time as any.
They took a deep breath and pushed the door open. It all felt like signing in at their old desk, hands trembling as they brought up news of the dead and soon-to-be. Now the dead had spoken, and Jules felt they owed it to them to listen.
Click. Click. Click. Click-ksh.
Just a couple of broads on an old, old canvas.
"Hello."

(hello again)

We were waiting for when we'd see you again.

Hello Again Again They Always Come Back She Said They Would When

He's been dreadful company these past few days.

(it keeps growing darker)

Clouds Cover The Sky And I Cannot See The Sun And I Weep For It

I should hope you've taken care to avoid him. He's said some worrying things.

(he won't answer my questions)

"Yeah, Adam's… I don't know what's up with him, honestly. He's never been this bad." Speaking to the damn thing didn't make the whole situation feel any less weird, but it was nice to know that the weird painting ghosts seemed concerned for their wellbeing. Or one was, at least. "Any statements that stood out to you?"

Yes, quite a number of-

(you speak strangely)

Do Not Eat The Apple God Weeps For The Sin Of It All

As I was saying. Quite a number of things. About you, particularly.

(and about the old masters)

A Question A Challenge A Query An Inquisition

(i don't know who they are)

He seems to crave their approval. Others' as well, he seems a bit of a desperate man.

"I mean, he's a big shot 'round these parts. Has a reputation to keep. But why's that got you worr-?"
A thought flashed through their mind, morbid and vivid, but the very idea of it was ridiculous enough to sound like something from a horror movie. They shook their head, doing their best to shrug it off. They had to get it together, focus on what was really going on here.
"Nevermind… just, who are you?"

(just someone)

I Am Unworthy

I believe I am a simpler case. I was a darling little foreign wife.

(someone took me apart)

My husband took ill and passed suddenly. I was accused of killing him for his fortune.

The Sky Weeps The Sun Shies Away I Am Floating

I was imprisoned. I was killed.

Flying Floating Hanging Waiting

I was angry. I stayed bound to my body.

(someone bound my body)

I heard someone say they would mummify me. I knew the term only from my husband's curiosities.

(that's the word)

But laying there, I truly came to know what it meant.

Jules furrowed their brow. "So you…"
A lesson from training crept back into their mind at the mention of the mummies. They'd been taught to pick up on characteristics of art pieces from different eras, things that would denote authenticity. Stroke styles, signature quirks.
Paint types.
"But… so wait, you ain't Egyptian?"

From our apparent mutual understanding, it seems safe to say that the three of us are not.

"Yeah, fair, but…" They raked a hand back through their hair, tugging at their scalp to try and focus. "But, but, then… we'll talk about that later. What has he been saying?"

Your Doctor has become obsessed with authenticity.

(he's called you his muse)

He refuses reason.

My Love Pouring Endlessly I See Her I See The Sun And-

Crea-ak. Click. Click. Click.
Even the voices quieted at the sound of the far door opening.
"Jules? I thought you might be here, I… I'm terribly sorry about the other day-"

Go.

Jules ran, boots pounding on steady floorboards, flashlight beam swinging wildly. Before Adam could even register their movements they had reached the opposite door, tugging on its handle to escape to freedom.
Found it wouldn't budge.
And now, alone with a madman in the dark, that stubborn thought rose to the surface again: there were more people in that painting than the three women it depicted. More, probably, than had even spoken to Jules thus far.
And they were in the paint.

