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09/23/2016

"You're a disaster," Tanaka stated.
oh yeah well what do you know music boy bet youre rich youabsolutefuck —
"Hiii what's-your-name!" Sunset exclaimed. Absolute brilliant responding on her part.
"How drunk is she?"
"Enough!" she responded. A very believable response.
"She also had a couple edibles. Sorry Tanaka, she'll be alright. I promise," Vin added. They looked at him with an expression attempting to assuage his worries, but he still seemed apprehensive. It wasn't like she'd be driving, so one had to wonder what he could have been worrying over.
"You didn't give her any alcohol or weed, right?" Tanaka prodded.
"Of course not."
"Okay then. Let's get going."
The three of them piled into Vin's car, with Sunset and Tanaka in the back seats. A guitar case sat in the front, preventing a non-awkward ride. Luckily, she was just tall enough to make sitting behind that seat uncomfortable, and he was just short enough to sit behind it fine enough. A win-win for both.
cantbelievethissisawinforme
It was silent for the first few minutes of the ride. No one had anything to say to each other; was she that awkward? Worry crept up, threatening to strangle her one chance to not leave a bad impression. What was there to talk about, though? She couldn't ever share anything in common with men. Through the increasingly heavy haze of her indulgences, however, her brain was able to figure out a topic she could sail through with ease.
"Vinvin, where're wegoing? Whooo's thingy is that?"
"It's mine, and it's a bass guitar," Tanaka promptly stated. "We're going to my band's last concert. I'm done after this."
"You don't have to —" Vin was cut off by a sudden need to brake to avoid bumping into the car ahead, letting Tanaka interrupt.
"All of us are done. Me and Sugako for sure. No-Name's heavily considering it too."
"Even her? What are you all doing in Aussie after this?"
"Nothing, we're all leaving."
um
She fucked up. She definitely fucked up. Of course someone on the edges of Are We Cool Yet? wouldn't know any interdrama, but maybe she should have thought harder for a topic starter. Was there a side to take?
"Christ… I understand why, and I know I can't do anything about shit, but is there really not another option?"
"No. No disrespect to you, but fuck this shit group."
If Sunset didn't get a word in now, she never would. Besides, they were being too vague for her stoned ass, she might as well join in.
"Whyre you quittin aw - uh, ay, ay-cee, my dude?" In trying to lightly gesticulate her concern for him, Sunset nearly wacked him in the head with her elbow. She might have faced retaliation had she not immediately followed up by hitting the car door with her other elbow. "Nnnn…"
"…okay." Tanaka looked the other way, but even she could tell he was suppressing his laughter.
"Hey…"
"A-Anyway. I'm quitting because I've had enough of it. I don't want to be part of something I think is bullshit, and this art clique's getting real close to bullshit for me."
"Then whatll you do after?"
"Don't know. There's this boy I'm dating and I want to move in with him. Don't tell him I said that Vin, I'm not ready to bring it —"
Sunset tugged Tanaka's sleeve and looked up at him in awe. Silence permeated the air as Sunset tried to get the right words out from her crossfaded brain haze to properly tell Tanaka what she was thinking. After nearly a minute, she finally figured out what to say, telling him in a clear, totally-coherent manner:
"Aaaah youresocool…"

08/05/2018

"What! No fucking way did I say that!"
"It's true, you know. You can always ask them about it." Tanaka didn't grin, but with his tone he might as well have been. It was bad enough to be barrelling down Pennsylvania highways in the night with him, but to hear something as lame as that was just disgraceful.
Although Sunset didn't want to admit it, despite never traveling to the state herself, it felt relaxing to see these sights. Was it fair to America to call these numerous twisted highways, slightly surreal billboards, and worn-looking gas stations nested right by fast food restaurants capitalistic nightmares? Even if it was, it no longer felt like something new, and that was at least refreshing.
Maybe staying at someone else's place would be a good thing after all. She could get back on her feet, forget the past, and rebuild herself. Her parents lived on the other side of the country so that wouldn't be a worry. If worst really came to worst, her relatives back in England could always give her advice. Tanaka seemed to be less of a grouch than she remembered, so it could work out in the end.
"Whatever," she sighed. "I'd like to say hi to Vin but I doubt they still hang around New England. How long am I staying at your place anyway?"
"Two months, max. Thom's moving here by then, so I don't want anyone else —"
"Your boyfriend?"
"— around by that point, yes, he is."
"Hell yeah man. I'm sure the sex you'll have with total privacy will be awesome." Tanaka quickly shot her a glare before looking back at the road. "What? Isn't that true?"
"How much older am I than you? Seven years, eight?"
"Seven, what does that matter?"
"I personally feel weird about talking about sex stuff with someone that much younger than me."
Okay, geezer.
Was he always that stiff? Whatever, she still had to respect that boundary, even if she found it odd.
"Hey, do you have weed at your place?"
"Sure, but keep a lookout on the right for our next exit, okay? It'll be coming up in a bit and I need help knowing when to turn."

08/06/2018

Lightning struck in her head. A familiar hum spread throughout, flowing to the eyes and then every other part of the body. Intensified colors, mixing up languages for flowers and vice versa, and drifting through the world as if a dream herself; how could she forget this feeling?
"Ah shit, that's real good! I'm gonna explode, do you know how long it's been since I last got high? A month maybe," Sunset proclaimed. Her voice was fine, but her words felt as if they were shaking. The porch lights were tricking her into thinking she saw an idle thought of hers in the seat across. If it was this good now, how would she even process it in ten minutes? "Here." She started to pass the joint to Tanaka.
"Just finish your half first. I'll have the other then. I'm waiting on a call anyway." Her eyes went big (as big as they could be anwyay) at his amazing generosity.
"Oh man… thank you. I'll repay this debt somehow…" She giggled, not even trying to hide her tears as she took another hit.
This dude's BF is lucky as heck.
As the haze implanted itself in her brain, so did the euphoria.1 Of course, logically, it was the weed doing its job, especially being amplified by the month-long tolerance break. But she was still getting along with him fine enough, so she had to take the victories where she could. As she turned to look at Tanaka fiddling on his phone, she saw that he was already laughing to himself.
"H-heyyy, what's the big idea?"
"Nothing, nothing. I was warned by my friend that you were cold and hostile, but you still laugh and cry when you smoke weed like anyone else. I had my doubts when I met you a couple years ago but you seem fine. I'm guessing the HRT helped." He went back to paying attention to his phone. "If you need me to help get you any I can try my best."
"No no no no, I'm… I'm still a bitch! I just, you know. Weed. That's what weed does. What kind of friend says that sort of thing anyway, you corny loser you. Did your gayfriend make you softer?"
"Only to an extent." The phone started to buzz, and Tanaka got up from his seat. "I'll be right back, don't smoke all of it though." Tanaka went inside the house to take the call, which left Sunset to pleasantly twirl through her high.
She soaked in every last bit she could, the warm summer air feeling like a toasty blanket. It was an odd moment, almost cinema-esque in nature; away from the "comfort" of her old home, yet finally feeling freer than she had before. In fact, it was electrifying to think of her position in life at the moment as walking on that balance of fiction and reality. If she could fall asleep like this it'd be even perfect, but she'd have to wait for that another day.
Maybe I should tweet a thing.
Sunset dug out her phone while taking another hit, fumbling around with getting to the right app. Thankfully, she had auto-correct and capitalization on, or else it would have taken whole minutes to type out something extraordinarily simple.

btstu @haibanemistake

When you finally smoke after a whole month and shit 😳🐍🌳

Retweets 0
Likes 3

12:17AM - 06 August 2018

"Hey, sorry, I'm back."
"Hiiii. Who was it?"
"Lain."
Sunset had no idea how to respond. Truthfully, she wasn't sure if she should; it's not like this still had to be awkward for her, but she couldn't help but make it awkward. If anything, she just didn't have the authority to say anything good or bad about Lain. She still felt guilty about the relationship, and she didn't want to make Lain's feelings any worse, even if she wasn't around.
"She still goes by that name? Wild."
Please just. Learn when to shut your mouth.
"You still go by Sunset? Anyway, these plans weren't finalized until right now, but Lain has to stay with me for some time. Similar situation to you. I don't know how long she'll stay. I heard from her that you two used to be in a relationship, so I hope it's fine."
What?
"What?"
Tanaka sighed, taking the joint from Sunset. "Life doesn't work out the way you want it to, even in the best of times. Get used to adulthood."
The words stung, but not as much as the thought of seeing Lain again. Did she still hate Sunset? Did Sunset still hate her? How were they going to live in the same building? It'd be fine, they were both adults. He was right, stuff doesn't always go exactly how you think it does.
"Am I gonna be okay?" She looked up at Tanaka, who finished his first hit.
"I don't know, will you? Your reputation precedes you, so I'm sure you'll be fine. If either of you feel troubled by each other, just talk it out. Or if it gets bad, uh, tell me I guess."
Sunset closed her eyes. The patterns she saw swam around in the redness of the light, seemingly hopeful in nature. Even if not, as long as she could tell herself it'd be fine, it'd have to be fine. No one knew better about that than her.

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Footnotes
1. Must be a sativa then!


Two in the morning. Blackness rests in the sky. Skyscraper yellows blanket the edge of Lake Ontario. Streetlamps dot the deserted streets, only lighting the occasional car or vagrant. The populace has taken its leave; Toronto sleeps.
None of this matters in the middle of the Mount Hope Cemetery.
Karina Kimura struts past rows of tombstones, back turned to the skyscrapers and the wall of suburban homes that borders half the cemetery's perimeter. There's no streetlamps here — the incandescent ball of demon embers in her left palm is more than enough illumination for her. Visages of skulls swim in the flames while her fingers angle the light into a steady forward beam. Residual glows turn her yellow coat radiant.
By now she'd imagine herself a glaringly obvious intruder to anyone with half an eye. Someone had to have noticed her by now. Yet no one has approached. Either people are more intent on sleeping or the literal hellfire is scaring them off. Regardless, even if she was spotted she'd be prepared. With this, the coat, and the shovel in her right hand's grip, she's set.
It's all she's ever needed for grave robbing.
Karina halts at the tenth tombstone row. She raises the end of the shovel, shuts both eyes, and spins, letting the blade's momentum swing her in rapid, clockwise motions. Four revolutions and her eyes open, feet planting hard to the ground. The blade aims at a lone headstone. Not too weathered, not too new. She takes to her target.
The embers shine on the headstone's engravings.

