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…With the proper application of the Aethers, as well as something… else, I think we can acheive it. Takwin. The true alchemy, artificial life. If only I could discover what that last element was, that last piece. The spark of life. Its composition eludes me…

-Excerpt, Personal Journal, Jabir ibn Hayyān

Arturo's hands moved in a circle in front of him, his fingers stiff and trembling slightly. His eyebrows were screwed up in concentration, and sweat beaded across his forehead. "I think… I can feel it."
Ruslav leaned against the workbench on the edge of the room. His expression was impenetrable. "You feel the air conditioning."
Arturo's eyes opened and he blinked at Ruslav and Adebeyo, his shoulders dropping. "Nothing? Not a single current? I thought I felt a—"
Ruslav held up a hand. "There are currently no Aether currents flowing through the lab. As I said: air conditioning." His eyes alighted expectantly on the younger man, whose shoulders dropped a bit more.
Arturo thought for a few moments, and finally a few syllables slid from his mouth, clumsy and not perfectly formed. "Aeronatum et karasishui et muram. Not 'et muras'. The Seventh Language is not a toy. Do not play act at its use." Adebeyo's voice rumbled from across the room.
Arturo nodded, and invoked the Seventh Language again, saying thanks to the Aeronous Aether for cooling them through the Air Conditioning, resettling his robes on his shoulders.
Ruslav nodded in affirmation. It was a good sign. The first few times they'd tried to instruct him, the boy had gotten upset at the harsh corrections, but he'd been showing real progress. He took a step forward, and brought his crozier up, the heavy cold iron vibrating ever so slightly in his hands. "The Aeronous Aether is fickle. This is not something new. Try and concentrate harder."
Arturo closed his eyes again, and held his hands out loosely in front of him, his fingers splayed. He continually murmured in a different language, the Sixth Language. The language of calling and summons. His pronunciation was more accurate this time, and the currents began to twitch and drag towards the lab.
Ruslav could feel them as clearly this time. A few more moments, and the current flowing over the Site library would probably come near enough. He made a few gestures with his hand behind his back, and mentally spoke the words of the Fourth Language, one of support and binding to aid the youth.
Arturo's eyes flew open, as his robes flapped slightly with the breeze that had nothing to do with the air conditioning. "Et mesh mento aengh kn'kc ka!sem." The syllables flowed steadily now, as Ruslav's face slowly split in to a smile.
He's got it. He finally attracted the currents. He stepped forward with a small coin, and held it out in front of the boy, who sagged as he completed his intonation. The coin vibrated slightly in Ruslav's hands, and he reached forward to clap the boy on the shoulder. "Congratulations, Apprentice. I feel that is enough to prove your mastery of the Aethers. You are no longer a dabbler. You are one of the Wise, and I formally welcome you to the First Circle."
Adebeyo strode forward, and placed a hand on the boy's other shoulder. "Congratulations, Mr. Genuomo. I am proud of you. "
Arturo nodded, and sagged down on to the stool in front of his own workbench. It was mostly cleared, having no equipment of his own at this point. The only items on it were the beaker his previous teacher had given him, and the small journal that was quickly filling with cramped writing. He took notes on everything the two elders said.
"Thank you, Elders. I appreciate your guidance in this." His eyes shifted to the coin. "What are we going to do with the coin? It has some of the Aeronous Aether in it now, yes?"
Ruslav nodded. "Da. We can use it in the creation of more complicated imbuements, or we could use it directly."
Arturo cocked his head to the side. "Directly?"
Ruslav smiled. "Not every application of Alchemy is precisely a transfer of power. You can also transfer that power in to a lower state. Some of the power that you were transferring expressed as wind, when you were imbuing this coin, yes?" Arturo nodded in agreement.
Ruslav handed the coin to Adebeyo. "This is more your area of Invocation. If it was Aequeous, or Igneous, I could but…" Adebeyo stepped forward, and grasped the coin.
"Of course, Elder. Behold." He placed the coin between his palms, and spoke in the Second Language, the syllables flowing easily like music from his lips, as a slow breeze emanated from his hands. The breeze picked up, a strong wind emanating from between the Elder's hands for a few moments, before building to a huge gust, picking up several loose papers and flinging them across the room.
Arturo stood beside Ruslav, awestruck. "Was… was that magic?!"
Adebeyo let out a deep, heartfelt laugh. "No, Mr. Genuomo. It was Alchemy. Any two-bit sorcerer is just tapping in to the Aethers somehow. They just don't know it. Any dabbler can throw fire or wind around. It takes one of the Wise to do something constructive with it."
Ruslav led Arturo out of the door to this office, which he now shared with his erstwhile apprentice. "Do not worry, Arturo. You will be capable of such things with time, and study."

…The application of Invocation is a trivial thing. Anyone can fling firestorms around, just as anyone can slap them down. Such things are for dabblers. The true power, to create, to Imbue, to find a way to transmute. These are the foundations of alchemy. Leave the fireballs to the 'wizards'…

-Excerpt, A Treatise on the Applications of Alchemy, Perenelle Flamel

"Elder Diaghilev?" Arturo's voice was hesitant, as he looked up from his book.
"Da Apprentice?" Ruslav didn't look up from his notes, as his pen scratched slowly across the page.
Arturo stood, bringing the book over to the other reading desk in the library. The section they were in was restricted by Level 4 order. Specifically, Ruslav's order. He'd kept everyone except himself, Arturo, Adebeyo, and presumably anyone with a higher clearance out of this section for the last fifty years.
Having an apprentice around had certainly helped keep it cleaner, but it also meant fielding lots of questions. "This book references techniques to harness the Aethers, and lists quite a few more than five. Is that correct?"
Some questions were more difficult to field than others. "That is a complicated question. At the time that book was written, yes, there were more than five Aethers. The five existed, as purer forms of the others of course. Igneous and Terronous Aether comprised most of the Metallic Aethers. The same for lesser Aethers of wind, water, et cetera."
"So… what happened to them. Neither you, nor Elder Adebeyo talk about anything other than the five Aethers." Arturo sat down at the seat across from Ruslav, and settled his little notebook on the newly dusted surface. The tiny book had to only have four or five pages left.
Ruslav made a mental note to provide the Apprentice with a more suitable book. Or at least, how to make a more suitable book. "Arturo… some things are difficult to explain. I am not sure you are ready to truly know all of the mysteries of the Art."
Arturo's face grew tighter, and he set his jaw. "You told me when I became your student, I could ask you any question and you would not lie to me. You would tell me the truth."
Ruslav sighed, and muttered under his breath, "I did. The truth is very long, and complicated. The short version is, a long time ago, myself, Adebeyo, and many other Alchemists did… something important. Something that changed Alchemy itself. It made things like using the Aethers, or even feeling them significantly more difficult."
Arturo's eyes grew narrow. "You… did this? Why? Why would you make Alchemy harder on purpose?" Ruslav could see the anger rising in the young student. Learning Alchemy had not been easy for the young man, and the six months since he'd arrived at the site had been filled with many frustrating days.
"It was necessary. When you are at least a Journeyman in the Art, I promise, I will explain why. For now, that will have to suffice." Ruslav's heavy brows were steady as he looked the young man in the eye.
A time ago, Arturo may have snapped at the Elder, but he took a deep breath, and nodded, returning to his desk. "Thank you for the instruction, Elder."
A long minute passed in silence. Ruslav sighed, and stood, walking silently to a shelf behind his own desk. He retrieved a slim volume, entitled Darkest Entities of the Aetheric Currents. He walked over to the young man's desk, and sat down heavily across from him, opening the book. "What do you see?"
Arturo looked over at the book, written in a tight runic script depicting the concepts of the Fifth Language, the language of knowledge itself. "I can't… quite read it. I am sorry Elder. My Fifth is still coming along."
Ruslav nodded, "Da I translate." He flipped a few pages, his fingers sliding over the gold trimmed volume. "This is the Scarlet King. Do you know who or what it is?"
Arturo shook his head. "I do not know this Scarlet King."
Ruslav nodded again, and slammed the volume shut. "Da this I know too. Do you know why?"
Arturo shook his head, drawing back slightly. "No, Elder."
Ruslav leaned back, and closed his eyes. "Because of what you asked me about. A very, very long time ago, we sealed the Scarlet King, and many others behind the Great Seal. It was… a very difficult thing. Many Alchemists perished in the attempt. Many more turned against us, and did not accept the Circles' decision to enact the Great Seal. It was open warfare between factions of the circles."
Arturo's eyes were slowly widening. "War… fare? With Alchemy involved?"
Ruslav continued, nodding. "Da, Alchemy. Before this seal, terrible things were possible. The Scarlet King was one of those terrible things. After the seal, the Scarlet King was not a problem anymore."
Arturo leaned in slightly. "Wait, how? How is this possible?"
Ruslav closed the book, shook his head. "Later. You are not ready. That will have to suffice for now, Apprentice."
Arturo looked down at his small notebook, and nodded. "I see. Thank you, for your instruction Elder. I appreciate your candor."
Ruslav stood, and returned to the shelf, sliding the volume home. His eyes lingered on the spine. Darkest Entities of the Aetheric Currents — Lord Henry Percy. Ruslav's eyes narrowed slightly, thinking back to the conflict.
Those were dark days indeed.