Jules wiped a sweaty palm on their slacks, adjusting their grip on the flashlight.
"Was, uh, jammin' the door part of your apology, Adam?" They gave a nervous chuckle, turning to face the interior of the room. "Most people do this kinda thing over coffee."
In softer lighting, they might've been convinced of his side. His smile was small and meek, and he walked slowly. The torch's sterile beam was unforgiving, though, and Jules could see how much just looked wrong—the smile was paired with dead eyes, and that walk was deliberate.
"A necessity, I'm afraid. You do have a bit of a… let's say, tendency to run when things get complicated."
Their nails were beginning to break skin. "Fuck off."
Adam stopped and held up his palms. "My sincerest apologies for hitting a sore spot, but I do my research on the things that fascinate me. You happen to be one of them."
"Yeah, your pals said somethin' similar." They took a few steps to the side, trying to keep him an even distance away. "Told me a bit about themselves, too, actually.
"Your 'unsavory composition' was just, y'know, human lives — guess that ain't much to you. But you talk a lot of shit about preservin' history for someone restorin' a painting created with ground-up mummies."
They expected a reaction from that line. Something, at least, anger or denial, something that made him feel human. But he simply shrugged.
"It isn't as if I can change the past."
"At least have a little fuckin' shame for it, Adam!"
He stepped forward. Jules stiffened.
"And yet you have no shame for interfering with my work, Officer Calloway. I would think someone like you would understand the inherence of loss in art."
"The fuck do you-"
"Think about it." He began to pace. "Art- art always requires loss, does it not? Money spent on paints leaving one in the gutter, trying to appeal to the masses to earn their keep. Gorgeous portraits of wartime scenes — and there, there you can even see the loss right on the canvas, hm?
"So what is the next step, Jules?" He turned to face them. "Pouring human emotion, humanity into a painting is the start. Is putting in actual humans not the next logical step? Is it not the purest form of love to those we do not know to include them in what we deem beautiful?"
Jules stared at him, eyes wide with shock. It took a moment for them to recover, but once they did, they said the one line they could think of:
"Bless your fuckin' heart, Adam, you're screwier than I thought."
He smiled broadly, stepping forward to close the gap and putting a hand on their shoulder.
"It's that Southern charm that draws me to you, Jules, it really is."
Drawing back with a grimace, they raised their arms to shove him back. But before they could react, they found themself staring up at him, their legs swept out in less than a second. Their head hit the ground with a crack. They tasted blood.
"Disappointing, considering your prior training. I suppose even the pros get rusty."
They spat, rolling over to try and push themself up. But now he had their legs, and they felt a ripping pain through their elbows and hands as they tried to brace against being dragged back. Adam simply hoisted them up like a fallen toy, holding them close, whispering an apology for their struggles. Assuring them the pain would be temporary.
And then the world tilted sharply, the edge of the table catching Jules in the back of the legs and making them crumple back onto it. The room felt like it was spinning. Their ears were ringing. Their palm, their tongue, God only knew what else was bleeding, and they could barely string together a coherent thought other than I don't wanna die.
They tried to get up. Couldn't. Could only look around the dark, wide-eyed, and disoriented.
But the room was now mockingly quiet, forcing them to hear their own whimpers and gasps and pleas for Adam to just stop this. But there was no response from him now. He was off by his supplies, getting something, and even though they had precious seconds there was nothing they could do.
They closed their eyes and willed the world to stop.
And for a brief moment, it felt like it did.

I Think I See The Sun

"…Whassat?"

(it's definitely brighter)

They opened their eyes, glancing over to the painting.
And the flashlight next to it.

I believe I will leave this decision to you.

I don't wanna die.
The sheer effort of moving nearly knocked them down again. They grit their teeth against the pain, felt a gasp slip out, heard Adam begin to rush back over. But the torch was theirs, and as they steadied themself on the table, they felt a strange clarity among the chaos.
"Come on, Jules, this is pitiful. You're only making this harder for us bo-"
They dragged him down and against them, slammed him against the table.
Stared down at his shock.
Wondered which city they'd head to next.
Then slammed the torch against his head until he stopped moving.
"…Say hi to the old masters for me, Adam," they wheezed. "I think y'all might be in the same place now."

The room was silent.
They weren't sure how much time had passed. An hour? Two? Granted, five minutes could feel like an eternity with a corpse in the room. Whatever the case was, they knew they had time before anyone would arrive on the scene.
In spite of their nerves being shot, in spite of the shaking, Jules felt eerily calm. Deep down they knew they had expected something like this. Had seen it coming from the moment he'd first attacked them. The panic would come later, they were sure, but for now, they embraced the numb tranquility.
They leaned against the table, tilting their head back and closing their eyes. This was borrowed time, borrowed peace. But they had done what they had to do.
Well, except for one thing.

hey ma
just wanted to let you know im safe
love you bunches
gnight.