Here lies Daryl Bérenger Dalton,
March 25th, 1901 — June 7th, 1973
in loving memory so on so on rest in peace blah blah blah

What the rest of it says is unimportant. Feeling sentimental about the dead is hard when the guy's probably having the time of his afterlife in his own personal Valhalla or equivalent spectral speakeasy. Dying sucks but death's nothing worth getting sad over. Nothing.
Pushing introspection to the side, Karina stands steady before the grave. The shovel handle lifts high.
She thrusts it down.
Spade meets dirt and the ground bursts. Sliding the blade back, Karina watches as a column of earth severs from the cemetery and floats into the air. She butts her shoulder against it, nudging it over, letting it thud adjacent to the grave. In a small hole under thin layers of soil lies the coffin, exposed. She leans over—
—and throws herself back as a dagger of fire explodes a foot off. She hits the grass. The embers in her palm fizzle out and the shovel drops.
Silently, the flames subside. Inch by inch steps forward a beast ripped from a Boschian hellscape. Wheels of legs flank the sides of a lion's head, tangles of bone extending from where the neck belongs, mane burning scarlet. Concentric circles of a thousand eyes ring the mouth and blink in sequence. They shine with the red afterglow of the incinerated damned. They stare.
The gaze pierces Karina's soul like a lance. By now the futility of the situation is clear. There is no quick route out, no means of escape. As the beast widens its maw she knows her fate is sealed.
"Greetings! I am Lesser Count Unterbuer of the Toronto Demon Council."
It isn't an unfamiliar fate, though.
This isn't her first lecture from a tartarean charity worker.
"I assume this is… Not your first time desecrating a burial site," Unterbuer continues.
"Robbing. Not desecrating." Karina pushes herself up, dusts off her coat, and grabs the shovel. "Big difference."
Heading back to the grave, she hits a wall — an arcane barrier patterned like muscle tissue, translucent and blocking her off from the hole and coffin. A sidestep and it shifts to resume obstruction.
"Regardless of what difference you see, you're still damaging a grave site."
She circles the hole, watching the barrier move with each new step. "I'm going to put the dirt back."
"But you are planning to take from the coffin, correct?"
"Yes."
"Which is going to be…?" he asks.
"The corpse."
The beasts frowns. His legwheels revolve and wheel him over to face Karina again. "Beyond this cemetery being under Council maintenance and protection, do I really need to explain why it is wrong to steal a dead body from a grave?"
She pivots to stare into the hole. "Nope, because it doesn't matter. Taking this doesn't change whatever afterlife the dead dude's in, and that's gonna be a bigger deal than what happens down here. They won't care… Well, most of them…"
Half of a ring of eyes squints. "Most of them?"
"Well most of them wouldn't, but that's—"
"Most?"
Karina's voice falters. "Nothing. Personal stuff. But Daryl here?" She points her thumb to the gravestone. "Guarantee he won't care."
"But if they are bound to the body?"
"I'd know if he was. He isn't."
Directing eye contact to him, Karina carefully pushes the shovel into the ground, inch by inch creeping the blade under the barrier.
"I see. And what is it that you intend to do with the body?"
"Dunno."
"You don't know?"
A shrug.
"You really don't know why you'd steal a corpse?"
"Sell it. I think."
Unterbuer wheels closer.
"Let me be clear: I know you're lying."
Hot breath rushes across Karina's shoulder. The scent of ash sticks to her coat, deep reds and humanoid shadows swirling in the abyss of the mouth. If he's aiming for intimidation it isn't going cut it — the Council wouldn't let a worker attack, especially with the preexisting trust issues of being a charity staffed by reformed demons.
Karina holds eye contact. "I'm not."
A dozen hoofed toes point. "The Necromantic Oath is scrawled on your spade."
Just above the gold trim on the shovel's blade the lines of the Oath loop around. Next to the opening pledge lies the Oath's chief vow:

I WILL NOT DISTURB THOSE SPIRITS WHO WISH FOR REST.

"And I've adhered to it. I don't draw the spirits back into the bodies, I only give the slight spark needed for a new mind. Less revival and more… Less-dead-ing."
The lion's head swivels on the bone marrow axis running through it and the wheels, a crude approximation of a nod. A slow, judging nod. "And you doing this why?"
"Practicing to… Again, personal stuff." This is starting to probe far too deep. An opening for corpse nabbing has to enter soon.
Repeating the 'nod,' Unterbuer reverses, positioning his body aside the gravestone. From the mouth stretches a skeletal limb, bearing a chain laced in hundreds of miniature, ethereal human faces. A second limb sprouts from the back of the palm and taps one of the faces, flicking a duplicate of it from the chain onto the gravestone. The arms retract.
"I believe it would now be good to speak to the owner of this grave and see what their thoughts are."
FUCK.
Light erupts and ectoplasm flares. A bright hole rips over the grave, kicks the ghost of Daryl Bérenger Dalton into reality, and slams shut. Dalton zips to Karina faster than she can register his entrance.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO MY CORPSE." His voice buzzes with harsh white noise. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING."
"Stealing," Karina blurts.
"STEALING."
Dalton's pupils are twin laser beams on her body. His hand chokes her throat and hoists her several feet into the air, teeth bared and form rippling with blinding aetheric intensity.
"YOU THINK YOU CAN STEAL FROM ME? YOU THINK YOU CAN STEAL MY CORPSE? I'VE HAUNTED PEOPLE FOR FAR LESS. I CAN TRACK YOU DOWN. I CAN FOLLOW YOUR EVERY WAKING MOVE. I CAN REACH INTO YOUR HEAD AND PINCH YOUR NERVES SO YOU CAN NEVER FEEL COMFORT, SO YOU CAN ALWAYS SEE THE SHADOWS IN YOUR SKULL—"
"DALTON!"
Karina falls. She thuds against the dirt, picking herself up, gasping for any motes of air, taking in as much of the night's chill as possible. Looking in the direction of Unterbuer, she spots Dalton wrapped in a barrier like the one blocking her from the hole. They argue:
"…No, under no circumstances can I let you do that."
"MY BODY HAS HIGHLY IMPORTANT VALUABLES. I DESERVE TO PUNISH THIEVES OF THOSE HOW I WANT."
"Allowing you to injure anyone would go against pact I signed for the Council. This cemetery is my responsibility."
"AND MY BODY WON'T BE IN YOUR CEMETERY FOR MUCH LONGER IF YOU LET HER DO THIS."
"Look—"
"THIS IS WHY YOU DON'T LET A DEMON DO A WRAITH'S JOB…"
He hasn't stopped shouting. Chances are he won't stop shouting any time soon.
Time to move.

"I WAS HAVING THE TIME OF MY AFTERLIFE HUNTING SOULCUTTERS. YOU RIPPED ME OUT AND WON'T LET ME HANDLE MATTERS?"
"I was until you—"
Dirt jets from the gravesite. A streak of yellow launches under the barrier, cracking the casket wide open with a swing of the spade. Unterbuer psychically punches the barrier into the hole but the streak dodges, jutting skywards. When his eyes refocus all that's there is a yellow coat, suspended in the breeze. A sudden gust drags it off. He looks to the hole.
Daryl Bérenger Dalton's body is gone.
A few seconds later the column of earth Karina pushed out gently lifts into the air, positions itself over the hole, and falls back in. Excess dirt spills into the seam lines the digging left, packing neatly into place. Like a grave robber was never there.
Unterbuer and Dalton are motionless. The barrier surrounding Dalton dissolves into translucent wires, flowing along invisible curves and inclines into the demon's eyes. Unterbuer glances between the ghost and the tombstone. Dalton hovers, silent.
"...I'M GOING TO FILE A COMPLAINT."
The bright hole reopens over the grave and Dalton shoots in, flipping a final obscene gesture at Unterbuer before one of many afterlives slams its gates shut.
Darkness returns to the Mount Hope Cemetery. Shaking his head, the once denizen of Old Hell remembers simpler times. Times where the only concern was who'd be summoning you, what occult obscurities you'd be asked to retrieve information on, whether you'd receive the promised sacrificial entrails or whether you'd need to seek them out yourself. It was grueling, yes, but it was routine. It was comforting.
The faint crunch of footsteps behind interrupts reminiscence. Fear strikes but subsides — his human disguise should be active now, he'll seem normal to any passerby.
"Hello?" He turns. "Who's there?"
BLAM.
The invisible bullet blasts through the disguise and blows Unterbuer's cranium into tenths. The legwheels spasm and twist their hooves into makeshift hands to scramble through the viscera, trying to glue the head back together with whatever blood's available. A single lobbed holy water grenade puts a stop to the matter.
The attacker wafts the smoke from their finger gun's barrel. Stashing the killing tool in a trenchcoat pocket, one of their other hands switches on a walkie-talkie.
"Protector's down for the count. …No, they aren't all here. One's been taken. …I only just got here, you really expect me to know what grave robber shithead… Mhm…"
They gaze at the city skyline. Not far off a yellow coat is whisked along by the breeze.
"No, other nine are fine. Think the knife's still… Alright. Understood. Over."
Click.
Snapping their fingers, nine spectral spades blink into existence, each poised above a grave. With a finger flick downwards the spades lance the earth. The topsoil explodes.
Toronto continues to sleep.

PREVIOUSLY: Post-Post-Mortem Delights
UP NEXT: The Necropolis Raiders


10/30/2014

Sunset got sick of being bored.