…Obviously Ruslav is a deluded fool. The Great Seal is as much a myth as it is a terrible idea. His rank of Elder has always been suspect. Elder Hayyān conferred the title and the circles honored that wish out of respect for the great master, but let's be honest here. The man is an unknown, a dabbler, spouting ridiculous hypotheses that have no basis in fact…

-Excerpt, A Letter to the Esteemed Circle of The Wise, 1693 CE

Ruslav took a deep drag of the cigarette in his hand, the smoke filling his lungs with a dark vapor-like substance that superficially resembled smoke. Adebeyo had created the false cigarettes overnight with Ruslav's help. The stimulating effect of the alchemic tobacco allowed him to see the currents of Aether with his naked eyes. It was beautiful.
Adebeyo looked out over the snow-covered valley behind the Site, and took a drag on his own. "I never get tired of looking at that. You?"
Ruslav nodded, and smiled slightly. "Never. How can one tire of such beauty?"
A few moments passed as both men took in the twisting and dancing currents. Here and there a small stream of the Igneous Aether would slide along the distant road beyond the bridge leading to the entrance to the Site. "What do we tell Mr. Genuomo? He's going to be curious about the war. And if we do not tell him, he could end up siding with—"
Ruslav held his hand up. "I know. This is possible. We will do what we must. Guide the young along the path to wisdom, and what not. Have you contacted the Sixth Circle?"
Adebeyo nodded, taking another drag, and looking up at the moon, a blazing orb of Aether currents. "I did. They are with us. Do you think—" his voice trailed off for a moment, before resuming. "Do you think we did the right thing?" His eyes rested on the people below, walking in and out of the site. The faintest trail of Aether currents could be seen flowing around some of them. People who were experiencing inspiration, or a sudden burst of energy maybe.
Ruslav nodded without hesitation. "I know we did. Elder Hayyān was very clear about what needed to be done. I was going to carry out his will whether I wanted to or not."
Adebeyo looked over at Ruslav, the glowing Aether currents shining out of him like a lighthouse. Every time he looked over at the man, it showed off him like a star. "What… is it like? The compulsion?"
Ruslav shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know how to describe it. It's just part of me. Always has been. Ever since Elder Hayyān breathed life in to me, the Takwin, I have just… known. What to do, and what I must maintain. The Great Seal is not just a goal for me. It is the purpose of my life."
Adebeyo nodded, and looked back up at the sky. "I envy that… clarity of purpose sometimes. That bell-clear knowledge of what you must do."
Ruslav took the last drag of the cigarette, and stamped it out on the floor of the parking garage. "It is both a blessing and a curse. I always know what I must do. But I always must do what I know I must. Very little… freedom in it."
Adebeyo reached out, and patted Ruslav on the shoulder, as he walked back towards the Site, the snow crunching under his heavy boots. Ruslav's eyes returned to the sky, the Aether currents flowing through and past him like a torrent.
…Lord Henry, with all due respect, Elder Diaghilev is every bit as qualified as you are. You'll have to learn to get along with him. Ruslav Diaghilev has mastered every aspect of the Art, and as such, the petition to promote him to the Seventh Circle, to fill Elder Hayyān's vacancy has been approved. His death was keenly felt by the circles, and all of us are happy to offer the position he leaves to Ruslav…

-Excerpt, Reply to Lord Henry

« Finding Balance | Channeling Flows | Restoring Harmony »


Hello, and welcome to tonight's news. Broadcasting live from New York Complex, I'm Junior Aímact Roger Gallardi, Official Newsreader-Scholar of the Church of The Second Hytoth, the only sanctioned radio host broadcasting in both English and Ortothan, nationwide.
The top story this evening concerns the ongoing war in the Midwest against the Indofranco-Hungarian Alliance. Many of our top soldiers gave their lives this evening, passing on their blood to Rakmou-leusan, so that he may receive our blood and hold us against these retched Voruteut who attack our borders. Praise be to Rakmou-leusan. The origami soldiers shredded their paper with grace, torn about by the flesh and teeth of the Voruteut. The battle raised the town of Blue Earth, Minnesota, and Minister Alison Killian is authorizing new aid workers to tend to the surviving civilians. It has been suspected that the Alliance had been distributing propaganda sausages to civilians within the region, trying to turn and twist their minds until there was no empathy left, to get them to reinstate Prime Minister Orbán to power, but fortunately no sausages were found in the aftermath of the battle, and the psychology of all has been proven pure.
The same cannot be said for Plainview, Wisconsin. The official Alliance news agency in Budapest has confirmed that they have pushed the borders of the empire there, as a distribution was successful in turning all the citizens. Steaks laced with samples of the blood of Karcist Bashas were delivered the next morning, and we are sad to report all noble churchgoers were converted to Voruteut. It has been reported by my reporters in the field that several Voruteut and Orin-Privates found at the battlefield were genetic matches for the citizenry of Plainview.
In other news, Navy SEAL origami have begun filtering sympathetic refugees out of Syria and into Ortothan Europe as the final descent on Kythera begins. All rituals performed in the area have made significant progress towards the devastation of that unholy place. Finally the Aspect of Kornoct will fill the Middle East again as our trained soldiers continue their assault at the very heart of that only place. Praise Rakmou-leusan! May he shine forever. Defense Minister Molinksy, on the other hand, condemns the measures, citing vast accomplishments made between Church forces and the Alliance in the Pacific Territories, in the wake of the Great Beast's escape from Foundation facilities. Molinsky met with Senior Researcher Obrov in Paris yesterday.
A rogue band of bandits and terrorists waged war on the Philadelphia Complex yesterday, destroying two statues of Rakmou-leusan on Market Street. All good and pious citizens were outraged at the sad turn of events which led to the destruction of yet another temple complex. Many citizens report the invasion of Dream Demons. Four of the terrorists claimed allegiance to the former organization known as the Global Occult Coalition. One was what official Foundation Science Liasons to the Alliance are calling an SK-BIO Organism, but to us is obviously nothing more than a filthy Voruteut. Curse the hypocritical Foundation and the wretched empire of Karcist Bashas. May their children burn their own souls within the genitals of their parents! May their dogs impale themselves on a spike! May their–
Dr. Obrov sighed and turned the device off. Another day, another radio broadcast from a batshit crazy universe. And this one concerned him too. In that place, he was a senior researcher for some sort of totalitarian Sarkic empire. Oh joy. He walked the length of the giant computer and grabbed his USB stick from its little port. He would have to spend a good twelve, fifteen hours just writing up the reports of this broadcast. He didn't even need to listen to the whole thing that time to get the gist.
His coffee was cold. So he grabbed it and quickly plodded to his office to nuke it in his microwave. He'd been drinking nuked coffee for over five years now, most of it recycled and re-microwaved endlessly. And when he was not doing that, he was writing up detailed reports of the broadcasts he received so the guys up in Sloth's Pit could decide where to send the Bailey brothers.
This particular one proved to be a cinch. Put simply, there was a war between GoI#03088 (those Hytoth nuts) and a big fat Sarkic Alliance which had absorbed most of Europe, Asia, and West North America. Dr. Obrov vaguely wondered why no one ever talked about Africa when these sorts of things happened. It was always some group sitting around in Eurasia that tried to stir up trouble. He couldn't at all name a single GoI from Gabon or Zimbabwe or anything like that.
"What in the flying fuck would Site 87 want with this hellhole?" he thought as he typed miserably. "There's no diplomatic value." His coffee tasted even more bitter than usual. He felt yet another caffeine headache come on, so he slugged some more of the wretched stuff.
The words on the page started to swim. He rubbed his eyes and turned to look at the clock, wondering exactly how long he had been awake. Bad move. His headache stabbed ferociously, suddenly getting worse. It was getting difficult to breathe. He wiggled his tongue experimentally; all of his teeth felt loose.
His abdomen suddenly cramped, like a black hole had opened up in his bowels and was causing them to implode. He clutched his stomach miserably, hoping it would help, but he just vomited all over his desk, shorting out his computer terminal and ruining his papers. It was near impossible to draw breathe now and he was choking on his vomit. His eyes rolled back in his head.
Dr. Obrov was dead before he fell onto the floor. Blood had formed a wide pool around his head before anybody found him.
To be continued…
Next: The Undoing

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asmr by dado

RONALD REAGAN CUT UP WHILE RAPPING

Excerpt from The Astrolabe Institute Journal

Amnestic

The William Penn Iteration

End Of Deaf; or, In the Clutches of Dumb

The News Tonight: Wednesday April 26th 2017

Interior—Interior

The Undoing

Holy Mackerel

Grandchildren Frost

Portrait of Two Choreographers

Wade Williams Distribution Presents:

The DevourerLand Diaries
Rating: 11


149 Scranton Lane
Unincorporated Site-92, Los Angeles, CA
8:42 PM, June 24th, 2032

"So, are you gonna tell us?"
"Tell you what?"
"About the mission. What really went on?"
"Everything the report said went on. We lost the anomaly, we lost the-"
"Yeah but like- did it talk? This was a humanoid, right?"
"Pfft. A human, yes. And a famous one at that. She's one of the most prominent anti-Foundation public figures out there. You've probably seen their advertisements in the paper."
"Oh, the law firm. Leeward and Warner Legal Solutions, right? And the skip is Warner?"
"Yep. We've been trying to recontain her for years, but she keeps finding the legal loopholes to avoid it."
"Shit, yeah."
Brent Sanderson feels a twinge in the back of his skull. Like a feather is tickling his brain matter, right down there on the cerebellum. "Look, I don't want to talk about this."
"Yeah, you're tired. Case coming up and everything. I got you."
He nods. Time seems to freeze as he takes in his coworkers' faces. Rogers, Gale, and Kinsey, all from Offsite Response and clad in their silly matching white polo shirts. Andrew, from his team, watching Gale's incessant questioning with a subtle scowl.
"Fair enough, fair enough," Gale says. "So, what are you going to be doing after we leave, Brent?" she adds, pitching her voice higher as if trying to lighten the mood.
Just like that, he feels his awareness snap back into place, leaving him with a terrible headache. It must be the alcohol. Why are they drinking, again? Or maybe something really is wrong. It hurts to think about. "Well, buddy," he answers with an inebriated smirk in his best news anchor impersonation, trying to force his pounding head into a state of calm with humor and distractions, "I'm going to go into my bedroom there and fuck my beautiful wife. What about you, Andrew?"
That moment, when the men start laughing and Gale and Kinsey roll their eyes, is when he notices the smell. It's the popcorn on the table, by the beers. It smells like meat. It reeks of meat. Andrew asks him something, but he's preoccupied with the unmistakable stench filling his nostrils as he leans closer and closer to the bowl.
"You don't have a wife. You're married to the Foundation," Andrew says, chuckling.
Fuck, does he not have a wife? He casts his eyes downward and tries not to think about it.
"What are you doing?" Gale asks, a glare shooting out from under her messy bangs. Her bangs aren't usually this messy. Her skin isn't usually this pale.
"This popcorn. Was it expired?"
Kinsey freezes for a few seconds before smacking her gum and responding. "No."
"Then why does it smell like- you know what, I'm gonna be sick." Brent stands, wobbling, and runs into the bathroom. The mirror is foggy. There are clothes on the floor. A white shirt with red-brown bloodstains, plastered to the cream-colored tile floor with water and fluorescent green fluid. Mouthwash? His eyes move upward. The fluid is dripping down the cabinet door. His headache worsens until it's a searing pain, driving away at the inside of his skull. Keep looking, keep looking, keep looking. Blood in the sink. Skin in the sink. Pink flesh, pink and green. Green fluid leaking all over pink flesh.
"Stay focused, D-2094."
His head snaps upright, and his eyes are closed. "I can't do it," he says aloud in a trembling voice. "This is as far as I can get." He swallows, trying to keep bile from rising up out of his throat. Everything stinks of meat. "Something isn't right, I can tell I said something wrong and got everything off-track. This doesn't feel right, it's like- I can tell that I'm not him, and I'm scared the other people can tell too-"
"Acknowledged. Assume a sitting position and hold your breath for thirty seconds while we cancel it."
He sinks against the wall, his head in his hands.