“You sure this is the right place?”
His passenger ceased checking her hair to give a curt nod.
“…Absolutely sure, Polinski? We harass some random old lady and we're-“
“Daniel.” She gave a sideways glance — a warning. “We did research. Many hours. If person inside is older than, hm, thirty? We leave. If not, we ask. And if wrong person, we handle it.”
He sighed, securing the emergency brake with a click before exiting the car. Walking around to her side, he opened the door and held a hand out to her.
“After you, Madame.”
“Don't patronize me.” But she accepted his assistance in exiting, taking care to avoid a stray beer can in her step down from the truck cabin.
The air smelled of salt, the ocean's breeze gently rustling their hair and clothes as they entered the gallery. It was a small place near the docks, flanked by a few restaurants and trolley tour kiosks. All in all a nondescript little tourist town on the East Coast.
And if Polinski's theory was correct, it was the perfect place to disappear.
"Looks like a lot of local art." Daniel strode over to the far wall, letting out a low whistle at one of the listed prices. “Still pretty steep for what it is."
“Focus.”
“Right. Sorry.”
A small counter sat towards the back end of the space. Dr. Polinski walked over without a moment's hesitation, ringing the small silver bell that rested on the outer corner.
"Be with y'all in a minute!"
"Alright, thank you." She looked over to Daniel. Winked. He only sighed.
It was a few moments before anyone stepped through the back door, but when they did, both knew their hunch had been correct. Average height, lean build, androgynous look. And the freckles. Dozens of them scattered across their face. Their most distinct trait, judging from the interviews.
You could dye your hair, get a nose job, do any number of things. But some things always stayed the same.
"Good afternoon."
"Hey! Can I help you with anythin'?"
"Maybe. Expecting many customers?"
They tilted their head to the side. "Uhh- not really today, nah. Weekends are busier, folks drivin' out here for some beach time. Why?"
"Perfect. Daniel? Wait by entrance, please."
"You got it."
Polinski placed her hands flat on the counter, meeting the shop owner with a level gaze. "Let's talk, Jules."

Click. Click. Click.
As Daniel walked away, Jules was sorely tempted to do the same. But this lady had dropped their name. Seemed to recognize them. They could run away, sure, but there was no guarantee that there weren't more people stationed outside.
And… well, Jules was content here, plain and simple. They were done running.
"What's, uh… what's up?"
"Interesting response." The woman leaned forward, lowering her voice. "Would you prefer I be more hush-hush about things? I understand you have had some unfortunate situations."
They sighed. "That's one way of puttin' it. Look, uh…"
"Doctor Polinski."
"Yeah, uh-"
"RARE."
"Pardon?"
"I represent a group called RARE. Recovery And Relocation of Entities."
Jules raised an eyebrow.
"Name was from group vote. Personally, not a fan. But that is beside the point, no?" She smiled. "Point is, ten months ago in museum, you come across something… unnatural. As did old friend of yours. Though my guess is… by end of exchange, your friendship was over."
They crossed their arms. "You a cop?"
"Ironic for you to ask. No, I am interested party. Interested in your experiences and keeping them safe. And keeping you in this life of yours. Are you interested?"
"…What's your catch?"
Her cool smile broke down into laughter, ringing through the space of the gallery with a tinny echo.
"Ah, I love when people try to… co to jest, 'act tough'? Yes? But I have no catches. Only options."
"If you're aimin' for blackmail, I ain't pullin' in much in the off-seasons."
"Goodness, no. I have offer. That is all." Dr. Polinski folded her hands. "Either way I help set you up. If possible, I appreciate your assistance. Project of mine. I would compensate."
"I'm not hurtin' anyone."
"What do you think this is, the mob? No, intelligence." She took a folder out from her bag and placed it on the counter. "You are aware of unnatural things. I want you to report more of them. Not speak of them to anyone else. You sign agreements, I take you into my employ. Simple."
Jules blinked, opening the folder and glancing through the documents. NDAs, hiring agreements… and a dossier. They took a moment to flip through their own life story on paper.
"Why me?"
"You are professional. Ideal career, physical combat training. A little more work, you make ideal field agent."
"And you ain't just…fuckin' around with me?"
"Oh, I make point to never 'fuck around'." Polinski patted the documents on the table. "Tell you what. This is… much to consider, I am aware. You take time. Think about things."
"Alright."
"And keep them under wraps. I will know if you don't, and I will turn you in very happily if that is case." She pushed back from the counter, granting them a nod. "We return in few days. You say yes, we take you on. You say no, we wipe conversation and start over. I do not mean this as threat, but I assume you understand need for precaution."
Jules glanced down at their palms, still faintly scarred from where their nails had massacred the skin.
"…Yeah. Uh. See you then, I guess."
"Yes, see you then. Enjoy rest of your day." She gazed around at the walls, giving the displays a nod of what they could only assume to be approval. "Enjoy the quiet."
"Oh, trust me. I do."