10/31/2014

It was too comfortable being a sophomore in high school1. Turning in homework when she was able to worked out smoothly. Studying only when she was actually stuck worked; she rarely needed the help. Every adult claiming she had that sweet, sweet natural intelligence was right, and she could coast on it even if she didn't act like a model student. It was then only natural for her life to peak as she awkwardly made out with her girlfriend Lain in a secret spot at a Halloween house party. (Said girl claimed to "want to try out being [a girl] for a while", which was bizarre wording, but that way of forming language was what initially drew Sunset to her.)
Hmm, not sappy enough…?
"H-Hey, sweetie," Sunset muttered as she moved her head back. "Making out here isn't the best idea. I want more privacy if we're going to kiss."
Please.
"…yeah." It was hard to notice at this point, but the dubstep music blaring throughout the house however long ago got more muffled. How long did they stay cramped in this closet? She only felt a little guilty that she was annoyed at Lain. "If you want, we can move to my car…"
"That'll be even less secret than here. Let's wait until after the party?"
"Mmhmm." With a bit of difficulty, Sunset started to untangle herself from Lain. "This will sound like a convenient excuse now that I'm bringing it up here instead of earlier, but the party feels stupidly draining."
"Yeah?" Sunset asked as she pushed the door open. For whatever reason, the music had been turned down even more since she last noticed.
"Yeah. My head hurts too. I can't afford to stay here for much more longer." Lain held onto Sunset's left arm as they walked around the house, a lot emptier than expected. "Maybe with all the quiet though…"
"It should be fine. Do you wanna go get something to eat while I find out what's going on? I know we don't know Ethan's house for dick, but…" Lain nodded and kissed Sunset. All she could muster for a response was a kiss on the forehead and a weak smile before wandering off. It'd be really shitty to form deeper connections with others if your presence didn't feel like a guarantee.
Nah. That's selfish talk.
She just needed to get away for a little bit, like always.
The few stragglers left in the house seemed to be other introverts, save for one couple watching something on a phone while holding onto each other. It didn't seem like anyone knew what was going on. There was no way she would be asking anyone still inside. She didn't want to bother the boys snuggling up, and she'd rather walk home than talk to a stranger.
Since the house was a dead-end, Sunset decided she might as well head back to the car and see if Lain had an extra joint2 stashed away. It was more for her benefit than Lain's, really, and at that point in the night, she really needed it. Lain wouldn't mind, since she agreed to be the designated driver tonight. Once Sunset could drive next year she'd pay it back.
Stepping through the exit closest to the car immediately worsened her nausea, with alcohol lingering in the air and a few schoolmates "sitting" on the porch. She wasn't high enough to tolerate the stench, so getting out of there was an immediate priority. Putting any negative physical feelings out of mind, she purposefully zoned out as best as she could all the way to the car.
What would her parents think if they were still a part of her life? 'How disappointing', 'why do you always have to hang out with such bad influences', etc.. Maybe say more derogatory things. Certainly would hate her new name. Whatever. It was England, free from them, and even if her body was found one day —
"Oh, Sunset!" Some girl she barely knew named Olivia grabbed her arm and pulled her out of daydreaming, drunkenly yelling in her ear. Sunset wished she could remember if England was the country where it's acceptable to call another girl a 'cunt', or if she was even allowed to say it. "Happy birthday!"
"Hey. If the wrong person sees that some teens are drinking alcohol, won't school crack down on shit more easily?"
"Weren't you going to —"
"Yeah, but it'll look like a cig to anyone it actually concerns, it's my birthday, and I feel sick."
"Truuuue. Where's Lain?" Olivia leaned too close into Sunset's space. She wasn't sure if she did that to people on purpose or if she was just that unaware.
"Inside, while I go to see why everyone left the party and get stoned. Alone. When I say sick, I mean 'throwing up' sick." The emphasis was enough to get Olivia to let go and back away, although she still trailed Sunset.
"Fiiine. When you've finished, everyone is behind the house waiting for an artsy magic show to start. I bet you would have a lot of fun watching it high!" Olivia waved and pranced off. Was Ethan rich enough to hire a performing act like that?
Probably, yeah, rich fuck.
Regardless, it was at least something to do. Lain would probably be overwhelmed by it tonight, but still wouldn't hurt to ask. She took out her phone and went to Skype. Texting wouldn't be fast or noticeable enough.

Three6serpent: Hey!
Duvet: hi!
Three6serpent: There's a magic art show behind the house. Wanna check it out with me?
Duvet: no… maybe later but for the moment im just gonna get some writing done.
Three6serpent: Sure. Take care horsie.
Duvet: you too snek! also dont smoke everything, ill need it when we get to my place.

Sunset fully became aware of her surroundings again when the show was winding down and people were leaving. She should have prepared better for the number of teenagers making a racket over a magic show; all the commotion overstimulated her when it was too late to do anything about it. Whenever she got back into the house, she'd have to ask Lain if she was stashing stronger stuff than she had expected, even if it was just one joint.
The magicians of the night were in the back by court walls, scrubbing off their graffiti and chatting among themselves. Sunset knew. She knew what she saw. They said it was a magic act, and that they pulled off some elaborate tricks in the name of art. Everyone else may have been too excited, drunk, stoned, or naive to figure it out, but she caught on, even if she didn't remember exactly what happened.
While she wasn't big into magic shows, she saw her fair share on late-night TV, unable to fall asleep. She understood how a fair number of tricks worked. Seeing the graffiti move throughout the wall on its own though… that wasn't magic. When it passed her row, it turned into something grotesque, something she could recall seeing before in dreams. That wasn't magic, that —
"Hhhk!"
She faced the stars now. Her legs refused to cooperate, and she couldn't help but giggle. It'd be a decent amount of minutes before her body acted like a sober one.
"Hey, are you alright?"
An angel?
No, just a person.
"Y-Yeah… Just coming down, sorry…" It was embarrassing to have to talk to others in this state, especially when she needed to confront those artists.
"No worries. Let's get you inside, alright?" The concerned individual lifted her up and gently dragged her towards the house. This wasn't what she was going for, she had to confront all of them, dammit.
"I'm fine, I was just, uh, hoping to talk to you all?"
"Oh?" The somebody bringing her back didn't even pretend to treat the conversation like a serious one. Infuriating.
"What's your n… name, again?"
"Uh, Vin."
"Good. I'm Sunset. Vin, um, do you, please stop. I just wanna ask." Vin kept walking to the house. Sunset feebly tried to punch them in the back, which prompted a sigh.
"Okay." They stopped and carefully sat down with Sunset on the porch. "We'll take a few minutes to breathe out here. What did you want?"
"The show…"
"Oh, yeah. Did you enjoy it?"
"I did, I think. But that's not…" She didn't know how to word it. No matter how she said it, she would sound crazy or high, and making a scene would be the worst way to spend a birthday. Even on Halloween, it wasn't preferable. "I…"
"Take your time. I don't have too much time, but everyone else understands." Vin wasn't looking at anyone, but up at the porch lights. Come to think of it, they didn't make eye contact during the show either, so they probably had that kind of hardcore social anxiety.
Just like Lain.
"How did you all do the… the things?"
"A magician never —"
"That's… not magic." It fell silent, which which created a stronger urgency to say something to break it. She wasn't ready to look up at their face to see their reaction, if there was one. "I can do weird shit too. Like… people's dreams. I can enter them, and shit. See what their dreams are like. I saw my girlfriend's dreams one night. Took her um, two nights to believe me. I don't know everything about it, but it's fun. I just like, don't know who to talk to about it. I thought there wasn't anyone else like me. In a good way, but also a bad way too. Like, what's its fucking purpose, you know? I want a purpose too."
Fucking idiot, please stop.
"That art. I've seen it before in someone else's dream, and I dream about it like. Whenever I go too long without weed. I don't know what you guys do with your art. But I wanna hang. And see it some more. And see why you all do it. It wasn't magic. It was real."
School's gonna suck for you now, you know that?
There was more silence, but nothing left to ramble on about. Humiliating. No one would stay under the illusion that she was a perfect high school girl now.
"Maybe I shouldn't believe you like this, but I do, I think." Sunset managed to glance at their face, and while they weren't looking back, she could tell that their expression was more relaxed. "I guess you caught us. Before you go, do you want to talk with everyone? To let you know a little in advance, we're part of an art group, if that would be too offputting."
It should have been, but excitement became the only emotion that took control. Whatever seriousness in maintaining her outward personality was left began to gradually fade.

08/04/2018

Everything was still out of reach.
If it hadn't been out of her grasp already, then it would eventually slip away. All her real-life friends were gone. There were so many other people from Are We Cool Yet who she didn't have the courage to face up to. Lain hadn't been in her life for years now, and there was no way she could rely on her for support.
"Tanaka. I'm taking a flight in a couple hours. I have some spare money to get gas for your car, it's whatever. Alright." Sunset hung up, leaving enough of a voicemail. She didn't want to resort to staying with someone she barely knew, but she no longer felt like she was able to stay in England. There was no way she'd be calling her parents; she would literally rather throw herself off of a bridge. That just left trusting an internet stranger.
Isaac Tanaka was in Are We Cool Yet as well, but she barely knew anything about him beyond music stuff. The singular one-on-one conversation they had was over a year ago, while she was too stoned and drunk to remember any of it. There was no way Tanaka would have trusted her enough to do this if one of Vin's friends didn't vouch for her. One of these days, she'd have to find out who did it and thank them.
"If they're worth thanking, I guess." It took Sunset a moment before she realized she spoke part of her internal monologue out loud.
Embarrassing.
While back in America, she'd have to learn how to behave. Hostilities were a no-go. She was fortunate enough to even have this chance, so no one else should be dragged down by her behavior. As best as she could manage anyway, figuring it out on the fly. It'd take some time, but she had another chance for a future anyhow.