Research Lab D43
Department of Internal Security and Media Investigations
Site-92, Los Angeles, CA
3:12 PM, July 1st, 2032

"Alright. Alright. Just breathe."
"I can't get further than that. I swear to God." D-2094 sits upright on the table, vision spinning. "Did you take that thing out of my head?" he pants.
"Yes, it's out." Dr. Ruby Licata gestures to the assistant carrying Brent Sanderson's Personnel Identification Implant over to the counter, held aloft in tweezers. "You don't have to do it twice, don't worry."
"Just get me out of here," D-2094 mutters, cupping his hands over his ears with jittering fingers.
"Take him down to Medical," Licata tells the assistant. She nods and starts helping him off the table. Licata takes her clipboard and laptop back into her office, closing the door behind her. She sits down and looks through the checklist. Out of four subjects and ten total attempts, that one key element is starting to look genuinely unrecoverable. And the Media Relations Director and Site Director alike are not going to be happy about that.
A ringing sounds behind her eardrum, quietly. She presses a finger to her temple. "If you're calling about the results, I've got nothing but more of the same."
"Oh? Well, that's not good at all. What exactly is so hard to crack about this chip, huh? Ours seem to be working fine."
"The problem isn't the chips, Director. It's Sanderson."
"What about Sanderson?"
"It's him- well, it's his chip specifically, rather. It's really starting to look like someone messed around with the files, which I know is unlikely given his clean record and good behavior, but I don't think we should rule anything out. Obviously we're now at the point of trying Initiative A's procedure, but it's looking the same as with the other subjects."
"Well, if inserting it into chip readers on the computer and physically transplanting it into a post-amnesticization brain won't yield results, then what do you think will?"
She almost sighs, but remembers that the Director will hear it. "I'm trying to tell you that I think the data on that chip is genuinely unrecoverable, sir. I think he erased the entire memory, at least from the implant."
"You can't amnesticize your PII, Licata. Only your actual brain. You and I both know that."
"Yes, but if somehow one were able to wipe a section of the chip after the memory in question, the brain would be unaware. You remember those developments from last year that the O5 Council sent out for everyone to read."
"Okay, well what do we tell the media, hmm? That it's inconclusive? The Foundation is trying to make the PIIs look trustworthy, Doctor, not easily corrupted and uncontrollable. We have the most advanced system of employee monitoring in the world, and yet we're unable to prove to the media that one of our employees wasn't a criminal even when we stuck a little computer in his skull that records everything he does while on the clock. Do you have any idea what would happen to the PII chip's funding if we find out Sanderson's chip failed to uncover criminal evidence? Oh, and not to mention how under-fire the R&D branch's stocks are-"
"Sir, I-"
"That chip is this organization's last shot at good publicity. If you get this evidence, we'll be down two employees and up immeasurable profits in tech sales. That's a trade worth the trouble. In this economic and political climate, it's time for the Foundation to have money on its mind, Licata. You know it and I know it."
"I agree, sir."
"You have 24 more hours. That is all the press coverage we can handle up here. Get something out of that chip, if it takes one try or a hundred. Understood?"
She gulps. "Understood."
"Great."
A beep sounds and she relaxes her muscles. With a sigh, she looks back down at the desk, hoping that the newspaper clipping she's had sitting there for two days might have something new to offer her.

Licata sighs and puts the paper back down. She calls out her assistant's name. When she comes to the door, Licata puts her head in her hands. "Is that D-class still around?"

149 Scranton Lane
Unincorporated Site-92, Los Angeles, CA
8:42 PM, June 24th, 2032

"Stay on-topic. Ask them about the anomaly. Don't stray off in the bathroom again. And again, remember not to look in the mirror."
"You okay, Brent?"
D-2094 raises the memory of Brent's eyes up to meet Andrew's. "Fuck. Yeah, yeah. What were you saying?"
"So, are you gonna tell us?"
"Tell you what?"
"About the mission. What really went on?"
"Everything the report said went on. We lost the anomaly, we lost the-"
"Yeah but like- did it talk? This was a humanoid, right?"
"Pfft. A human, yes. And a famous one at that. She's one of the most prominent anti-Foundation public figures out there. You've probably seen their advertisements in the paper."
"Oh, the law firm. Leeward and Warner Legal Solutions, right? And the skip is Warner?"
"Yep. We've been trying to recontain her for years, but she keeps finding the legal loopholes to avoid it."
"Shit, yeah."
Andrew freezes, his hand gripping the condensation-coated glass of beer in his hand. "Wait, this is safe to talk about, right?" he says, voice hushed.
"Y-yeah," D-2094 sputters out. "Yeah, of course. It's… all pretty recent, after all." He cringes as he takes a shot in the dark, but after a few seconds of silence, he can tell he led the flow of events in the right direction.
"You're right," Andrew says. As he stands, the other three people fade into the fabric of the sofa. D-2094 tries not to let his eyes focus on it.
"About what?"
Andrew stands fully and the space near the sofa stretches and buzzes and snaps back into place.
"Can you still read us? That was it. Stay with this."
D-2094 feels a twinge in the back of his skull. Like a feather is tickling his brain matter, right down there on the cerebellum. "Alright," he whispers.
"Alright what?" Andrew says.
"Uh, alright, as in, let's continue. The conversation." He laughs dryly. He's still not sure how he'll ever react normally to the ambient voice of the researcher echoing in his skull with no logical source, and he hopes the saved memories of Brent's coworkers don't notice him acting oddly.
"Oh, right. Right." He freezes, unblinking.
D-2094's right ear whines and screeches before the warped imitation of a voice comes back into his head. "That's not quite it. Change the topic. Talk about fighting, talk about combat, or anomalies, anything to trigger the memory connection."
He nods involuntarily. "Andrew. Did you go to training last week? When they brought out the punching bags?"
The room flashes warmer tones in the lighting for a split second before resettling with Andrew grimacing. "Yeah. Did you?"
"Yep. Felt like I could take on the lizard head-on, you know what I mean?"
"Yeah, and speaking of catching skips-"
The couch they're sitting on convulses like a living creature underneath them, throwing D-2094 into the air for a split second. When he lands, he's face-down in dust and ceiling debris.
"Sanderson! Get up!"
He turns over. The lights are off. A flashlight is in his face. "What?"
"Get up, she's getting away!"
Licata's distorted voice whispers in his head, crackling. "Go! Go! That's it! Get up!"
He bolts upright. His polo shirt and beer-stained khaki shorts have been replaced with black pants and a utility belt. A blue-glowing device is attached to a cord around his right hand. He picks it up and clambers to his feet.
"On your six!" Andrew calls out.
He ducks as a blast of air and red light slams him into the ground again. He looks over his shoulder to see a figure darting past the porch doors and over the railing. "Over here," he yells, reaching for the slider switch on the device without second thought. He pushes it all the way forward, cringing at the inexplicable recoil against his palm that shoots an ache up his forearm and into his chest.
"Turn that thing the fuck up and get out there before she gets away!"
He nods, scrambling back onto his feet. He darts for the door, yanks it to the side, and hurtles himself over the porch railing. He lands on someone and rolls over, twisting his ankle. He feels himself lose focus through the pain, and for a split second, the dark, damp backyard flashes to a sunny day and then to a shot of Brent's coworkers sitting on the couch. D-2094 shakes his head and stands back up, mindlessly aiming the device in his hand at the woman in front of him.
"You'd better put that fucker down," she spits, arms wrapped protectively around herself. "I'm serious. Don't you know LA laws?"
Licata's voice screeches in the back of his ear canal. "This is it. Don't lose this feed."
Andrew comes running down the stairs, rifle in hand. "Aww, I love it when they fight back," he says with a sneer. He aims the rifle toward her. "Get on the ground."
"The police will be here any minute."
Andrew cackles. "The police. Right. Good luck with that, skip."
She glowers and drops to her knees, hands behind her head. "Any minute."
"Precious. Brent, knock her the fuck out."
D-2094 freezes, praying that Licata will tell him what he's supposed to do. Would Brent have done it? He doesn't even know who Brent is, or what type of person he was. All he has is a computer chip full of corrupted workplace memories, free of ethics and morals and feelings tied to the person that once possessed it.
Andrew's face is frozen, and little pieces of it are blurring and shaking in midair as D-2094 realizes he picked the wrong option by hesitating. With his face contorted in discomfort, he starts walking toward the woman kneeling in front of him and raises the unknown but familiar device up to her eye level. She doesn't blink. A siren wails outside the fence, catching him off-guard and sending him spinning around before he can strike her.
"There! There! Okay, look around, look up, look down, look in bushes, look anywhere you can for any sort of camera or microphone or-"
"Got it, got it," he says aloud, dropping the device to the ground. The woman doesn't react, because Brent didn't have a memory of her reacting; D-2094 runs frantically around the yard and patio as the police rush over to the woman and Andrew, their boots blending into the dark grass in little pixelated smears. D-2094 looks up as the bricks of the house melt in steaming drips and fade into themselves. In his peripheral vision, occupying one last spot of comprehensible space, he spots a gleaming lens. And a small black device. A camera and a microphone.
"There! There! Freeze that frame, do not fucking blink, do not- okay, okay, we got it! We got it! You're good!"
"Wh- how do I get out, get me out!" he yells over inexplicable wailing and electronic buzzing as the world disintegrates around him. His pleading mixes in with the noise as his vision swirls together and fades.

Research Lab D43
Department of Internal Security and Media Investigations
Site-92, Los Angeles, CA
3:38 PM, July 1st, 2032

D-2094 opens his eyes slowly this time, as if doubting that he has eyes to open. He looks over at Licata. "You got it that time, right?" he groans.
"We got it." She picks up a stack of papers off a printer and locks them into her briefcase. "And now I'm taking it where it needs to go. Thank you for your compliance, Mr. Sanderson."
His mouth droops open. Surely he misheard that. "Did you just call me-"
"Yes, congratulations, Mr. Sanderson," a man by the door says, removing his glasses and leaning against the frame. "You are the first successful subject of PII Initiative A."
D-2094 feels like he's going to pass out. He convinces himself that everything he's hearing is some side effect of having that thing in his head, and he lets himself collapse back onto the table as the lights above him blur together into blinding white.