The Old Masters | TBA »


Guaire

You can find more of my articles here.

Collection of drunken stories from the Saloon of the Watchful Eye, Phoenix. Heard around November 1882:

Told by John Williams, before entering into a brawl with another customer
Much attention has come to the town of Pozo Blanco as of late, over whatever happened in it, but I was there when it disappeared. Gold had been discovered north of the Verde River, and I was one of many who thought it an opportunity to gain riches.
The wagon train I had the misfortune of boarding wasn't led by the brightest of men, in trying to use a shortcut they led us directly into Mormon territory, at the southern border of Deseret, where a particularly militant sect had been recently settled. None of us were aware of the fact, so when the first of their raiders came to attack our caravan in late October, we were barely able to repel them at great cost. Luckily no lives were lost that first day, but we knew we had to prepare for further fighting.
The first day we had the luck of only fighting two men, the second we found ourselves facing ten, on the third their dozen struck deep inside the defensive circle we had formed with our wagons, burning many of our supplies, and the fourth day, October 30th, their twenty raiders broke down most of the fortifications we had raised the previous days. In these 4 days we only managed to shoot down a single one of them.
We were all well aware the 5th was going to be the last day of this skirmish, but few had the morale to still fight. Many had been injured in the previous day, water was low, the heat felt like being punched in the face, while the nightly winds cut like a knife. Surrender wasn't an option, the Mormons never took prisoners, so we could only hope for the best.
The attack didn't come, not in the morning nor during the afternoon, so we used this little time to rest. It was All Hallow's Eve; a few men prayed, told ghost stories or tried to cook for the celebrations. Most of us were too nervous or scared while waiting for the attack.
The Mormons finally fell on us in the dead of night. We saw many bonfires being lit in the distance, where we later learnt Pozo Blanco used to be, and from there the raiders came towards us. A few were on horseback, most on foot, there were some wearing white robes, as if dressing as ghosts to mock us. They must have numbered some 30 people.
It's a miracle we came out of there alive, and I mean it literally. We had dismantled many of our wagons to make defenses that we hoped could stop their tide, and tried to craft blackpowder out of whatever resources we still had, and yet that wasn't enough. After the first hours of battle the smoke clouds from both our volleys choked us and both our sides ran out of ammo.
The Mormons must have gotten over-confident from their previous successes, because they descended upon us like a pack of rabid wolves trying to defeat us in hand on hand combat. I remember one of the Mormons in particular, who ran towards me with his rifle grabbed like a club. He tried smashing my skull into a pulp with its handle and he'd have succeeded if it wasn't for what came next.
All of the sudden, we all heard a deafening noise in the distance, louder than an artillery barrage or an exploding coal mine. I cannot really describe exactly what it was, but I can tell for sure that all of the bones in my body could hear that sound. We all looked north, and saw above Pozo Blanco a bright red light that overshone the entire town. The Mormons, frightened, stopped the fighting, mounted their horses and went back home — I presume to stop that thing. They didn't come back; the entire night that awful metallic screech was the only sound heard.
Next day we arrived at Pozo Blanco, and found out there wasn't a single soul in there, nor any animal, or food either. The place was eerily silent, the Mormons clearly hadn't abandoned it, their valuables were intact, no water was collected for any travel, nor was there any sign of movement and some of the bonfires from last night were still burning unattended. It was as if everyone who had been in there had vanished without a trace, the only evidence of recent habitation were the freshly carved jack o' lanterns in some of the larger households and the still warm ashes.
We tried to distract our thoughts of what we saw that night, resorting to looting the place. Some amongst us theorized that what we saw in the sky was a new weapon, one from the Union, used to bring this semi-independent territory to heel. I'd like to think that as true, as if it was human-made then it wasn't as invincible as it seemed.
We left the place next morning and reached the goldsite a week after, most of it had been long claimed. The few nuggets still in place only served to pay for the travel expenses — well, that and this beer over here.