All the anxiety took form at once, as she threw up in the plane's bathroom instead of sleeping.
Dumbass.

« The Ending of Dramamine | Dwindle, Dwindle »
Hub

Footnotes
1. Or wait, was it Year Eleven here instead?
2. No, are they spliffs?


Rhiannon Locke

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Anabasis Red Death
Start here
Eat more of my SCPs. Eat them all.
Also please eat some of these

Anabasis Hub Probably the greatest story involving a pair of redheaded siblings whose infighting causes the end of the world
Manna Charitable Foundation 2000 The sequel to the above, collaborationed with Dr Reach
The Stuff Industry What happens when everyone around you at work is a complete idiot and so are you, but not only does no one get fired, but you actually turn a profit? I don't know, some stuff.
When MCF and Stuff happen A fun story of incompetence

Jayise couldn't breathe, but found he didn't need to. Breathing only made the pain worse. It also made the red worse. He couldn't think about anything but the red. It looked like he was in a dust storm, but the dust was all red and pink.
"Mate, did you breathe? You've got to breathe."
It was Marvin Ren's voice, coming from his phone, despite the fact his phone was off. His phone was red.
"I know you think you don't need to but you've got to breathe. Breathe."
Somehow he could see Marvin, with his absurd little mustache and goatee and the thick rimmed glasses. He was standing on his field of sheep, on top of the smooth rock he could use to look over the entire flock. The dogs were with him, but they were red. The sheep were gone. They were also red.
"Breathe…"
Jayise didn't see his mouth moving. He realized he wasn't actually looking at Marvin, but some kind of memory of him, all in red. He realized then he didn't know where he was, and then a stinging pain hit him. He didn't want to think about that. The pain stopped, but it was still red.
"us in…"
The voice was sounding more clear now. It wasn't coming from his phone. Jayise thought about his dad, and getting to him. The pain hit again so he stopped. He still wasn't breathing, but it didn't hurt. Breathing hurt.
"Slowly…"
He let slip a little suckle of air, and was immediately hit by burning red pain. So he stopped after that, and looked up ahead. The red stung his eyes; he wasn't supposed to look at anything. He wasn't supposed to think about anything either. But he could move.
So he moved. It was pleasant, like a nice breezy walk after a rest and a filling meal. It was the only thing that didn't hurt. But it was red. Marvin's voice started to fade as he began to walk. He tried to look up to see what was getting in his way but his eyes would sting again. He did see other people, other objects, but they weren't moving as lucidly as he was. It was like they stopped moving the moment he looked at them. The red punished him for that so he kept his gaze down and unfocused. The red gave him pain every time he thought about the images he was seeing; a car being flipped over, pain. A person in his face screaming, pain. People running, pain. People running from him, pain. Try to piece any of it together, pain.
At some point he realized the pain was fading, and the red was getting more red. Then he lost all sensation in his legs and faceplanted into the red. He was suffocating. Maybe he should've breathed.

Fats discovered too late that the information report had been misfiled, and not given over to her in the big bundle she had meticulously gone through for days. It was somewhat frustrating to discover that so much information that was either contradictory or completely missing from the files were present in the initial information report. It meant a single point of failure, should that report end up permanently lost. It also inexplicably meant that the information report was the only source for at least two supposedly verified sightings of Rhiannon Locke immediately following Key Biscayne.
It was all of three pages, neatly spaced and formatted on a computer, with no citations or reference material attached.

- August 3rd, 2005: Rhiannon Locke is witnessed on Brickell Key in the company of suspected drug trafficker known by the pseudonym "Huge Hugo". He appears to attempt to throw Ms. Locke into oncoming traffic, which she plays off as a joke. The two continue walking together for several blocks before exchanging a plastic suitcase with a red handle appearing to contain assorted fruits and vegetables. "Huge Hugo" departs and Ms. Locke is observed on her cell phone for several hours until daybreak.
- August 18th, 2005: Rhiannon Locke is briefly apprehended by police in the Overtown area on suspicion of public intoxication. Several transients are then observed converging on the officers, who order the transients to step away. The individuals maintain their distance while demanding Ms. Locke's release. The officers administer a field sobriety test which Ms. Locke fails, whereupon two of the transients physically accost the officers and lead them on a foot chase away from the scene. Ms. Locke leaves the scene before officers return.
- August 19th, 2005: Rhiannon Locke appears in the same area, apparently intoxicated, and approaches several individuals on the street. She is begging for spare change. One individual acquiesces, whereupon Ms. Locke asks the individual for help, claiming she is being held against her will and forcibly drugged by a group unknown. The individual attempts to call the police while Ms. Locke leaves the area, shouting obscenities at the individual.

All of this added up to… what? That she was a figurehead rather than a true leader of this supposed cult? Being kept against her will by them? Nothing she'd garnered from Priscilla Locke indicated Rhiannon was being victimized in any way.
Fats stared at the information report, her hands trembling as they always did. Without any further family or known associates, she would have to fall back on procedure and work her way from schoolmates, former co-workers, anyone around her with a name on file or a record. "Huge Hugo" had been killed at Key Biscayne, and only two individuals spotted with her had been positively identified by police so far.

- August 23rd, 2005, approx 7:30-8:30 p.m.: Rhiannon Locke is observed fishing beneath the Rickenbacker Causeway facing Key Biscayne along with a transient in possession of several road flares. Ms. Locke and the transient are observed speaking together for up to an hour before Ms. Locke departs and makes her way on foot across the Causeway towards the marina, where a crowd of protestors extends from the top of the Causeway to the marina and the nearby beach.
Approx 8:50 p.m. Ms. Locke arrives just as the protestors begin to impede traffic along the Causeway to prevent trucks carrying refugees from continuing on into Key Biscayne. Local "WestCiv" militia is also present to defend the convoy from protestors. Ms. Locke is observed meeting with five other individuals and exchanging information. The group remain inactive amongst the crowd for an hour.
10:02 p.m., the trucks begin to unload the refugees to proceed on foot in order to bypass the protestors' blockade. "WestCiv" militia provide additional cover for the police officers in attendance and begin physically engaging members of the protesting crowd. An incendiary weapon is launched from the crowd and strikes an officer. Within seconds, gunfire is exchanged between both the militia and unknown assailants within the crowd. The crowd itself quickly dissipates as panic spreads. Ms. Locke is witnessed dangerously close to the firefight consuming an unknown beverage.
10:13 p.m., Ms. Locke departs the area on foot. "WestCiv" militiamen fail to apprehend or otherwise question her presence, while police reinforcements arrive on the scene. The firefight dies down but gunfire is exchanged between the marina and the Causeway until 6:00 a.m.
Between 10:28 and 12:09 a.m., there is no further sighting of Rhiannon Locke. At 12:10 a.m., she is picked up by security cameras at the Vizcaya Metrorail station emerging from a northbound train. Note there is no Metrorail stop between Vizcaya and Key Biscayne, and the Metrorail does not service the Key Biscayne area. Therefore it is believed Rhiannon Locke departed from the Rickenbacker Causeway north, either to Brickell or the Downtown area.

Fats looked it over again, then turned towards her computer, laying out a map of the Miami area. Brickell was closer than Downtown, and closer still to Brickell Key. Had she gone to Brickell Key to meet someone there before heading back home?
She took out a red pen and squeezed on it, trying to steady her hand before slowly and carefully writing on a piece of paper she'd tape underneath the information report.

Subject Rhiannon Locke may have departed Key Biscayne for Brickell Key prior to Vizcaya station sighting, due to her prior meeting with "Huge Hugo" ten days earlier. This would also account for her arrival in a northbound train.

She sat back and looked over the report again. Based on what she learned from Priscilla Locke, she had more to fill in, and her hands were shaking too much to put it all down right away. She fiddled on the desk for her tape recorder.

The air at street level was stale and warm, almost disgustingly so for late December. Fats wasn't native to Miami so she made the mistake of putting on a light jacket expecting a cool breeze to come in from the bay. Instead she got stale city musk and a sulfuric hot garbage smell as she walked across Brickell Key.
Her inquiries around Brickell got her two names not listed anywhere in the police file: Roy Rush and "Malevolent" Mal Steiger. Despite the name, "Malevolent" Mal was shaking like a leaf as Fats questioned her outside the hotel, skin pale and stretched tight over her bones, impossible to tell if she was thirty, forty, or sixty.
"You're not in any trouble, you can relax" Fats said for possibly the fifth or sixth time as the taller woman leaned against a wall, squeezing her hands behind her back while her face alternated between going pale and blotchy pink.
"It's not that— I know, it's not— I'm not—" The woman was stammering, trying to look composed and avoiding eye contact, "I'm like, I can't be seen with you anyway."
"No one knows who I am. I'm not police, I'm nobody."
"It's not, it, it's not even about that, like… What've I got to tell you? Is it worth puttin' my ass out there?"
"You don't need to tell me anything drug-related. I already know 'Huge Hugo' and what he was involved in. I just want to know about Locke."
Mal fidgeted and shook her head, "Locke. That girl is a demon." She glared at Fats nodding in that condescending way. "I don't mean it cute or playing like she's a wild-ass fiend or a vicious asshole. I mean she's literally a demon."
"How so?"
"She's… got voices. She can talk in other voices. Each voice tells you to do somethin' different, and it's like… you do it."
"You mean she can change her voice?"
"No, I mean it's other voices. They all sound the same, but they're different voices. And you, and you can't ignore them. You don't— can't say no. It's like someone shouts 'Hey yo' at you, you turn your head to look. You just do it, you can't do otherwise."
Fats arched a brow at her, "Has she ever told you to do things, in one of her voices?"
Mal shook her head, then nodded, "Yes. No. She told me to keep my bed clean and my room locked. I tell her it ain't even my room, I coul— I can't afford a place like this. It's a hotel room."
"What happened, then?"
"Nothing. She didn't say anything else about it. I got spooked, I started locking my room, wash the bedsheets every so often. Makes me feel better."
"How many times did you see her in the hotel?"
"Sometimes once a week, sometimes not more than once every month or so. Last time was last summer."
"Was she with 'Huge Hugo' at the time?"
"Yeah. No— Yeah… He came by later and left with her."
"Did she mention where they were going? Where she was staying? Anyone she might be seeing?"
"She said she was gonna die that night. Then she smiled and left. I thought she was trying to sound tough, I didn't think anything of it."
"Did you see her after that?"
Mal smirked, then appeared to stiffen with fright, "On the news, yeah. Key Biscayne, the cult, everything like that."
Fats sighed softly, putting her hands in her pockets. She had promised not to broach the subject of drugs with her, but thus far it seemed to be the only subject that linked Rhiannon Locke with this fidgety woman.
"What was she doing when she visited? Buying, or, or selling?"
Mal shook her head and spoke slowly, carefully, "No. She and him were on some other business. Not drugs. This was before I heard about her cult. She wanted cars and trucks. She was talking about 'coordinating' and organizing people, evacuating."
"How many people?"
"All people. All the people. Entire city."
"Did she say where?"
"No. She just needed cars. And trucks. She said they don't even need to work."
Suddenly Mal pushed away from the wall and bolted. Fats furrowed her brow and watched in confusion as the woman went running. In her periphery she saw other people running, too. Then several loud pops sounded, like firecrackers. She looked around, and spotted a shirtless man in the street. He had a gun out, holding it dangerously close to his face, firing straight up into the air. From his gait, he looked to be intoxicated.
He noticed her then, and started to jog up to her. She brought a trembling hand to her belt and started to walk away, moving towards the brick pillars to provide some modicum of cover if he started firing. He noticed and dropped his gun, approaching her with his hands spread out at his sides. She didn't calm down but stopped and waited for him to approach. Once he was within a few feet, he stopped and looked at her. Before he could say anything he was tackled and slammed against a parked car trunk by three men all at once. They started savaging him with forearms and knees. Fats turned and ran.