Undisclosed Location
Santa Monica, CA
7:45 PM, July 1st, 2032

"Are you awake, Mr. Sanderson?"
Brent peels his eyes open. There's a young man in a white collared shirt by his bed. "Y-yeah-"
"You've been out for four hours. I'm sorry I wasn't able to introduce myself last time." The man extends his hand. Brent takes it with trembling fingers and nods. "I'm the Director of Media Relations for Site-92's Research and Development Department. I don't really give my name."
"I'm- uh…"
"You're Brent Sanderson," the man says, clasping his hands together. "I know it's hard to believe. You think you're D-2094, right?"
"Y-you actually want me to answer?"
"No. It's a rhetorical question. Do you have any recollection of your identity, actions… anything?"
"What's happening here? I don't- what-"
The Director holds his hands up. "It's okay, you can relax. I'll take that as a no."
Brent looks around the room. It's too homey. There are burgundy drapes, and the bed he's on has a wooden frame. "Where am I?"
"A Foundation safehouse."
"Can't I just go back to my cell-"
"You're not a D-class. You're Agent Brent Sanderson. You worked, until recently, in the Containment and Retrieval Department of Site-92."
"I-"
"You originally refused to reveal the location of any home cameras during this case, presumably for your own legal reasons, but it looks like we were still able to get some information out of you. You've caused us quite the trouble, you know." The Director smiles. "But here we are. If you think this organization protects criminals in its ranks, you're dead wrong, Brent."
Brent grits his teeth. "Can you please just explain what's happening to me? Who am I?"
The Director sighs and stands from his chair. "Looks like it's not working," he says once he's in the hallway. "Go ahead and stick it back in there, I guess. Shouldn't cause any problems at this point in the case, with the backup copied and all that."
He frowns and grips the sheets. "Wait, what-"
"Just hold still. This'll only take a second." The person approaching him is oddly familiar. Like one of the guards on the cell block that he apparently never resided in. They push his head forward and press a bulky device against it. He doesn't have time to resist before there's a quiet click and a disturbing sliding sensation in the back of his skull. Like a feather is tickling his brain matter, right down there on the cerebellum.
"That's the right one, right? Not the testing duplicate?" the Director asks.
"Licata and the other researchers kept the duplicate, sir."
"Gotcha, gotcha. Alright, Mr. Sanderson. Is it safe to assume you have your thoughts back in order?"
"Did you just- What did you just do?"
"Your implant had been removed, so we just put it back in. You were amnesticized as part of an approved procedure, but it appears the PII was successful in this case with accurately logging personal identity and memories."
"I- What? Why am I in the safehouse? What happened?"
The Director chuckles. "Are you going to get out of bed?"
Brent looks down. He's in pajamas. He frowns. "Yeah. Wait, didn't I just wake up?"
"You did… technically just wake up, yes. You were unconscious."
"For how long?"
"Only four hours."
"What were we talking about before that person fucked around with my chip? Whatever went on with it must have glitched out, because I can't remember-"
"I believe I was telling you how we don't employ criminals in our ranks," the Director sighs, removing a laptop from his briefcase. "And thanks to you, we've got the security footage from your house now. You do remember that case, don't you?"
A headache pounds against his temple. "Of course I remember that case. How did you get me out of jail?"
"You know we have our ways. Listen, Mr. Sanderson, I'm on a schedule, and I don't owe you overviews of what you already know you've done. More importantly, however, do you remember when you signed your consent forms for your Personnel Identification Implant, about six months ago?"
"Y-yeah-"
"Do you remember the section about Initiative A, then?"
"I- I don't think I read the whole thing, to be honest."
"Ahhh. No one ever reads the terms and conditions, am I right? Sign and move on. I can relate. Well, when you signed onto Initiative A, you signed onto some of our most groundbreaking research. Could do wonders for the R-and-D Departments' stocks, no matter which Site we're talking about. You see, the PII is big news. Really big news. And our team right here in Los Angeles are the ones who perfected it. Sure, 42 put it out there, but we're making it what it was meant to be. No bullshit anomalous origins. It's what every company will want. It's not invasive. It doesn't record your thoughts and send them around. It just captures what you're seeing and hearing and feeling when you're on the clock, and only when you're on the clock. Were you on the clock that night with Aline Warner and your team member Andrew Collins, Mr. Sanderson?"
He puts his head in his hands. The more the Director talks, the more conflicting memories flood back into his thoughts. "Yes."
"And were you on Foundation property or were you on city property when you threatened that bixby with your SRA?"
"I don't- I've been over this a million times with the cops, for fuck's sake. I was in the Site's housing. Everything happened there."
"Well, who instructed you to lead her back onto Foundation property and carry out the capture there?"
"N- no one? I mean, I did. Me, I'm the team lead."
"You are, that's right. Right, okay. So it was indeed your decision."
"Yeah. Look, is this a legal interview right now? Do I need to watch what I say-"
"You're with the Foundation, Mr. Sanderson. Surely your employment has taught you that you're safe with us."
He licks his lips. They're dry and cracked. His skin feels like paper. "I got her onto Foundation property because Los Angeles will fight you in court if you take a sapient anomaly off the streets on county property. Especially her, with her publicity."
"Except the residential streets aren't Foundation property. That area is unincorporated and technically still belongs to the county."
His head is spinning. "But- this was in my backyard. This happened in my own backyard. My house, in the Site's neighborhood."
"Right, but your house is on unincorporated property, and your house also has security cameras, which you had… conveniently forgotten to tell us about during the case, it seems. Actively refused, more accurately."
His eyes widen as realization slams into him like a freight train. His heart thumps in his chest. "Wait, I- that's not possible, I-"
"Consider it lucky, Mr. Sanderson. You may be deserving of your charges, but thanks to your signing onto Initiative A, the PII's future in sales with every security department from Google to Wells Fargo is looking nothing but up. I think your case here may have singlehandedly determined the future of the R-and-D Department's stocks, crimes aside."
"Can you please just slow down," Brent spits, trembling. He swallows. "Please. I don't understand what's happening."
The Director looks at his watch with an audible groan. "I really don't have the time for this. Alright, last week, convicted of attempted kidnapping and assault. Remember what happened?"
"Yeah. Got a report of a famous bixby visiting town, obvious target with known disruptive capabilities. Tried to get her out of town for legal reasons and all that, you know the drill."
"Right, and this person was Aline Warner, who was formerly a contained SCP object but was broken out of the Site by her containment specialist, Adam Leeward, and years down the line the two of them now own an explicitly anti-Foundation law firm known as Leeward and Warner Legal Solutions. And you tried to recontain her on county property. Where the law is on her side."
He sighs. "Okay, okay. I get what this is about. Look, I made a mistake, alright? I didn't read the legalese carefully enough, I get it. And now Andrew's in trouble too, and he didn't do shit. And between the Foundation and I, we didn't do shit to get that attempted assault charge."
"That's not what the PII feedback footage would suggest," the Director says quietly, turning his laptop screen around to face Brent. "You may have neglected to tell the police in the interviews, but your PII history showed quite the opposite once you had a little amnestics and reconditioning to help you out."
Brent watches with his brow furrowed and his mouth in a grimace as the Director plays back the distorted, bulbous picture of his implant's digital audio and video records.
"Ah- there," the Director says, punching the space bar and pausing the footage. "You see that? You hear that part? After Andrew tells you to hit her over the head, you start walking forward."
He frowns. "How did you get this?"
"You gave it to us. When you signed your implant paperwork and partook in Initiative A. When we managed to get you to recall it so that it could be recorded."
"Wait, wait. I do remember this. I remember going back here. But I don't remember walking forward, there. I actually remember not wanting to walk forward."
"In the revisit? I believe Dr. Licata did notice you hesitate, yes."
"Because I didn't want to do it! I only did it because the memory she was accessing through me started falling apart when I thought about not doing it, which means it was obviously the wrong option that wasn't in line with what he- with what I originally did, but I didn't want to do it! It was just Andrew fucking around and being a shit because everyone hates Warner and he wanted to piss her off, it wasn't anything- real."
"What your post-procedure self wanted or did not want to do is unrelated to what you originally did do and what is proven in the implant's history, Mr. Sanderson. And you may have made it pretty hard to recover the PII's files, but thanks to your cooperation with Initiative A, we got them right back. Are you starting to understand where you stand here?"
The Director's words are starting to blur into incomprehensible droning in his thoughts. "No." He swallows. "I'm still confused on what's happening to me. What happened with the case? What does that damn implant have to do with this, besides that footage?"
"The case is near-closed, and you're still going to be convicted. I think your confusion may lie in your mistaken opinion that the Foundation will defend its employees no matter the circumstances, Mr. Sanderson, and that is not accurate. Not in today's age."
"The past week feels like a dream. I didn't mean to do anything illegal."
"You can believe that all you need, but it doesn't change what happened." The Director leans forward, and for the first time in the conversation, his voice sounds genuine and concerned. "Listen, you're not a bad agent. You're dedicated to the cause, a real exemplar. I get your type, I really do. The Foundation of twenty years ago would have loved you. But we're not them now. We're a little down and out right now, so to speak. I'm sure you've noticed it. Publicity killed us, Mr. Sanderson." His lips are right beside Brent's ear. "That's the truth. You can't even drive between the city and the site without protesters swarming your car. And you know that a lot of that is happening because of your case, and, to be frank, because of you. I don't have a problem with this continual recontainment effort we have going on for Warner, but it has to be done so, so carefully. It'll make us look bad no matter what, but there's no denying that a reality bender with publicity value is dangerous."
Brent nods, fingers clenched.
"Do you want to know what the best hope for this organization is right now? It's that chip in our heads. The value that thing presents to the corporate technology world is unparalleled. I know containment is our thing, Mr. Sanderson, but there are challenging times ahead. There's a threat to Earth that we can't ignore, and if the Foundation is going to survive out there, we have to make some… operations adjustments. It's time to look toward innovation and business. We can do science. We can do money. And the PII means both." He exhales through his nose and eyes the door. They share several uncomfortable seconds of silence before he speaks again. "In conclusion, I suppose, I'd like to personally thank you for your place in this case. Thanks to you, we can gain the public's trust again, or at least get the ball rolling. Rogue agent? Not to worry, everything's recorded and on-record. The Foundation may fight tooth and nail to carry out its cause despite political adversity, but one thing we're not is dishonest. This case will prove the PII's worth as business technology, and you just gave that process a jumpstart."
Brent feels like he's going to vomit, and he's not sure if it's from the pain in his skull or the Director's words or both. "W-what-"
"I know you heard what I said," the Director says, his tone and volume still the same despite the alarm in Brent's voice. "Now, put some real clothes on. I believe the chief of the LAPD wanted to talk to you."
Brent watches the Director walk out of the room with his mouth hanging open.