Recounted by Harrison Davis, who frequented the Saloon in the early 1880s
If any of you all plan working as a buckaroo o'er here in Arizona then you should be aware of Ol' Marsh, an owner of many lands further to the north who is willing to pay much for experienced rangers. You can go working for ‘im if you really want to, but I assure you it ain't worth it.
My claims come from experience, as I have wasted more than 2 years of my life in that damn place. At first the range seems idyllic, far away from any town or city that may bring inconvenience, but soon you start noticing everythin's wrong with the damn place.
First are all the other employees, all thugs and criminals, many even comin' from Dixieland. I only met 2 honest men o'er there — Two Mexicans by the name of Jaime and Francisco — during the time I've worked for Ol' Marsh.
Second is its silence, Ol' Marsh may try to advertise its distance from civilization as a point in its favor, it being multiple days on horseback to the closest settlement, but in truth is that there is nothin' there, nothin' but the range and the pastures for the cattle. The Indians have long since abandoned the territory, coyotes or rattlesnakes are painfully rare and even scavenger birds are hard to come by. The silence there is deafening and many other men could go mad from isolation, I only didn't ‘cause I spent my fair share of time with Jaime and Francisco, but none of us are there anymore, so I doubt you'll have that luck.
Finally is the damn sky, not the daysky mind you, that's as blue as here or any other civilized place, I mean durin' the night. You see, In those long 2 years I had become something of an amateur astronomer. I may have lacked the equipment of more sophisticated men, but I learnt to recognize with my bare eyes all the planets and most stars in the sky.
That started as a small hobby, to pass the time in the long Arizona nights, but soon evolved for me into something more, I became obsessed in learning of the firmament, and the more I looked the more I realized that there was something wrong about the patch of land I had the displeasure to work in.
There were too many stars, more than in any chart I had known before or since. All a bright red, all too small to recognize unless you spent months paying attention to the sky. I don't know for how long those red stars were present, I only realized their existence a year after I'd started working, around November 1880, and soon I found myself paranoid about my every action, as I felt I was being observed by those bright red lights, which remained fixed in place on the night sky.
This October is when things took a turn for the worse. On the first day of the month, soon after night time began, one of the stars fell. It didn't fall to the ground suddenly like a meteor, it was more like the flight of an insect, slowly descending over the horizon before hovering above one of the terrains under the ownership of Ol' Marsh. It stayed above the field for what must have been hours, and then left to once again take its former position on the firmament. I watched all that process and though I couldn't approach the fallen star, I could discern that it had an elongated shape, and that its surface shone like black metal.
In the range there were few people, but news still spread like wildfire. Next day mornin' I learnt that over five heads of cattle had disappeared, with no one being able to tell where they had gone, furthermore the buckaroo in charge of that herd couldn't explain with any certainty what had happened that night. I didn't tell them what I saw as I didn't wish to be considered mad. We spent the entire day looking for them to no avail. Two days later the cows were found, well, only their skeletons, with no trace of flesh, skin or blood present anywhere near, some of the men tried to brush it off as being the result of a pack of coyotes that had remained hidden but I could see by the look of their faces they didn't believe a single word of what they themselves said.
The day following that sighting, the process would repeat itself: a light would descend, many cows would be lost, only for their bare skeletal remains to later adornate the landscape. On the fifth day some thirty cows disappeared, over fifty on the tenth and a hundred were lost by the twentieth night. I could tell by the sound how the lights were approaching my location with each passing night.
Around the 30th, just a few miles away from my patch of the range, a weirder thing happened. One of the stolen cows from yesterday had come back, but it was in a sorry state: its body was bloated as if filled with air, its eyes looked bloody and dead. We saw it, not really eating, but swallowing. It devoured anything that was in front of its face, either plant or meat, all the while making a loud metallic screech. After approaching it closer we noticed that it was "eating" another cow, and it suddenly started to look at us with its bloody red eyes. One of the other cowboys shot it dead immediately.
Afterwards we saw its body decomposing fast, too fast, but our attention wasn't centered on that, rather on the interior of the animal, it had barely any flesh, or organs, it was mechanical instead..
Almost all of us departed the place soon afterwards, things were gettin' worse in the range every single day and no one wanted to see what would happen on All Saints Eve, me specially, the few who stayed haven't reported back either. I still wonder about the night sky there though, as I'm starting to see some of the same stars here too.