For weeks, televisions all throughout the schoolgrounds of Site-804 were set to the news, headlines blaring about China. Average Dr. Marlowe hadn't followed the news coverage, figuring herself to be several steps ahead of them on intel. That was a mistake.
She spotted Kohn as she made her way to her office, and smiled, "Happy new year."
Kohn stared at her incredulously, then grabbed her by the arm like a child and pulled her wordlessly down the hall to the rec room, where heads were focused on the television mounted on the wall. She looked up with them, reading the headline, not seeming to understand for several long seconds.

MULTINATIONAL ORG "SCP" IN POSSESSION OF DEVICE CALLED "ANABASIS", QING OFFICIALS CLAIM ANABASIS IS RESPONSIBLE FOR BIO-WEAPON ATTACK.

SCP.
ANABASIS.
She would've liked to have died then and there on her feet.

The usual meeting room was full of boxes and half the lights had burnt out from overuse. No one had bothered trying to replace them or try to tidy up or clean everything. Everyone just seemed to be waiting.
Marlowe was in the room alone with Dr. Kohn. The man in the overalls, she didn't recognize him, sat in the back of the room on a computer. Kohn set down a binder in front of her and opened it, spreading out some of the contents and marking them in order to be read. She quickly scanned them.
"Congratulations, you're now in the know. Any questions you have, anything we've held back from you, is now open."
Marlowe looked through some of the files. Some of the pages were photocopies. They were reports about a Foundation site in China.
"We had an operation in China?"
"We had an operation in China, from '76 to '77. It was strictly monitored by the Qing, and their own anomalies department was constantly butting heads with us."
Marlowe flipped through some pages, finding photocopied pictures and reports detailing an anomalous find on-site in Guangdong province. The Qing had discovered an anomalous artifact that was ordered hidden away by order of the Tongzhi Emperor almost a hundred years before. Included were logs on the handling of the device and instructions on its usage. Despite the Tongzhi Emperor's order, Qing officials had been using it off and on up to the 1950s until a whistleblower alerted the Qing government as to its existence in the 70s. After two years of studying and testing on their own, they thought it important enough to bring to the attention of the Foundation. An arrangement was made in which Foundation personnel would be allowed on-site to study and conduct parallel investigations with the Qing. Details on the site and on procedures to be followed by Foundation personnel and their Qing counterparts. The arrangement was ended in 1982 and the anomalous device itself was destroyed four years later. What she couldn't find was any specific information on the anomaly itself. She then stopped, and started to read around it. There were protocols in place to keep the room on-site perpetually heated and sealed airtight. Personnel handling it had to use protective gloves after each experiment due to extreme cold.
Her nostrils flared and she grit her teeth, "They have an— They had an Anabasis."
"Yes."
"What happened to it?" She looked through some more pages, letters and documents in Chinese, hard translated, dating as far ahead as 1988 and 1990. Everything ended at 1990.
"They neutralized it. They said it was causing some residual effects on site personnel and the building itself. People were getting sick, coming down with neuro-degenerative diseases and the like. The building was also crumbling."
"So there's more than one Anabasis."
"As far as we know there was more than one."
She began to look through some of the experiment files. Kohn sat back in silence, waiting on her, as she skimmed through test after test and case after case. The similarities to some of their own testing in the school made it clear the Qing had had an Anabasis. Most of the reported neuro-degenerative symptoms were occurring mere months after use, some cases as early as 40 days. Her own group had had Anabasis for over six months and no one who had directly dealt with the device had so much as had a headache that a single aspirin couldn't help.
"What's missing here? What am I not getting?"
"Well, the bacteria, for one. They never encountered it."
"So we still don't know how they found out about our experiments."
Kohn shook his head, "Again, spies probably."
"Or, Occam's Razor, they did encounter the bacteria in their own experiments and either buried the information or are lying to us." She looked up at him, expecting some affirmation. He was unfazed, and shook his head again.
"Everything the Jinyiwei know or have about their own Anabasis is there. They swear they haven't held anything back. There's information in there that could compromise tons of Qing assets, even as far afield as South and Central America. If there's anything they didn't include, it's because they don't know about it."
She stopped, and began to look through the pages she'd read again. She had missed another telling detail; nothing was censored. Nothing was blacked out or redacted. Full names were given. The exact location of the Chinese site was there. The names of Jinyiwei agents assigned to the site or associated with the Foundation at the time.
"This is insane. There's no way they'd give us everything. This is… What?"
"They think it's that serious. Some in the Jinyiwei think their whole country is about to be destroyed, maybe the whole world. Even if they're exaggerating, handing all this over to us gives them some leverage with the Qing court: 'Proscribe us and we leak every scrap of classified information we've got'."
She furrowed her brow and looked though a different stack of documents. These were more recent, and described an agent Shi Mingxia. She had been involved in investigating bacterial residue in dirty bombs used recently in Laos. The implication from all the reports were that it was the same bacterium they had encountered with the Anabasis.
"There's no way they didn't bring this bacteria out themselves. There's reports of it being used before we ever discovered our own Anabasis."
"That's not what the Jinyiwei say, and the Qing aren't likely to believe us."
She sat back in her chair and threw up her hands, "Then… What? They want our help, but they say we're lying about the source of the bacterium? Do they think we gave it to the government to sell to Laotian rebels as a bio-weapon?"
"Wouldn't be the first time."
She blinked at him, and arched a brow. Kohn sighed and got up from his chair, smiling somberly, "Welcome to the big time, Doctor Marlowe. Now come on, they're waiting for us downstairs. We've got to discuss evac plans for the coming months."