Site Command Office
Site-92, Los Angeles, CA
11:30 AM, July 4th, 2032

The Director of Media Relations has his lips in a straight line as he pushes a printout across the desk toward the Site Director's open palm. "This is it. Same one you approved last night, of course."
"Excellent, excellent. Thank you for all that you've done," he says, picking it up.

"Everything looks the same as last night, right? I checked it myself for errors probably five times."
"It's perfect, it's perfect. Succinct as always. It's believable media, I'll tell you that. My hat goes off to you and your department, Director."
"Likewise. And it's R-and-D you should be thanking, not me." He laughs, barely perceptibly. His cheeks are pale. "Well, you can thank the crew I have running the Coastal Sun Reporter, of course. Whew. But yeah, the public seems to be taking it decently so far. It went out this morning."
"Emailed to employees, in the morning papers, featured on a few local channels and websites… that's it, right?"
"Correct. I guarantee you that starting small is the way to go. Hell, all the big names are already signed on without the spotlight, anyway."
"Alright." He sets the paper down on the desk with a sigh. "That agent, though. Sanderson. Shame about him."
"How so?"
The Site Director shrugs, hands clasped with his elbows on the table and his head to the side. "I just think he was on the right track, and it's a shame to see he slipped up on the legality."
"Well, his case… made us look pretty bad, sir, to be honest."
"Oh, I'm not excusing him. There's no doubt he made mistakes. Just a shame to see a good agent go to waste just because of- because things are so hard these days."
"Oh. Agreed."
He nods. "But the PII is looking up. That's what we've got going forward, that's what matters." He looks back down at the document on the table. "I'll see you tomorrow, Director. We've got a busy few weeks ahead of us."
"We sure do." There's no comradery in his tone, though he's straining to try and convey it nonetheless.
"Our stocks are in great condition. The business end of things is looking up. Everything in that realm of operations is looking up. The Foundation still has a strong future ahead of it. A different one, yes, but still a strong one. Don't forget that."
"Of course, sir." He stands up to leave, looking at the door.
The Site Director picks the printout up off the desk and lowers his glasses. "Oh, and happy Independence Day," he adds. "Easy to forget there's a country waiting outside those fences, sometimes. Isn't it?"
He swallows and nods. He doesn't think so. "Happy Independence Day, sir," he mutters.
When the door closes, the Site Director sighs and reads the article again, his mind fixated on the future as a calm smile creeps across his face.


Zara Calico

It was the bright colours of the tattoo that caught his attention.
On the back of her neck, were two eyes. They were different colours - ‘heterochromia iridum' his brain supplied, seeking out the word against the litres of cider and the different coloured pills that rattled inside – and they were staring right at him.
To be fair, they were staring at everyone in the bus station, but Kit could have sworn that the eyes only had eyes for him.
There was nothing else particularly striking about this passerby that would mark her out against the deluge of people who had come past as he waited for his ten-to-eleven bus, which was now meant to be at eleven twenty-one. She kept her hair shaven fully on one side, and long on the other, just grazing her shoulder in length.
It reminded him of graffiti he had seen once in Brighton. Sanctioned graffiti – the worst kind. She – the subject of the graffiti – was the same as the girl who had just passed, only her hair was longer and a different colour and she probably had a different face, so she wasn't really like the girl at all so much as she was just painted onto a building to appeal to both men and women alike.
What was she advertising again?
An app, that was it.
And it was about…
“Safety awareness. Suicide.” Kit mumbled, not sure if he wasn't aware of the middle aged woman staring at the man talking to himself or if she was even actually there at all.
The graffiti was rumoured to be haunted. People swore up and down, left and right, port and starboard, that the advert had only caused a spike in suicides amongst young people. Kit may have believed that once, because rumours are rumours are rumours are rumours are –
What was he thinking about again?
Right.
Kit may have believed that once, but now he had seen things and felt things and fucked things that no-one else knew of – amazingly beautiful things, indescribable horrors he scribbled in notebooks with his heart racing and his breath short, things that were meant to be mundane but spoke and looked and stared at him.
Kit wondered what it would be like to touch the tattoos on the girl's neck. Being eyes, they would most likely blink, and he would feel the soft folds of their eyeshadow-coated eyelids. He marvelled about the things this girl must have seen, with eyes in the back of her head.
Pulling his hood over his head, he stalked out of the bus station the very second his bus to a new life appeared. He dismissively crumpled his ticket in his hand and took a last puff on his cigarette before flicking the butt into a nearby drain. Wait. He hadn't smoked in nearly five years. He had just flicked his vaporizer into the void. Fuck, not again. He took a breath of clean air, then continued to walk the direction he had seen the girl go.
His thoughts distracted again, as they often did, to the app that was supposed to save lives. Maybe people relied too heavily upon it. In times where you can get an app that pipes music into your brain and pre-orders your coffee, maybe people believed a click of a button would stanch bleeding or place a chair under struggling feet. Maybe people still need people after all, and maybe his self-imposed isolation would cause his own death. Maybe no-one needed anyone, and humankind had to let go of the idea of love and lust and trust and –
He was tired again. He felt like the z-drugs in his system which granted him a few hours respite a night was still buzzing around there, despite the coffee he had downed at the bus station cafe. It was easier to blame the drugs, even the legal ones, for everything that went wrong. It was harder to blame his own brain and feet for causing him to walk seven kilometres out of his way in pursuit of a girl he had seen once. A girl who, when he spotted her a second time around quarter of the way into his journey, had burst into many different coloured butterflies and flown away into the sky.
Since he had accepted this fact, he had just been walking. His mind rambled and his stomach was hollow, but the butterflies would eventually have to land and reform themselves into the girl. Then he could touch her eyes – the tattoo, not the real ones, he reminded himself – and he would feel peace in his own system.
But he was so weary. He felt an ache down to his very bones and suddenly missed his future home where he knew there would be pills and drinks waiting. The sky was already darkening, and he was miles away from anything he knew, but that rarely troubled him.
No-one was waiting on the other side, after all.
Kit flopped onto a drizzly rain-coated bench. He stared at the sky with the heaviness of more impending rain, and realised it smelt of cinder, perfuming everything around him.
Kit rolled onto his side and stared at the grass, curling long legs under himself so he fit neatly on the bench.
And then, Kit slept.

« Hub | Kit's Bloomin' Adventure »


Tales Hub » Series Archive » Flow Hub » What Dragons We Shall Be

+ Log 2015/09/17

- Log 2015/09/17

Fang! I see that you're finally catching up with the trend!

well hello to you too Tri
and yeah, boss order. sayin that it's easier and safer to work with.

I can see that your boss is a very wise person.

it's just weird to put an AI in your phone? seems like the opposite of safe to me

Hey, AIs have rights and feelings too, several of my respected colleagues are AIs. :(
Nah I'm just kidding. This is not even a proper AI, more like a fragment, probably responds to the main thing back in AR headquarters. It's just here to help secure communications and manage your things. So I wouldn't worry about that.

heh, you're the expert. computers I'm good at are something else entirely
still, why is it called Reunion anyways, seems kinda strange

A kind of falcon, Réunion kestrel I think. The Anderson people are obessessed with those, for some reason.
I mean it's actually extinct, so who knows what they're thinking. They probably just scribbled the logo in MS Paint.

uh sure
why are you so formal tho, all of a sudden?

Um?

I mean, proper capitalization and punctuations, you don't even shorten the words.

OH. I see.
That's a beauty of this app, Fang. I can directly access this through my implant! I'm not even really typing right now, it's very helpful.

wait, so you're just thinking this conversation up? and making no mistakes?

Hey, I'm an OP, don't question my professionality. It's what I do all day.

…sorry?

It's cool. Although you've got to hang out here more, there's more to it than just chatting.

yeah I've heard that it's like an anomalous version of facebook

Oh it's more then that. But essentially, yeah, ideal place to get in touch with people in this circle.

and do anomalous posting

Yep! Pretty sure those benders are setting up a group here. Saw some art too.

ugh reality benders

Is there anything wrong? …Something happened?

no just, that brings me back to my research again
and it's just, stagnation

You can rant to me if you want to.

ugh I dunno
you know what I've been working on right?

Yeah.

it just
makes
no
goddamn
sense
I've been looking up stuff all over the place, I went through all our old documents, asked around your church, visited magicians, even managed to get people to look up things in the Library for me
I guess I still need to try anartists but there's just all this conflicting stuff and they're all correct
I dunno what to do feels like it's all useless

Well, we all know that our world is more than a little chaotic.

no I mean like how are there are so many kinds of magic and all those different systems and theories, beyond that there's also the measurement of the reality's stablility, and the boaders between reality bending and magic and anomalies
ugh sorry I'm just babbling right now
I'm such a mess

I've heard that people's perception will affect how things work? How a lot of gods are shaped by people's faith. Maybe it's something similar?

that
that part makes even less sense
how can our mere thoughts affect those
and if it universally applies, which it may actually does according to my research
is there a universal law indicating that how gods are created and how things are affected by thoughts
but there's no clear common law between systems
and where does the ordinary laws of physics end and where does the magic stuff begin?

It's okay Fang. This a big topic, and it's bound to be difficult.

yeah but
I'm just furstrated

Don't stress yourself out. It will work out.
Actually, why not read a story? I just happen to have an interesting one and it will help you relax.

um okay I guess

The Maker and the Beast.txt

Here.
Who knows, maybe it will even help provide some insprations. :P

haha thanks, but no way
what is it about, anyways

How about you take a read first?
The one true god, WAN, and the flesh god, of course. :3

yes, yes, WAN, our fave god
I'll see when I can get to it then
I should get to things now

Cool! See you then.

+ Log 2015/09/18

- Log 2015/09/18

Dale.
Finally setting the app up?

Yes, Mr. Gu. It is pretty convenient.