The story of an anonymous customer, who told his tale and left in a hurry.
My family used to be a big name in Scotland, you know? Grandpa in particular was a large landowner in the Highlands before deciding to move to the US. I'm not sure what led him to this decision, though dad always thought that he had been fooled by the rumors of wealth in this land. Regardless of his reasons, he came here back in the 40s and was one of many to settle into Wisconsin.
My family's wealth would not last long, upon arriving in the country bad financial decisions would ruin us, and what remained was invested into a large farm state east of Madison, on the southern flank of the Wisconsin River which they would use to make a living by cultivating corn and breeding cows. His fortune and family wasn't the only thing grandpa brought to America though, he also arrived with what I could only describe as pagan traditions.
For most of the year grandpa was a dutiful and pious Christian, never missed a mass, observed all holy days without exception and always dedicated much of his free time towards reading the Bible, yet, there was one exception, as he insisted on calling Halloween Samhain and engaging in what could be described as attempted witchcraft every October 31st.
It's been so long since I last saw it in action that I struggle to recall many of the details from that ritual, but I know it all started with the cows. The largest and strongest amongst them were all separated from the rest of the herd and brought to a certain distance from the house, grandpa then would do… something to them, making them immobile. The animals weren't sacrificed, nor fed, they just stood there, waiting.
After the cows came the harvest, the reaping process, which I had to do alone for as long as I remember, took place over the entirety of October. Our fields were not really harvested at that time, rather I was made to carve them in sinuous patterns, and was often punished for failing to do it exactly as demanded. On Samhain all that had been collected was gathered together and spread over the ground that surrounded the inmobile cows, resulting in the same set of twisting and swirling shapes from the fields.
Occasionally, on years of bad harvest, we had to steal the crops and cattle from nearby farms, as otherwise we would risk starvation. Finally it was the turn of the fire, bonfires specifically, while they were already a Halloween tradition in much of the country grandpa made them bigger than any other I have seen, as if they were beacons. I can remember quite a few times in which they risked even the integrity of our residence.
After the cows were put in place, the maize spread and the bonfires lit, we just returned home. Talking about what we did was forbidden and we spent the night telling ghost stories, carving pumpkins and eating sugary delicacies, occasionally frightening some kids who wandered over here late at night, as if nothing strange had taken place outside.
Upon waking up the next day, what we had placed outside was gone, as if it had never existed and we went on with life.
I wish I could say this pattern always held true though, then it would just mean that our family had a weird tradition for that particular day. But occasionally the cows still stood there. I was personally happy for that, it meant we wouldn't lose a head of cattle to a stupid superstition, but dad and grandpa always took it as that they needed to repeat the ritual with even greater numbers, our family's remaining wealth diminished significantly as occasions like that became more and more common.
Once I grew up I moved from Winsconsin into New Mexico to work as a cowboy, my grandfather had died by then, but my father still continued being a pain in the ass. I wanted to get out of my family's estate as I couldn't stand him, and I honestly found their October practices quite spooky. I didn't achieve much in the way of wealth, though I found it quite a spiritually rewarding job.
News of my father's death would reach me soon after The War ended, his funeral was going to take place in October, so I went to the north one last time. The place was in shambles, the entirety of the estate had only continued to deteriorate while in my absence. I only saw 6 cows in our possession, of the many dozens I could remember from my childhood, and the acres of cultivated land were severely reduced too. The funeral was modest, as expected from the situation, and I became the sole inheritor of my family's remaining wealth. I wanted to stay a few more days up north, but a line in my father's short will immediately struck my nerve, he asked me to finish the ritual in Samhain. I refused, I wasn't going to fall for pagan superstition. Once the body was below ground I returned to New Mexico and never looked back.
The more I think about it, the more I realize that it was a mistake, on November 1880, while on Tucson's train station I read about a “Mysterious Airship” that had been seen in the Texas sky, three weeks later, a similar sighting took place in Colorado, after a few months, disappearances started occurring, of both cattle and men. As of this year there have been reports of frontier towns built on gold mines completely gone, with the precious metals left intact, entire herds of cow and buffalo disappearing below strange lights.
It is now impossible for me not to correlate the events with my actions back up north. Whatever my forerunners were doing, it satiated them, and now those Riders in the Sky are free to do as they please.