Fats stepped into the Metro Mover, a stunted metro train car put on a short loop around Downtown, and rode the loop all the way around, watching and taking note of her surroundings. It gave her a decent overview of the streets. If Rhiannon Locke hadn't taken the Metro Mover that night, then Fats would at least be able to determine where she might've walked, how far from what street to what avenue, how long it might've taken her. Piecing together a timeline post-Key Biscayne was her priority, but if Locke had been spending months roaming around the Downtown and Brickell neighborhoods leading up to it, it would muddle the memories of witnesses. If Rhiannon Locke was spotted skipping along East Flagler Street two days after Key Biscayne, that would be new and crucial information. If Rhiannon Locke had skipped along East Flagler Street several times a week for six or seven months leading up to Key Biscayne, suddenly a witness might not be so sure it was before or after Key Biscayne that they'd seen her.
She stepped off at Government Center and made her way out into the streets again, looking down at her phone and heading north, away from the more densely packed downtown area and going towards a ramshackle grocery on a corner, nestled between two vacant lots. Her man was sitting on a bench outside; an overweight black man wearing a tight black shirt and loose jeans, dark sunglasses, and a plain white cap.
"Hey lil' mama." He grinned to her as she came closer to him, hands clasped together over his belly.
"Roy Rush?"
"You found me," He scooted on the bench, leaving a very narrow space for her to sit, "Sit down, let's talk."
She remained standing, "I've got some questions about Rhiannon Locke."
He shrugged, "I don't know her. I seen her around but I don't know her."
"I hear different."
"What you hear?" He leaned forward a bit, resting elbows on his knees.
"I hear you spoke with her a little before Key Biscayne. I also hear you've seen her around afterwards."
He shrugged again, "I'm just a hard working, working class gentleman, I don't get involved in that shit."
"What shit?"
"Guns. Drugs. Sex. Now, I mean, a fine young lady like yourself comes up to me sure I'll talk a bit, get to know her. But that wild orgy shit? Nuh uh."
"Orgies?" She shifted her stance a bit, trying not to let the tape recorder in her pocket bulge too prominently.
"Yeah, orgies."
"Was she involved in orgies?"
"Shit, I don't know. This ain't a fuckin'… godly neighborhood or anything, but once Rhiannon started comin' around here, you'd hear about these… fuckin' orgies. Sex, drugs, violence. They'd be, like… pretending to kill each other in there."
"Pretending? You sure?"
"Motherfuckers would go all around buyin' fuckin' pigs blood everywhere they could and dumpin' it on theyselves in the orgies. I ain't ever been but I hear people talk, and I seen the places afterwards, like fuckin' crime scenes with no bodies."
"What went on, specifically?"
He sighed and leaned back on the bench, no longer comfortable having her around but looking relieved to at least be telling someone about it, "They pick houses, or hotel rooms, or construction sites. They lay out mattresses and bedsheets and bring all they people around, you know, start kissin' and fuckin'. Then they start dancin' around, with knives. They put the blood in doggie bags and put them up against people's throats, then slice open the bags like they cuttin' throats, and the people fall and play dead. They keep doin' this until everybody's dead. Everybody 'cept her."
"Rhiannon Locke? She's there? What's she do?"
"She just sits there, in the middle. She ain't ever move, she ain't ever talk, she ain't even watchin' what's goin' on. She just… sits there. When it's all done, she gets up and leaves. Then everybody clears out. Sometimes they clean up after themselves, but they don' give a shit if they in a construction site or an empty lot. They just leave it there. Cops show up, everybody freaks out till they test the blood and find out it's pig's blood."
"People you know have told you that?"
"Shit, I almost saw it myself one time. She was walkin' out of this lot like nothin' was wrong with the world," He leaned himself forward and looked over at the end of the grocery store, gesticulating at the empty lot beside it, "Right there. Everyone else looked dead, I was fittin' to call the cops, but then they all got up and started leavin'. All they left behind was the blood, the mattresses, and the doggie bags."
"Have they stopped?"
"I don't know. Last I heard, there was a big one down in Brickell right after them refugees got shot up in Key Biscayne. Real big one, they said. Cops were busy so they went all out and drenched a whole house in blood."
"Could you give me the address, or tell me where, exactly?"
"What's all this about, lil' mama, you police?"
She pursed her lips and shook her head, "I'm looking for her, I'm a friend of her sister's. No one's seen her since Key Biscayne."
He shrugged and lay back in the bench, "I don't mean to be rude or nothin' but by now she's probably dead."
"Why do you say that?"
"Well shit, you come around here settin' up blood orgies all around town, people are gonna notice. And some people might not just sit around and let it happen with no consequences, you know?"
"Someone might've killed her, you think?"
"Like I said, I ain't in any of that business, but believe me, someone comes around actin' wild, shittin' up the neighborhood with fuckin' satanic orgy shit, then they ain't ever seen again? They dead. They are dead."

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Anabasis Hub


The slightly-chubby man wearing a jumpsuit and a large utility belt threw the twenty-fourth copy of his mother's day letter away into the trash can. He just couldn't write anything meaningful. He thought and thought until he resigned to staring at the mold-stained roof of his containment cell.
SCP-507 had been kept in this very cell for ten years, seven months, nine days, and about six hours but he couldn't tell exactly. The clock never worked. He had occasionally seen the clock hands suddenly move by themselves but none of the scientists ever told him why that was or even what anomalies were contained near him. All he knew was that mold grew very quickly on the ceiling, something made thumping noises in the cell on his left every Friday, and that a lot of old books kept being taken out of the cell on his right. Where the books came from was beyond him. Maybe it was some strange old philosopher that can summon magical artifacts, but if you dare sneeze he starts attacking you with tentacles. 507 couldn't remember whether he met that on a shift or saw it in one of his nightmares. What's the difference really?
Suddenly, 507 had an idea. He grabbed his yellow notepad and began to write. “Dear mom, I know it's ben a whi-” The pencil, paper, and man all disappeared in an instant, leaving no sign beyond the messy bed and overflowing wastebasket that anyone had inhabited the cell.

108-1 paced the floor of her containment cell as she had since '09. She wondered if she would eventually die in this cell. She wondered what strange “anomaly” would replace her if that happened. She still didn't know why they had to call her that. All she did was try one stupid magic trick for a party and ended up bringing a fucking Third Reich bunker into her nasal cavity. Magic's weird sometimes.
“SCP-108, you've got a letter from someone named ‘Tina Halloway'. Claims to be your kid. Site Director already cleared it.” 108 bolted towards the door of her cramped cell and eagerly grabbed her letter, being careful not to tear it. Once the boring guard left, she began to read.
“Dear Mom, I know I haven't written since you got in prison. I'm sorry. Don't worry about me, I've been doing fine. On the back's a picture of your new grandson. Happy Mother's Day. –Tina”
The formerly sad woman tried to hold back a tear but couldn't. She sniffled with joy so hard a Lego-sized plane engine fell to the floor of her cell, ready to stab the toes of the janitorial staff.

Shirley sat in a huddle with her small group of survivors, all former members of Section 320, who were now hiding in a locker room. A few guards stood watch, armed with two guns that they had stolen. After this many repeats, Shirley knew exactly how many weapons there were and knew if one of the other powerful groups showed up, like the Faith-keepers, they didn't stand a chance this loop.
Shirley reached into her wallet and pulled out a photo of her family. She put a gentle finger on Dave's face, then began to quietly sob. After this many loops, it must be about Mother's Day, but her kids don't even know what's happening to her, being trapped in some cyclical basketball game hell. She thought once more about the inevitability of it all and cried loudly, not caring if anyone heard her. Death wouldn't last long here anyways.

“D-75505, repeat that one more time.”
“I'm telling you doc, there's a giant Valentine's Day heart here. Please don't tell me this thing sent me back to February or something.”
“D-75505, wait right there and don't touch anything. Don't take a single step. I need to consult another researcher as to why SCP-2739 has a new exhibit.”
D-75505 hated this new gig. At first he'd thought it would be great; no more prison sentence if he spends one month being a guinea pig and doing tests. That was what he thought until he saw his former prison bunkmate get eaten alive by some man-eating african tree. Since then D-75505 had almost died four times in less than two weeks and everyone called him by some hard-to-remember number instead of his name. Today though… Today was special.
He had been chosen to explore some art exhibit SCP, and been woken up at 4:30 in the morning just for this job. Unfortunately, the guard was loud and his bunkmates were pissed that they were woken up so early. If he made it back, he probably wouldn't be well-liked. He then had to sit in a hot vehicle with tinted windows for two hours and then get dragged into some nearly-condemned apartment building, just to check out some “spatial building anomaly”. Strange name for an apartment with an impossibly big art museum on the inside, filled with various things about a drug and abuse-filled sob story he had already heard the likes of a hundred times in prison.
He decided to look more closely at the immaculately-clean five-foot-tall heart. An old picture of some lady with a kid was placed above a plaque. “To Ira. Your mom missed you and still misses you, wherever you are now.” Lame. D-75505 took out a smuggled cigarette and decided to take a smoke break while waiting for Dr. What-his-face to be loud and nosy again. Only 19 days left of this stupid job…

Junior Researcher Thomas Melville stood facing the containment chamber taking notes, trying not to lose his meager breakfast. He first started having this problem back in med school, and had hidden it well enough until he joined Site-71 two weeks ago. The problem was that even in med school, he never had to observe a man with a gallbladder for skin for ten minutes straight. Tom closed his eyes, counted to ten, and finished his daily morning report for May 12th. He then turned around and walked down the hall to Senior Researcher Mane's office to cross the next thing off his morning list.
“You wanted to see me, sir?”
“Yes. You are part of Four Thirty-Nine's research team, are you not?” The elderly man shuffled a packet on his wide desk while waiting for a response.
“That is correct,” Tom replied, trying not to remember what happened to D-439-127 last week in a weak attempt to appease his fighting stomach.
“Then explain what SCP-439 is. Quickly.”
“SCP-439 is the designation for an anomalous subspecies of earwig that find lonely, reclusive people and turn their skeletons into hives. Our site has five queens in containment, which is probably five too many,” Tom hastily replied, worrying situations playing out in his brain.
“Well done. Just making sure you know your stuff, kid. Now let's visit queen number three's containment chamber, shall we? Also, no more jokes.”
The junior researcher followed along, nervously adjusting his glasses and trying to breathe calmly. After what felt like an eternity, they entered an observation chamber.
“Everyone quiet down. We have observed unusual behavior from this particular hive. Specifically, all the workers are bringing the queen an unusual amount of food, and the hive is starting to grow.” Head Researcher Camp gestured towards the large hive sitting in the dark chamber, hundreds of earwigs crawling over its surface. “We will preemptively terminate this hive and begin the dissection in twenty minutes, but do any of you have some potential reasons for their behavior before we start?”
This question was obviously directed towards the three junior researchers, but he couldn't think of anything. Still, he spoke. “Maybe it's a mother's day gift?” The others stifled their laughter quickly and the glare from Camp said one thing. Tom still had a lot to learn about Site-71.

“So what you're telling me,” the strange alien creature gurgled as if drunk. “Is that you have an entire day dedicated to mothers?”
“Yes,” Agent Kuller curtly replied before looking at her watch. She only had nine and a half minutes left of her shift with this annoying thing before her lunch break. Her lunch break was the only time she could truly relax at this godforsaken site.
“Why wasn't I told this sooner?!” SCP-2020 quickly reached for its pencil once more and began to think of more stories. “I must write about this holiday at once! What about a poem dedicated to all earth mothers?”
Agent Kuller attempted to speak before 2020 dismissed the issue itself. “No, that would be too long and cliché. What about a story just about your mother, Agent Cooler?”
“It's Kuller and I think that would be a great stor-“
“No, I apologize. I could never write effectively about your mother, and I don't have one myself which creates a problem… I know! I'll write a story about a young lizard lying to its mother but he becomes sad. Do you think that sounds good, Agent Coral?”
“I think it sounds wonderful. Also, my name is Agent Kuller,” she replied through gritted teeth trying not to think of ways to kill an anomalous extraterrestrial.
“Thank you for your input but I just don't think it would be any good, you know? Maybe I could write a story about a human child who-”
Agent Kuller closed her eyes, plugged her ears, and desperately hoped for her lunch break to come soon. She wasn't paid enough for this kind of crap.