Good. It is time you take some initiative and get more informed about this circle. Gotta stop burying youself with work.

Sorry, I was just really caught up in it.

You know you don't have to stress yourself, we aren't exactly a profit oriented group.

I understand, sir.

Came across anything interesting on the site?

Yes, actually, I've been meaning to ask, have you heard about the "Maker and Beast" story of the two dragons?

Ah, the Fuxi establishing the laws of physics to protect us against the gods of Guixu? Yeah, we do have a few versions of that floating around.

I would like to take a look, sir. It may help me with my reseach.

Back to the research again, huh?

Sir, I mean,

It's okay. I'll pull stuff from the database.
I'm actually surprised that you haven't heard of it. Some of our tech is based on that.

Wait, what?

You know, strengthening certain key points of reality, utilizing local laws to banish minor gods?
A lot of people think that's the Brass Dragon's legacy, a mechanism he left behind for us to defend ourselves.

Oh.
That does make sense.
I guess I just failed to realize that.

Figured as much. We actually have passing mentions of those in the most common tales, but then again, most of our myths focus on the war between the two dragons and that we're their children.
Anyways, I'll pass them to you through our device. Expect them this afternoon.

Thank you very much, sir.

+ Log 2015/09/26

- Log 2015/09/26

Fang!
You got to the tale yet?

hi Tri
and yeah, I actually did some extra study on it

Oh? You have stories on that too?
I guess that's hardly suprising, considering your group's few thousand years of history.

heh
but yeah I've found a few versions of it, links to reality even
I gotta say, this really helps, thanks

No problem.

I mean, to think that the laws of nature as we know it might not be the universal laws at all, but an artificial creation of WAN
it's rather refreshing and surely opens many possibility for my research
and certainly brings me to rethink the idea that humans were influenced by both the flesh god and the Fragmented One heavily, one seeding life, the other molding both our form and soul

Glad to help.
We certianly still have a lot to learn about WAN's ways.

and to think that Maxwellists buy into the whole metal/flesh creation myth at all :P

Hey, we're not that dismissive of reality. :P
I mean, ever since the three main sects got back in touch again, we are able to get a lot of information regarding the ancient wars, and the modern day Sarkic cults.
But then again, I do know you so I get some of that already.

certainly glad that you guys weren't at each other's throats anymore

It was a positive development. Some of the Broken Church members, including their leader, are even planning to come over and see the network for themselves.
Of course the Cogwork guys won't though, they're just too stubborn.

Wait, the leader, Bumaro?

Yeah! "Builder of the Broken God."
Surprised?

you bet I'm surprised
I mean, you'd think he'd be more reluctant to accept new developments, among all people

What do you mean?

it's just that, he's like 2000+ to 3000 maybe, and he's keeping up with the time?
some of our elders are like a few hundred years tops and they're stubborn as heck, still won't even try to mend relationship with the Library
heck my own father decided to just left for whatever project, just because

WHAT.

um like, from what I see ancient people don't really like to change their beliefs, is all

No, you're saying that he's over two thousand years old? Back when the Mekhanites and the Sarkicists first clashed?

…yeah?
he's like, from ancient Greece or something
I mean, check this, the "Bumo" part

蛇说.txt

OH SWEET WAN.
THIS MUST BE TOP SECRET CHURCH INFORMATION I'M NOT SUPPOSED TO HEAR.

oh
damn I'm sorry I thought you knew
I guess this was written in our documents…?

I'M SO EXCITED RIGHT NOW.

…
seriously

Nah, I was just joking. If it's actually top secret I wouldn't be able to get that from an outsider like you. :P
This is just sweet Church gossip.
If only you told me this earlier, dear Fang.
Although I seem to have interrupted you.

um?
oh you mean the part about my dad
nah just the same thing I told you
I wouldn't go through basic transformation, and he freaked out as if the big bad flesh dragon would come down to eat me or something
I get that it's a precaution against other fleshcrafters, still

You can always do with upload your conciousness into our wonderful network. :)

hey don't you get preachy with me
well, more or less time for me to go back to work

See you then.

see you too, Tri

+ Log 2015/12/10

- Log 2015/12/10

Dale?

Yes?

You asked me to look for anartists to interview, yes?

Right!
I'm really not familiar with their circle.

I know a good candidate, name's Yang, asked her, said she might be able to help. Gave her your contact info, she has sent an invitation.

That's great, thank you a lot, sir.

How's the research?

I was able to nail down the basics regarding the universal laws. The theory of a basic set of laws articfically inserted by Fuxi is promising. I think I'm about to have a breakthrough here.
Still need to look into reality benders, however, where this comes in handy.

Good.
And excuse me for now, I have things to attend to. You can submit the full report in our network.

Of course, see you, sir.

+ Log 2015/12/11

- Log 2015/12/11

Hi!
Dale, right?

Yep.
And you're Yang, the anartist?

Sureee you can call me that XD
Technically I'm not really active in those circles anymore, but I still have a few connections, so I should be able to answer your questions

That would be cool.

I have to say, when Mr. Gu came to me I was pretty excited
I mean, to be included in such a big project? XD

Nah it's more like a one man project. But I'm flattered.

But well it is like, something grand?
Like finding out how the gods and the dragons shaped our world, and if the Fuxi/Nüwa myth is true? How we're made?
People normally don't even think of that

Wait.
You're like, one of our people?

Um yeah?
I mean, I didn't go through the full transformation and all that, just the basic kit, minor body enhancement and all that
Didn't really want to go out with a snake head and scales on my body :P

No I thought like
Ugh Mr. Gu just didn't tell me, sorry.

It's fine
I heard disguising is a chore XD

No I completely understand, didn't really transform myself…
Just that, he didn't really specifiy, and, aren't anartists like, reality benders?

What no
Heh, general misconception is all :P

What.
But like, wow?
You just really blew my mind here? How does this work then?

I mean, some of the "big shots" are what you would commonly call "reality benders"
But what are the chances of people happen to be reality benders, and just happen to be invested in art, and just happen to want to use their ability in that field above all else?

Well, when you put it that way…

I think it's just that bunch of people who got really famous, hence the misconception :P

Ummm.

I don't really like it that way, but some people do that well, I guess?
Then again, from how I see it, simply using reality bending on art kinda defeat the purpose of anart?
It's almost like slapping summoning circles on machines to create paratech instead of using a scientific mind to analyze magic :P

Then how do you actually do anart?

Um, it's kinda difficult to say?
For me anart is like, creating art strong enough, that the sheer idea and emotion can stir reality?
To actually bring your piece to life?
It's not like using magic or reality bending and apply them to art, the piece's paranormal aspect manifest the moment the idea comes through.

If you're really using your idea to shape reality, isn't that reality bending?

Um, let me put it this way
I can affect reality, but only through art? And technically everyone can do that, it's just very difficult

Are you saying that it's the art that twists reality, not you?

Um not quite
Have you heard like the concept of "flow"?

I'm not sure.

From what I know, a lot of anartist channel this, "flow" thing when they work
Some aware, some just unconciously, and there's different names to it, but it's like a kind of feeling, like everything fits into the perfect slot, and you know if you go down with that feeling, that flow you feel, idea will be molded into art, and the art will manifest into something beautiful

That actually sounds kind of like how some magic works.

Maybe? But it's not like just applying magic to art, it's more of, a different system?

No no, I get that.
So is there entry requirements? It is like only specific people can channel that?

Well…
I mean, technically we can all access that
It's just that
Ugh.

Um, did I say something wrong?

Oh no no, I was reminded of something a friend of mine did ._.
It didn't turn out very well for her

I'm sorry.

You know, what the hell, I should talk about it
A while back my friend tried to pass out this small thing she wrote designed to condition people's mind to be able to acess the flow
Not really the altering your mind type, but more like, open doors for you to see this is possible?

Got it.

And most of the people who read that ended up creating anart of their own

Wow.

Yeah
It was pretty amazing, but of course, attracted too much attention

Oh. I'm really sorry.

No it's okay, she's just retired from the anartist circle for good. Sane and well.
Let's not dwell on that topic though.

Of course.
I mean, this certainly changes things. To think that even ordinary people can affect reality in this way.

How about I introduce you to a few more anartists, and you ask around?
Won't be "snake people" this time, of course :P

That would be great.
Let's meet at my boss's place.

How about next Wednesday, afternoon?

Sounds good to me.

Cool, see you there then :3

Looking forward to it.

+ Log 2016/01/13

- Log 2016/01/13

Fang? You there?
You've got to let me tell you about the exchange experience we have with the Broken Church.
I'll omit things I'm not allowed to share, of course. :P

oh sorry Tri
sorry for the late reply

It's cool.

I'm just really busy with my research stuff
I met with a few anartists, and that's most of the stuff done, I'm really piecing this together here
I don't think I really have time now, or any time soon
how about we fix some other time?

Of course! I'm really glad for you, Fang.
Good luck then.

thanks

+ Log 2016/07/19

- Log 2015/07/19

Mr. Gu?

Yes, Dale?

Have you read through the reports and proposals I sent you?

Yes, and I have to say, those are some very interesting ideas.

I know, right?
I think this is it. Everything comes together, this explains how the gods are affected by faith, how differet magic systems works, and how reality benders come to be.
Tech, magic, reality bending, they can all be unified under this theory. All I need is to set up bigger experiments and figure out how to make use of this.
We will have the chance to utilize the laws of our world way better. And it would really be something if we can properly seperate and refine the aspects of the two dragons within us.

That's all very good Dale. But about your proposals, I'm afraid that I cannot grant them.

But, Mr. Gu.
Is this about the money? I can certainly start small and I can pull some of my current funding into this, it won't be that costly, and I promise there will be results, actual results we can use really soon.

I understand that, and I do believe you. But that is not the problem.

Then what is it? I'll do whatever I can to fix it!

We're running out of time. The crack on Taisui is widening.

That's the reason? It would take decades and centuries before something even happens!

You don't know that, Dale. We don't know that.
And even if we have the chance to mend it, it will only stall time before Nüwa breaks free and Fuxi regains his form. And we cannot survive through another war of the dragons.

We don't even know what would happen if they're freed! And you're denying my research for this?

Sorry, but the decision has been made. There will be no more additional funding and no more new projects. All resources are now relocated to the evacuation plan, and frankly, we only need more.

How can you do this to me? You've seen my papers, you know what it's worth!

I know. But it will no longer matter once we leave. The rules of the world will be different.