A cool breeze blew through the neighborhood streets, chasing the leaves over the ground. Children were walking down the street dressed up as ghosts and ghouls, giggling as they moved from one house to the next. This was to be expected, as is the case every October. So when Dale heard a knock on his door he was unsurprised.
He put the piece of candy he was about to unwrap back into his pocket, grabbed his candy bowl and opened the door. On his doorstep stood three children no older than ten. A pirate, princess, and pumpkin stared up at him excitedly. As he gave them their candy he noticed two men walking down the street. They were in full military get up, and they even had prop guns. “Those almost look real,” thought Dale. One of them carried a bag as they leisurely strolled down the sidewalk, presumably filled with candy. He wished the children well, and watched as the two men turned to walk across his yard, much to his annoyance. He had a pathway afterall, why trample the grass?
As they drew near he heard one say “You know candy's not the goal tonight, we don't have to go to every house.” The one with the bag in his hand chirped “Yea, but counterpoint– free candy!” The man stepped onto the porch and proudly said “Trick or treat.” Dale just looked at him and dropped one of those tiny snickers in the bag. “Much appreciated,” he said. Behind him, his friend bluntly asked “Sir, have you seen anything weird tonight?” Dale ticked his head to the side. “It's halloween, everything is weird tonight.” The man with the candy bag asked, “Nothing SPoOoKy?” to which his friend audibly sighed. Dale just shrugged.
Suddenly there was a shout from across the street. The two men's heads whipped around, seeking the source. Dale peered between them and saw that at the house across the street were two men also in military garb. They were backing up and shouting things like “CONTACT!” and “GET BACK!” They must really be committed to the bit, thought Dale. That was until a giant skeletal hand reached out from inside the house and ripped open the door frame, making room for its giant rib cage as a giant mass of bones crawled out from the home. Slowly they began to restructure themselves and soon there was a twenty foot skeleton standing in the yard.
Dale was so transfixed on the insanity unfolding that he did not even notice that the two men left their bag and went to join the two others in the street. The four had taken defensive postures and began to shoot the thing with what he now realized were not mere props. The thing leaned back and let out a high pitched laugh despite having no organs. Soon there was a full firefight as the monstrosity attempted to crush anyone close to it. Dale, fearing what would happen if he stayed, ran out of his home and down the street. He was panicking, running as fast as his feet would take him, just trying to get clear of the rapidly occurring destruction.
As he ran away from the skeleton, others ran towards it armed with rifles and even a rocket he thought. He didn't really know; he was too afraid to focus on that. When he made it to the corner he found his way blocked by more people armed to the teeth, and herding those trying to flee together. Dale turned and watched as dozens of people surrounded the thing and fired at it, to the extent that he couldn't pick out individual shots. As one soldier fired a rocket the street lit up like day. The monster was unfazed and proceeded to bend down and try to grab the soldiers. It was slow enough that most were able to dodge, and the few who couldn't were thrown towards their comrades.
It was a surreal sight; soldiers fighting a giant skeleton on a street decorated for halloween. Behind him he heard children crying, and suddenly he was being violently pulled back and shoved into a van. The last thing he saw was a helicopter overhead. It flew by and soon after there was an explosion, but the door was closed before he could see what happened.
In the van with him were two of the kids from earlier and various other adults. They tried to yell at the drivers but they either couldn't hear or didn't care. They tried to console the crying children, but they were frightened beyond their ability to remedy. There was nothing they could do but wait.
After a ride that felt like hours crammed shoulder to shoulder, they were taken and put into cells. Here, a person in a lab coat came and took the children, promising that they would be reunited with their parents. They did not take any questions and left them in a deafening silence.
Soon after another person in the same lab coat came. Before they could say anything a woman dressed as a witch shouted “What the fuck just happened! What was with the fucking skeleton and why are we–” The man in the coat cut her off, “We will explain it all to you later. For now we just need you in one spot so we can make sure everyone is safe and so we can collect statements. We will have you out and on your way as soon as we can.” With that he took one person with him and left. As the others began to discussed the whole ordeal Dale stared blankly still in shock.
One by one they were each taken out of the cell until finally a woman took Dale. She wore jeans and a blouse over which was the same lab coat all the other people wore. Dale felt detached, like his body was moving on its own. The woman in the lab coat and some kind of officer took him down various hallways, stopping here and there to take his picture or get his fingerprints. “I thought yall just wanted statements, why do you want my picture and prints?” He proclaimed as the sensation of the soft ink pad brought him back to his senses. “It's just protocol, please hang on to your questions for the interview” the officer stated raggedly. Dale could tell she was not one he wanted to annoy and so he stayed quiet.
Another few minutes another set of hallways and he was quickly guided into a small room. He surveyed it briefly as the woman in the labcoat sat down. There was what he assumed to be a two-way mirror on his right with pumpkin stickers haphazardly applied. The table and chairs were cold and metallic, the only thing set upon it was the woman's notepad. She was writing something down quickly but soon finished and looked up at Dale.
“So, can we get you anything? I understand you've been through a lot in the past few hours.” She said sympathetically. Dale was anxious but tried to hide it. “ Uhhh… water? I guess.” The woman opened the door and said something to someone outside. “Alright, it will be here shortly. Now my name is Katelynn and I want to ask you some questions.” she said calmly. “About the giant goddamn skeleton!” Dale said, raising his voice. The numbness he felt was beginning to fade. Now he felt angry, indignation, fear. So many different emotions starting to flow back into his head now that this woman was prodding him.
“Yes… about the giant skeleton,” Katelynn repeated with a slight smile. “Did you notice anything unusual the past few days? Strange lights, odd people, a feeling of being watched? Anything ring a bell?” Dale shook his head. He had barely been home recently, work being what it is. Katelynn made a note and then asked “Have you seen children talking to anyone you don't know or to no one in particular?” Again, Dale shook his head. “Ok…” She said, “have you seen candy like this being handed out?” She produced a paper from under her notepad. On it was a picture of a small round candy. The wrapper was black and orange with a skull in the center.
Dale's face went white. Getting out of his car today when a woman in a bright purple suit tossed him something. He just shoved it into his pocket for later, thinking nothing of it. Until now that is. Slowly he reached in and pulled out a small round candy. Its package had come undone partially while in his pocket. Underneath it he could see a candy in the shape of a skull. Katelynn's eyes went wide as quickly she reached over to take it.
“Ok” She said slowly and quietly. “I'm just going to take this and keep it safe.” She carefully went to the door and left. A few minutes later another person came in. He was older and carried himself more firmly. He asked him sternly where he got the “skip.” Dale just said some lady gave it to him. The man straightened his tie and looked him in the eye. “Did this woman say anything?” he asked expectantly. Dale thought back carefully. “This one is going to be one great Halloween, I can feel it in my bones” he recited back with his eyes closed.
The man smiled thinly and nodded. “And that's all?” he said, seemingly content with Dale's answer. “Yes,” he said. The man rose slowly. “Thank you for your help. In a few minutes someone will be along and we'll get you on your way, though best not to go home tonight.”