"Audio Log of Ashley May, 12th of April 2020"
"The higher-ups have finally given me my chance and now I'm in charge of researching one of their new voodoo contrap- uh… 'anomalous items'."
"What they've told me in short is that it's some oven that has cookies appear in it whenever they bring a glass of milk into the room. Why the fuck did they bring in a glass of milk in the first place?. Anyways uh… yeah after that if you dunk the cookies in the milk- again why was that their first instinct with all the health and safety we gotta go through here? Sorry, I'm getting side-tracked. But yeah if you eat some milk-dunked cookies you fall asleep a little while after and you wake up in a dream. There's just some old lady there who we don't think is a threat… hopefully. They say that stuff we hold when we sleep comes with us into the dream so a notepad should do for taking research notes while people are in there"
"I was fine with all of the wacky shit going on here but of course they had to give me fucking Jameson as my agent to send into the dreams. I feel bad for that poor old lady, she's gonna be dealing with his whiney ass for God knows how long now"

Todd Jameson looked his new boss in the eyes and then down at the glass of milk she told him to carry into the room.
"Let me get this again, its just some old fuckin' granny?"
"Yes, Todd. Its an old granny"
"I've spent sixteen years working as an agent for this damn Foundation." He mumbled. "I've seen portals to another world, tools which a single man could use to destroy a city in minutes, monsters I thought could only exist in nightmares. When they told me I was gettin' moved I thought it was gonna be something which puts that experience to the fucking test." He said louder and angrier. "Then they bring me here where my job is nothing more than eating cookies and drinkin' damn milk."
Ashley sighed to herself, but didn't respond in any way about how she'd been vying for this position for many, many years too. She knew that Todd would just be an ass no matter what she said.
"Just do as I've said, site command wants some notes from you looked over and filed by the end of the day and I'm really not looking to piss them off on my first day."
Todd let out a grunt, but still turned the handle and walked into the room. Straight away an oven lit up and let out a sharp ping. Todd closed the door behind him. Looking around in what was quite frankly a pretty claustrophobic room, there was an oven with a notepad, a pencil and oven mitts on top. To his right was a bed that made him envy the D-class holding cells. That shit's gonna feel like a rock to sleep on, I can just tell. There was no point in wasting time, so despite it making him look like a 50s housewife, he put on the mitts and pulled out a tray of cookies from the oven. A wave of heat threw itself onto him as he brought the tray from the fiery maw to the top of the oven. He closed the door and the oven turned off. Whoever this old bag was, they at least had the courtesy to put actual chocolate chips into their cookies rather than raisins.
"Here goes nothing" Todd groaned aloud.
He submerged the cookie halfway into the milk. No time was wasted and a bite was taken moments after. The cookie was soft but just a tiny bit chewy, the perfect warmth that allowed the chocolate chips to melt in the mouth and form small cocoa craters for the taste buds to revel in. The milk helped to counter any bitterness that the chocolate could give, and moistened the cookie to make the mouth feel like its in heaven for just those few seconds. They're alright I guess, he thought. For the next minute or so, Todd kept looking down at his watch… just waiting… and waiting… for the tiredness to kick in. Impatiently, he decided to go lay on the bed in the hopes that it would speed things up. Fuck… it did feel like a rock. Todd closed his eyes, and tried his best to get through this bullshit.
No use! He opened his eyes again and went to go tell Ashley that 'her cookies didn't do jack shit'. But very faintly he could hear something. Someone was humming. It definitely wasn't Ashley, her voice was way more squeaky and obnoxious than this voice. Wait a sec. This is the dream… isn't it?. At the oven, holding the tray Todd had just eaten from, was the "old granny" he was meant to talk to.
"Oh hello dearie!" She said turning around to face Todd sitting up on the bed. "Two visitors in the same week, I must be famous!"
"Uh huh. Listen can I just ask you some questions so I can call it a day?" Todd sighed impatiently.
"Oh yes of course go ahead sweetie. Cookie?" She offered, holding the tray to him.
"No thanks, I uh- don't like cookies all that much."
"Are you sure? I've never heard of someone who would turn down a cookie."
"Really, I'll pass."
"If you insist. I'll leave the tray here in case you change your mind, eh?" She puts the tray back onto the oven.
"Firstly- lets see here… uh." Todd skimmed through the things Ashley wanted him to find out. "Can I get your name?"
"It's Doris, Doris Gardener. But please, call me Nana." She smiled. "And you are?"
"Todd. Todd Jameson". "Well… Nana" He said reluctantly, "what year were you born?"
"Ooo let's see here. A long time ago I can tell you that." She laughed to herself. "Ninteen- uh… forty three? Yeah that's it!"
Todd jotted down the year and read the next question. "If you're able to remember, how did you end up being in this.. how do i put it? Dream? And how did you end up connected with this oven?"
Nana looked down solemnly with a distant stare in her eyes. "I'm not sure when I stopped being real, I stopped keeping track of time many years ago. Before I ended up like this, I remember that my grandson, Roy would love to visit me all the time. He loved those cookies and always had them with a nice glass of milk. I baked them for him every time. After a while though-". Nana stopped and took a deep breath. Todd raised an eyebrow but kept listening. "After a while he just… stopped coming." There was now a thin coating of water on her eyes, glistening with the light hanging from the ceiling. "I don't know if it was something I did. Or if maybe he just got bored of me. After that though, I was alone. So… so long I was alone."
Something in Todd's attitude changed. The bored blank face and rolling eyes stopped. His mouth opened just a little and his eyes widened as he looked back up to her. His face was half in shock, half in sorrow.
"O-oh I'm sorry to hear that. Would you mind elaborating further?" Instead of being a grunt or a snarl, his tone changed to more of that of a friend. No, he couldn't really be getting all sappy over this could he? This was the same man who'd seen portals to another world. The same man who'd seen tools which a single man could use to destroy a city in minutes. Monsters he only thought were in nightmares! He wasn't gonna let that all go over some sob story… right?
"Every day I baked a fresh batch of cookies… just in the hopes that one day he'd be back to enjoy them. But he never came, nobody did. I stayed in the house after then. Just me and my oven. Baking for nobody. That was until you people found me! I can't tell you how much having you here means to me dearie."
"Thank you, Nana" Todd said. This time he was happy to say the name. "That's all I needed to know."
"I'm glad I could be of some help" She said to him, the water in her eyes greater than before.
The notepad said that Todd was meant to just lay back down on the bed and he'll wake up in reality. He almost didn't want to read those words. "Wake up". Not like I wanna stay here or anything. I uh… hate doing this job. He said to himself, knowing it was a lie.
"I'll be going now." He took a pause to think and sharpley turned back to Nana. "Could I…" God this is embarrasing "have a cookie before I do?"
Nana smiled and handed him the tray. This time the cookie tasted a hundred times better. "Keep safe" she told him. "You… will be back yes?"
Todd smiled (something that nobody had known for him to do for a long time) and nodded to Nana, before laying back down.
He opened his eyes again. Nana was gone. He was back. Notepad in hand, he opened the door where Ashley was waiting for him.
"Finally! You're out" She sighed. "Listen I've got some good news for you and me; site command says they'll be happy to move you to another project that 'puts your experience to the test'."
Todd's chest tightened hearing that. "N-no I don't think. Uh. It would be uhm… detrimental to the project if somebody else took my position. I'll… I'll bear the brunt of this one I guess." He let out a nervous laugh towards the end.
Ashley smirked, knowing something had happened while he was in there. "Sure thing Todd, I'm sure this is your biggest challenge yet after all you've faced." She said in a patronising voice.
"Fuck off. Not like I wanna keep doing this!" Todd barked.
"You sure? I can get someone else to do it if you want." Ashley teased.
"I-" Todd had nothing to say. He grew red with embarrassment and Ashley laughed as she walked away.