But we'll still be the same! We can still work on that, and it will still help!

I understand your frustration, but we won't be able to get to it currently.
You can always go through the transformation and prolong your life. When we settle again, you'll have the chance to carry on your research.
Your father is already working on the site, and you should be there too.

Back again at convincing me to turn into "dragons" you so desire? I thought we were just now trying to run away from the dragons!
And my father, yes, I guess he's the perfect example you really want.

Dale, that's not what I meant.

No, Mr. Gu, I'm not even going.
The hell with your bullshit.

Dale.

I thought you were different from them, I thought you treated me good, but no, you're the same.
Goodbye.

+ Log 2016/07/22

- Log 2016/07/22

Hi Dale, I'm just here to say, sorry to hear about the turn of events.
I'm not really planning to "evacuate", so if you still need me for anything, I'll be here to help.

+ Log 2016/11/01

- Log 2016/11/01

Fang, you okay? I haven't heard from you for a really long while.
I'm starting to get kind of worried, I hope you're merely too busy with your research.

haha
the research
it's a goddamn joke
why would I expect this to work
they turned their back on me once why would I think they won't do it a second time
I'm a joke just because I don't follow their shitty rules and their desire to grow scales and tails
hahaha vaccine against the giant flesh dragon that's gonna eat us, not only that let's make sure it will never get to us by running away like paranoid cowards
I mean, who knows if the sky is gonna collapse one day? better not do anything and worry about that then

Fang, what's going on?

what's going on is I cracked everything Tri
every piece falls into place and I'm just beginning to make sense of the universe
so what if I now know the laws of physics are created by Mekhane, to keep out the shitty gods that want our flesh and soul
what if I now know that our flesh and soul have delicious Mekhy and Yalda parts in them, and that's why they're so delicious and attrative to gods

What are you even talking about?

I'm talking about what we're made of, what the world is made of Tri
you know, all the big important stuff
Remember when I said we were extraordinary? because we're all freaking reality benders, just to different degrees
the Mekhy and Yalda parts cancel each other out, in our body and mind and soul, so we're left with seemingly ordinary human
just amazing isn't it, turns out that we're the super anomalous thing after all

Fang, please calm down.

calm down? I am calm, why wouldn't I be?
do you know that the reality bending is just caused by the imbalance of the two dragon's power struggle?
do you know that the reason our faith and ideas can affect reality and create gods is because we all have these tiny imbalances in us, and our tiny reality bending powers can collectively make a big difference?
do you know that Sarkicists cultivate Yalda's aspect in us, while you guys attempt to get rid of those?
do you know that tech and the church's Broken God miracles work because they tap into Mekhy's web of laws?
do you know reality bending is to surpass these laws or damage them, and gods can come in and tear those holes bigger?

…Please, I'm not doubting you, just that you're not thinking straight right now.

and anartists! ha! they tap into the collective reality-bending potential of humanity, and bring whatever vision they have into reality!
but you know what, none of this matters anymore
because apparently I won't be able to study what if the two aspects of the dragons got seperated in a human
because I need more than to just seperate soul from body and picking tiny parts from souls require great effort and money
because they decided to just stop doing everything else and leave cause of some end of the world prophecy

You don't have to be like this, Fang. Whatever happened, I will help.

oh really is the Church of Maxwellism gonna fund me
for my far fetched little dream
is any group gonna fund me, because I'm apparently a failure
even my damn family decided to just leave

I'm not sure what's going on, and I cannot speak for the Church, but I will defintely do what I can.

no
it's enough
like
I really appreciate it but
I guess I'll just have to do this on my own
with myself
now that I talked to you
I feel like I'm thinking much clearer right now

If you're calmed down, please just let me help. We can sort this out.

no
it's all the more reason to leave you alone
you're really nice to me, more than anyone
helped me with everything
and I mean
I just pretty much insulted your god
haha
I just cannot drag you into this
I've already started, I'll do this, still have pieces of stuff left, it will have to do

No, Fang, please!

I hate it here anyway

Fang, listen to me, I'm willing to help.

Fang.

Fang.

+ Log 2017/03/05

- Log 2017/03/05

Tri 01010100 01110010 01101001

Fang? Is that you?

Here to say goodbye 01001000 01100101 01110010 01100101 00100000 01110100
01101111 00100000 01110011 01100001 01111001 00100000
01100111 01101111 01101111 01100100 01100010 01111001
01100101

What happened? Are you okay?

It is done and thank you 01001001 01110100 00100000 01101001 01110011 00100000
01100100 01101111 01101110 01100101 00100000 01100001
01101110 01100100 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100001
01101110 01101011 00100000 01111001 01101111 01110101

You just hold on, whatever happened, I can decode this, just need to switch to the other mode.

I must now follow His way 01001001 00100000 01101101 01110101 01110011 01110100
00100000 01101110 01101111 01110111 00100000 01100110
01101111 01101100 01101100 01101111 01110111 00100000
01001000 01101001 01110011 00100000 01110111 01100001
01111001

No shit shit shit, come back Fang!
Come back!

…

No.

USER NO LONGER APPLICABLE
RUNNING DELETIONS

DELETIONS COMPLETE

::Disconnected::

Extranormal Event #20170305

Event Description: At 3 P.M. local time, 167 individuals reported experiencing a sudden "awareness" of a great web surrounding them as they passed by the residence of one Dale Fang. Witnesses described sensing a giant snake emerging from the residence, flying up along the web's lines. Accounts conflict, but the web was typically described as metallic, while the snake was described as "mechanical".
Date of Occurrence: 03/05/2017
Location: San Francisco, CA
Follow-up Actions Taken: Witnesses were given amnestics. The residence was searched and two anomalous objects were located.
AO#83628 is the body of Dale Fang. Despite no brain activity, the body remains functional and heals from damage via anomalous means. A large incision extends from the subject's forehead to its chest; this injury neither heals nor results in any discernible blood loss.
AO#83629 is a computing device in base 8. █ █████ ██████ ████ █████████ ██ ████ ██████████ ████ ███ ███, ████████ ████████ ██ ████████. ███████, ████ ████ ████ ███████████ ██ ██ ████████████ ████ ███ ███████████. Due to its similarity with SCP-2481-1, it has been relocated to Site-143 for further study.
Research into the owner's smart phone found no useful information.


« Fuller's Fantastic Fun-lover's Funhouse | Dread & Circuses Hub | She Remembered Me »