Mr. Porter left the man in the interview room, he had extracted all pertinent information. The civilian would be amnesticized in short order and released. As for him he had a long night ahead, no fewer than two hundred people had seen the anomaly. Statements needed to be taken, a cover story created, a dispersal plan for the survivors enacted. Just thinking about it made him tired. And that was just the cover-up, this latest incident would mean a whole new investigation. Getting back to his office he sat down at his now chaotic desk. “Happy Halloween” he muttered to himself, and got to work.


.

You:
You remember the accident?

Me:
Of course I do. How else would I know about it?

You:
Oh?

Me:
I mean, I didn't at first. I didn't remember anything. Everything was too… uh… ughh… word? word?

You:
Confusing?

Me:
Yes. Confusing.

You:
When did you start remembering the accident?

Me:
Well… there's a thought that happens when you're healing. A thought that you have thoughts at all. It's the most important thing in the world for a split second. And once you know your thoughts exist… you can remember.

You:
Huh.

Me:
But after that split second you just… go back to doing what you were doing. You'll have the rest of your life to think about your thoughts and who you are. The meat juices on Lisa's hand are here right now and won't be forever.

You:
So you… licked the meat juices off Lisa's hand?

Me:
I licked the meat juices off Lisa's hand, yes.

You:
…Ah. We should get back to our conversation about your home community. I still have a few more questions and Garcia is tapping his finger to his wrist through the window.

Me:
Right, sorry. >My family<