The Creator had countless aspects, avatars, incarnations, and manifestations across all of the infinite layers of existence, innumerable layers of nonexistence, and the numberless layers of transcendent reality beyond the conceptual duality and distinction between existence and nonexistence.
In one of those layers of nonexistence, the one who would soon be known (in one incarnation) as SCP-343 comes into being. Or, more accurately, He wills the predominating aspect of his presence from non-being to being, from void to reality, yet still encompassing both.
Giving Himself the name of Yahweh (among many others), this manifestation of the Creator, after much thought and contemplation, has decided to create a universe.
He had it all planned out too: this universe would be a work of both science and art, producing unending complexity from pure simplicity. There would be an infinite fractal hierarchy of spacetime and mass-energy, of worlds within worlds without end, the worlds themselves generated by an almost unimaginable variety of physical forces, from cosmic inflation to a universal wavefunction.
For each level of spacetime, there would be a number of planes: physical, mental, spiritual, and conceptual. These planes would intersect, interpenetrate, and interact with each other, allowing profundity and meaning to take root in the network of worlds that make up the cosmos.
There would also be an endless strata of cosmic laws, natural, spiritual, and otherwise, from the (relatively) local and environmental, to the fundamental and all-encompassing, all unified under a single superforce, a single source, a single law, a single mathematical equation, the Theory of Everything if you will. These would bring order and form to the macrocosm.
The possibilities would be as endless as time itself, and as both unfolded, the dance of celestial bodies and fundamental particles, the harmonious music of the spheres, would reveal a beauty that would bring one to ecstasy, were one to see the full extent of it.
Best of all would be the advent of sapient beings, who would live and laugh and learn and love and struggle and grow. And He would grow with them, as He builds relationships with them, as He experiences them, as He walks with them and talks with them and aids them. And as He grew, as He understands sapient life more fully, He would (hopefully) understand Himself better.
All in all, a rather simple universe.
However, as He stirred up the waters of the deep, Jehovah sensed a hostile presence lying deep within. A presence that embodied the elements of the void that did not want creation to occur, that hated life, that loved death. An entity that was woken up, when all It wanted to do was sleep, and dream. An entity that would destroy whoever or whatever disturbed Its rest, and roused It from Its slumber.
As the entity leaped out of the void to face the one who irritated It so…
As the entity defined Itself by Its relationship to Allah…
As the entity defined Itself by Its will to kill Ahura Mazda…
The entity named Itself Satan, the Devil (among other names), and it was the very force of chaos, the very antithesis of creation itself.
And the battle began.
Fashioning a sword, a shield, a spear, and a bow and arrows out of the nothingness, Ishvara charged this new foe, raining down flaming arrows upon the attacker. But Leviathan, enormous in scale, simply shrugged them off, going for the head of Bahá. Zurvan nimbly dodged just as Ahriman attempted to shred Him with Its teeth, and returned with a strong thrust of His spear.
The spear proved more fruitful, as Iblis howled in pain, black ichor spilling profusely from the deep open wound It now sported. Wasting no time, the Father of Greatness shot another arrow into the laceration, and what was previously ineffective became devastating to the Prince of Darkness, and Kroni sank back, slowly converting Its pain into anger, Its anger into hatred, and Its hatred to bloodlust.
As Erlik's wound already began to heal, an exasperated Tengri implored It to stand down. In response, Amatsumikaboshi bellowed that It will never rest, will never surrender or stand down, until both Amenominakanushi and whatever bastard toy of a creation that He manages to vomit out are both destroyed.
And so the battle resumed, with Veles, newly invigorated by Its own hate, managing to get the upper hand against Deivos, weaponizing concepts and ideas against Rod, in an effort to obliterate him. His weapons shattered, His shield crumbled, Atum himself weathered away under the assault, and for an eternal moment, Amun-Ra went down, and Apep gloated about Its rapidly approaching victory.
But…
Just as Diabolos Protos was about to go for the finishing blow, all the possibilities of creation flashed through Autophyes's great mind. Possibilities that would be lost if He were to allow himself to be destoyed.
Possibilities that would never come to be in the first place.
All that life, that joy, that learning, that love, that growth.
Never to come to pass in the first place.
An it is with this insight that Olorun got up, filled with rage, empowered with rage, and deftly evaded what would have been Eshu's deathblow. Calling upon His newfround wrath, Chukwu prepared to destroy Ekwensu, who was taken aback by Chineke's newest surge of power.
And Perendi had just the trick to destroy Djall.
Cao Dai stood up, and made Himself shine, shine with the light of bliss and beatitude and lovingkindness and happiness and everything good that would come into the blessed universe that He would create.
The light illuminated the void, and consumed Kim Quang Su, having completely overcome It.
The light shone in the darkness, and the darkness understood it not.
With the battle ended, and Satan defeated, God set about, hovering over the waters.
And Elohim created; with the majesty of His voice and the power in his word, he created the universe.
But a small piece of Samael survived, and moved quickly, making sure to be unnoticed by Vishnu. As It stewed in its own hatred and malice, It vowed to corrupt, and then either conquer or obliterate the universe. Of course, Shiva would have to be overthrown too, and when the time came to strike, It would do so with pleasure.
It is with these thoughts that Areimanios diseased the universe in its totality, contaminating it on a physical, mental, spiritual, and even conceptual level, using the chaos to become more powerful by the day.
By the time Kyrios did notice, it was too late, and Heosphoros had already corrupted creation, seeding all sapient life with a bit of Satanic essence, bringing sin, evil, suffering, pain, sorrow, and death into the cosmos, even creating a host of monsters in the spaces between spaces, demons in the times between times, and horrid things that knew neither space nor time nor any form of cosmic law, to ruin the cosmos further.
Not wanting to destroy what he worked so meticulously to build, Yehowah instead decided to contain the abominations of the Devil, and formulated another plan, one to purge the plague that Helel ben Shahar had infected creation with, and either remove or destroy Lucifer Itself, once and for all.


Wrote this for the channel. Yet another in the vs. series. Hope you enjoy it. Also no the monster at the start doesn't exist on the wiki. Yet.
Also since I often forget to include what the title is a reference to it's the Rime of the Ancient Mariner.
Special thanks to Rura for the artwork accompanying the tale.

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F.A.Q.

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A dark hallway filled with monsters was all Jeffery Winters could see in front of him. He couldn't see the monsters themselves, of course, but he knew it was a safer bet to assume they were there. There was no going back, whatever SCP-173 had become was right behind him, scraping against the door Winters had just shut.
He took a small step forward, then another. The hallway was coming into focus now. The windows on his right overlooked an open air office space, with various cubicles in a small cluster. He could see overturned chairs, smashed desks, and a large trail of blood that went from one of the chairs out of sight under him. He fumbled with the control panel on the open door for the stair down into the office space but it didn't respond. He tapped it with his fist once and then turned away.
Behind him was a small storage closet, also with an open door. It looked like it was, perhaps, used for the various members of security for the site. There were maps of the site, gas masks, tactical vests, helmets, and flashlights. None of them were on shelves, instead they were precariously placed in a makeshift pile in the middle of the room. Then he stopped cataloguing the items in front of him and turned his head slightly. The stone on stone scraping of 173 had quieted.
He sighed with a slight smile. It wasn't enough for him to feel relaxed, given his circumstances, but it helped. He reached down and grabbed a vest and helmet and put them on over his orange jumpsuit. He clipped a gas mask to his side, put a map into his pocket, and reached for a flashlight as he heard a scream cut short just below him. A whimpering noise followed, along with the sound of crunching and slurping. Then another scream began and ended almost as quickly.
Jeffery had been making more noise than he should've. It sounded like there had been people alive downstairs after all. Hiding, he suspected. Whatever they were hiding from had probably heard him rummaging through the storage closet and oh shit he needed to move. He put the flashlight into his pocket and left the closet just in time to see a lumbering creature on three knife thin legs begin to emerge from the stairs that led up from the office.
The creature's three legs terminated about halfway up in a squat grey carapace shaped a bit like a turtle's shell. The front and back of the shell sloped up, with the front a bit more steep than the back. The underside he could see on its front had a vaguely human face smeared in red and gore. The creature stopped at the top of the stairs and the room was completely silent except for a slight buzz of electricity.
Jeffery took shallow breaths and waited, edging back into the darkness of the space just in front of the door that led back to SCP-173.
The creature paused for a few more seconds before it vomited. A flood of human fingers and eyes came pouring out of its mouth and onto the floor. The fingers twitched at first, then flexed and stood up. The only connection between them was red sinewy flesh that came together at a single eyeball on a swivel above. They spread out onto the floor in every direction, including his.
A pitter-patter accompanied their walk. The whole thing was about the size of his fist, which he could tell because one was right at his feet. A fingernail dug into the cloth leg of his jumpsuit and then another, and then another. One finger after another dug in as it climbed up his leg. First to his knee, then his hip, then it caught a loop on the vest he wore and swung itself up onto his arm. His hand was still in his pocket, gripping the heavy flashlight about as tightly as he could without shaking.
The finger thing continued to crawl up his arm, and onto his shoulder. Jeffery stopped breathing completely when it began to try to climb his neck. The fingers couldn't find a purchase at all there, and just kept slowly tickling him. The eyeball stalk slid itself along his neck as well and he tried not to throw up.
Then the sound of a chair moving in the office down the stairs caught the main creature's attention. It growled, turned and scurried down the stairs. The finger monsters followed.
Jeffery ran across the dark hallway filled with monsters and opened the door on the other side. He closed it as quickly as he could once he made it through and knocked a zombie to the ground as he turned to run.

The zombie didn't really do much other than groan and fall over. There were crisscrossed stitches all along the skull of the thing, though it still wore the lab-coat of a Foundation doctor. It rolled on the floor and rose to its feet after several tries. Jeffery pulled the heavy flashlight out of his pocket and raised it to strike.
"Wait!" came an almost ethereal voice from across the room. Jeffery looked up, he was in the cafeteria now. Rows and rows of tables and benches separated him from a tall man wearing a mask with a long beaked nose. "It will not harm you. But. Who are you?"
"Winters. D-9341. Are you a doctor?"
The man in the mask chuckled. "Of a sort. Why are you here?"
"I just want to find a safe place, preferably outside the site."
"Ahh. The grand plans of small men. I will not stand in your way."
"Uh. Good."
Jeffery edged his way around the room and pulled out his map. The exit was three floors up. With no direct access available. He'd need to go down 2 more floors before he could access a safe exit. What a horribly designed site.
Absorbed as he was in the map he hadn't noticed the Doctor approach him. He looked up to see the man about 2 tables away now, looking directly at him.
"How is it that you are free of the pestilence?"
"Excuse me?"
"The pestilence. It has been present in everyone I've encountered. Except for you."
"I don't know what you're talking about. What pestilence?"
"The great pestilence. Surely you must know of it. It permeates this place. Soaks into every crack and seam. Yet you are free of its influence. You are cured."
"Look I just want to get out of here. I don't have time for…"
"One moment."
The zombie Jeffery ran into as he entered the room snapped its head to look at him. A half dozen other bodies he hadn't seen rose up from the ground and began to walk towards him.
"I must examine you. Determine how you have been cured."
Jeffery balled up the map and put it back into his pocket, then flipped the table in front of him. He ran around the edge of the room. The dead men and women following him were fast, but not as agile as he was. They tried to climb over tables and benches and found themselves caught. The whole room was filled with groaning monsters as the doctor with the beak mask tried to cut him off from the door.
Jeffery looked directly at the doctor and took a gamble. "I need to get the cure out of this facility. It's dangerous here and I could die with it. Surely you don't want that to happen?"
The zombies all stopped and looked at the doctor who also stopped.
"Grander plans still." the doctor said, with the small hint of a chuckle. "Very well."
Jeffery bolted for the door and shut it behind him.

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