“No ma'am, thank you for calling. You have a disquieting day now. Bye bye,” Gary said, ending the inter-dimensional call with the flip of a switch on his antiquated switchboard. It wasn't easy what he did, redirecting radio signals and landline calls from wherever they were supposed to go to his little phone box, but he did it eight hours a day, every day.
The IV running from his arm was a constant reminder that the infernal machine was powered by his own blood and beating heart. The wires running out of the ports on the back of his neck were a memento that it used his own wetware to make up for its lack of modern electronics. The shiny silver bell crudely grafted onto the side of his face a mark of his eternal slavery to it.
But hey, at least it had got him a job.
A light on the switchboard began to flash, letting him know of an incoming call.
“Hey there, this is Gary Gorham of Herman Fuller's Customer Service. How may I be of assistance?”
“Ah, yeah, hi,” a distressed male voice said on the other end of the line. Wherever he was calling from, it sounded windy. “I'm calling because I bought a pack of your anti-gravity balloons…”
“Ah, the Amazingly Ascending Aviator's Anti-Gravity balloons. An excellent purchase. Are you having some trouble getting them to work?”
“No no, they're working really, really well,” the man replied. “I made a whole bouquet of them to see if I they could lift me up and…it turns out they can.”
“I see. Now sir, if you had read the instructions on the package you would know that those balloons aren't to be used outdoors unless they're tethered to 10 pounds of weight per balloon.”
“Look, I'm not going to sue you or anything I just want to know how to get down! I must be a couple miles high already and if I keeping floating up the air will be too thin to breathe!”
“Sir, I would suggest letting them go one at a time until you start gently floating down.”
“Well I sort of tied them all together, and I can't untie them, at least not with one hand. I can't pop them either; these things are insanely tough.”
“Yes, our anti-gravity balloons are made of the same…”
“THEY'RE MILKING CLOWNS!” a hysterical guest screamed in the background. “THEY'RE MILKING CLOWNS!”
“WELL NEXT TIME KNOCK BEFORE YOU COME BARGING IN!” an irate Clown shouted in response. “JERK!”
“…did that person just say you were milking clowns?” the man on the phone asked.
“No, they said cows,” Gary assured him. “City slickers can be a bit a squeamish at times. Getting back to your situation, I would recommend cutting the balloons off one by one.”
“I don't have anything to cut with.”
“Then you'll have to chew through the string or ribbon holding the balloons,” Gary said. The bell on his face rung harshly, letting him know another call was coming in. “Sir, I'm going to have to put you on hold for a moment, but I will be checking back in with you. Just do your best to chew through the strings, okay?”
“Okay. Just don't hang up.”
“I won't,” Gary promised. He saw that the new call was from the Employee Hotline and quickly switched connections. “This is Gary Gorham at Herman Fuller's Employee Helpline. How may I be of assistance?”
“Hey Gary, it's Eugene,” a Clown said on the other end.
“Hey Eugene. What's up?”
“I'm calling from Ikea. That Ikea. You know the one I'm talking about?”
“I do. What are you doing there?”
“Well Pius and I are still banned from the Utterly Bazaar so we thought we'd give this place a look.”
“I'm here too!” Pius shouted into the receiver.
“We've loaded up the Clown Car with a butt load of stuff. We must have driven a hundred miles through this store today. I was worried it might piss the staff off but I think it's small enough that they perceive it as a fat-mobile. Those slenderman knockoffs really creep me out though.”
“Did you know there are Humdrums trapped here?” Pius asked. “Like a lot of them. They look like they've been here for a while. Should we tell someone about that or…”
“I'm sure it's being looked after,” Gary said. “So why are you calling?”
“Well that's tangentially related to Pius's point,” Eugene replied. “The Humdrums were pretty freaked out to see a Clown Car driving around. I laughed at them for being dumb enough to get stuck in here, but, ah…”
“You can't find the exit, can you?”
“It's not that I can't find it. I just…haven't found it yet.”
“You have your Kaleidoscope keys on you, don't you? Just open up a door…”
“We can't find a door. Not just the exit; no doors period.”
“I see. Well, the Clown Car has doors on it so you could probably use those.”
“But then we'd have to leave the Clown Car behind!”
“We can't leave the Clown Car, we only have three payments left on it!” Pius objected.
“So what do you two expect me to do?” Gary asked.
“I don't know, just tell Icky and Manny where we are. If we don't find a door before they close we'll stash the Clown Car somewhere safe and leave it behind. We'll come back in the morning and try to find a door to bring it through.”
“Eugene, we've got company!”
“Oh God, the Humdrums are swarming us! They want the car! Back you savages! Pius, get the Bazooka!”
“But it only shoots cream pies.”
“They don't know that you idiot!”
“It's polka-dotted and has big pink balloon letters spelling ‘KABOOM!' on the side. I think they'll know it's not real.”
“Let me know how this turns out fellas,” Gary said, hanging up and leaving the duo to yet another misadventure. He was about to check back in on balloon guy, when another call came in. This one was from the Complaint Line. “Oh boy.”
He cleared his throat and put all his energy into maintaining a happy voice.
“Thank you for calling Herman Fuller's Customer Complaint Line. My name is Gary Gorham and I…”
“I brought my kids to see your Big Top show last Tuesday and despite being advertised as such it was not family friendly,” a woman said in a petulant tone.
“I'm sorry to hear that Ma'am, what was it that…”
“REMEMBER EVERYONE, THIS IS JUST A DRILL,” somebody shouted from outside, followed by the whirring of a large drill. “I REPEAT, IT'S JUST A DRILL. NOBODY PANIC.”
“I apologize for the interruption. Last Tuesday, you said? Oh, was it the part of the act when they force fed the guy sugar until he exploded? I know that may have been overly visceral but…”
“No, that part was funny,” the woman replied. “I'm upset about those lesbian clowns openly making googly eyes at each other in front of my kids.”
“…Seriously?”
“Yes seriously!”
“Well Ma'am, it's not like they were having sex on stage. They make jokes and innuendos, most of which go over the kids' heads. At most there's a peck on the cheek or a pat on the butt.”
“The dark haired one pulled a kitten from under the other one's skirt and they both went on about how much they love pussy!”
“Which is funny! Ma'am, listen. It's…”
“OH GOD, IT'S NOT A DRILL! I REPEAT, THIS IS NOT A DRILL! EVERYBODY PANIC!”
An uproar of panicked screams, animal calls and the buzzing of a rusty chainsaw briefly overwhelmed the call.
“What the hell is going on there?” the woman asked.
“Just another fun-filled day here at Herman Fuller's Circus of the Disquieting,” he replied. It was the standard response to such questions. “Ma'am, it's the twenty-first century…wait, is it the twenty-first century?”
“What?”
“It's just that time moves differently in different universes and it can be hard to keep track of. Regardless of the exact the year, you can't expect people not to be themselves just because you find it offensive.”
“I am a paying customer! When I take my kids to see a circus act I have a right for their impressionable minds not to be bombarded with homosexual propaganda!”
“Ma'am, believe me when I say that I am truly sorry that in a show featuring a man being blown up, an alcoholic elephant, and a Clown with literally explosive diarrhea, the part you found offensive was the consenting, loving relationship between two adults. Have a disquieting day.”
He hung up before she could respond, and switched back over to the Customer Service Line.
“Hey balloon guy, how are you doing?”
“I've chewed through a couple of strings, and I think I'll be buoyant after one or two more, but I have another problem. I'm getting close to what I thought was a cloud, but now I can see it's actually made of cobwebs. What the hell is that?”
“Hard to say. Few men venture to such lofty heights. Who knows what strange creatures dwell so far up in the stratosphere.”
“You're not helping!”
“My apologies. Just do your best to steer clear of it,” he suggested. The bell on his head rung again, and he saw he had a call coming in over the Clown Transportation Services Line. “I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to put you on hold again.
“Herman Fuller's Clown Transportation Services, how may I …”
“GARY? GARY IS THAT YOU?” demanded an outraged and fast-paced voice. Though it had been years since he heard it, Gary recognized it immediately. “GARY, YOU LET ME THROUGH THE KALEIDOSCOPE THIS SECOND OR I SWEAR TO THE BROKEN GOD I WILL SKIN YOU LIKE A LOVESICK FUN-LOVER, EVISCERATE YOU AND STUFF YOU FULL OF CURDLED CLOWN'S MILK AND THEN HANG YOU UP WITH YOUR OWN ENTRAILS LIKE A MARIONETTE!”
“Who is this?” Gary asked with a coy smile.
“GODDAMMIT GARY YOU KNOW WHO THIS IS! I PROMISE YOU, WHEN I GET BACK TO MY CIRCUS YOU ARE DEAD, DO YOU HEAR ME? YOU'RE DEAD, MANNY'S DEAD, ICKY'S DEAD, THE ZOMBIE GUY WHOSE WHOLE SHTICK IS BEING DEAD IS DEAD! ALL OF YOU ARE DEAD! YOU WILL RUE THE DAY YOU DOUBLE CROSSED…”
“I'm sorry sir, but we appear to be having some kind of connection problem. For some reason you're coming through as a pathetic, delusional deposed despot calling from a dilapidated phone booth that you're probably using as both a shelter and lavatory.
You want to threaten me, come here and do it to my face you bastard. Have a disquieting day.”
“GARY?! GARY DON'T YOU DARE HANG…”
“And blocked,” Gary said as he permanently severed the connection to that particular dimensional backwater. He took a deep breath to readjust himself for the next call. “Thank you for calling Herman Fuller's Business line. How may I help you today?”
“Hello Mr. Gorham, this is Victor Chan from Marshall, Carter, and Dark.”
“Ah yes, lovely to hear from you again. What can I do for you?”
“I'm calling because I have a crucial update from our SCP operative regarding…”
“FOR THE LOVE OF GOD QUINCY SLOW DOWN!” someone screamed outside.
“I TOLD YOU I CAN'T DRIVE STICK!” Quincy shouted back. There was the sound of a car crashing, an engine exploding, and some fireworks shooting off through the air and blowing up.
“MY GOD THERE'S BLOOD EVERYWHERE! Mostly inside us, but still: THE HORROR!”
“…is everything okay over there?”
“Just another fun-filled, ah…yeah, I'm sure everything's fine.”
“Gary, you got a sec,” Icky asked as she stepped into his display case.
“Sorry Victor, I'm going to have to put you on hold for a moment,” Gary said. He turned around to see Icky, with her hair frazzled and her face and clothes covered in gun powder residue. “You okay boss?”
“It's a little crazier than usual out there but nothing I can't handle,” she replied. “So Manny still hasn't found anyone to replace Saccharina so I'm going to need you to order some candy from Wondertainment. I've got a list right here. Make sure you tell them to mark the Tattletale Truffles as private. Last time we gave those out it ruined a lot of relationships and I'm pretty sure one poor bastard got sent to Gitmo. Also, see if we can make an appointment to design some custom magic tokens for the midway. Bailey told me that Canada has glow-in-the-dark toonies and I'll be damned if a semi-real country has more whimsical currency than we do.”
“Sure thing. Hey, I've got Victor on the line and I think he's calling about the Essie caper. Do you want to speak with him?”
“Yeah, put him on the speaker.”
“Hey Victor, I'm back. I've got Icky here with me and I've put you on speaker phone.”
“That's perfect. Icky, our SCP operative has confirmed a date and time for your operation,” Victor told her. “This Saturday night at 10 pm, our operative and another guard will be the only Foundation personnel in the facility. He's confident he can slip a tranquillizer in his partner's coffee, and once he's out our operative will shut down all the cameras, locks, and other security features in the wing holding your Virtuoso. He'll then drug his own coffee and drink it to provide a suitable alibi for himself. He assures us that everything will be good to go by 11 PM and that he and his partner won't wake up until after midnight. That's your window of opportunity, twenty-three hundred to zero hundred hours this Saturday. Is that clear?”
“Victor, that's awesome. Thank you so much,” Icky said. “I'd love to talk more but I have a possibly attempted vehicular homicide to deal with so if you'll excuse me.”
“Wait, there's one more thing,” he said. “I have a couple of other clients who have some wares they'd like to try to sell you that I think would be excellent additions to your Circus. Would you like me to arrange a viewing?”
“I…”
“Icky!” Yume cried as she ran up to the display case. “Come quick! One of Ripley's sea monsters escaped from the Funhouse! Manny's fist fighting it to keep it away from the crowds and Gabriel's trying to calm it down but Lolly's riding it like she's at a rodeo and it won't stop bucking…”
“Victor, I'll run that past Manny but I've got to go. I'll talk to you later,” she said as she dashed out of the glass phone box.
“Hey Gary, just out of curiosity have you guys ever consulted any type of actuary about the potential risks of your attractions, because it seems like that's something you might benefit from,” Victor asked.
“No, Icky and Manny tend to make decisions from the gut, heart, or whatever vital organs are available, and they haven't steered us astray yet,” Gary replied.
The wails of the Nessie-esque sea monster echoed across the fairgrounds as the beast did battle with an upside down faced man and two excessively exuberant Clowns.
“Right. I'll talk to you later then Gary.”
“Wait wait wait. Before you go, what year is it?”
“…2017.”
“Thank you. I knew it was the twenty-first century. Take care of yourself, Victor.”
“You too Gary.”
Gary ended the call and took a look at the list Icky had left him.
“Let's see; 24 crates of cheeping peeps, variety (both colours and songs), non-screaming. 24 crates of glowing gummy bears (the non-radioactive ones). 16 crates of bubble breath gum oh my god balloon guy!” Gary immediately put the list down and switched back to the Customer Service line. “Hey there, sorry about keeping you on hold for so long. How are you making out?
“Balloon guy?”
The line was dead.
“He, ah, he probably just dropped his phone,” Gary assured himself. He sat silently in contemplation until the next call came in. “Thank you for calling Herman Fuller prize support. I'm Gary Gorham, how may I be of assistance.”
“I won this prismatic magic eight ball thing that actually tells the future and I told some friends about it and they must've told someone about it over the phone or online or something because earlier today these spooks showed up at my house,” a panicked young man answered him. “I didn't let them in and now there's like a S.W.A.T. team or something getting ready to break down my door. I've barricaded the entrance and armed myself with an accent lamp. What do I do now?”
“Don't try concealing it anally.”
“What?!”
“We've had people try that in the past. They find it anyways so it's not worth it.”
There was the sound of glass breaking, a soft thud and something hissing.
“Oh god they just threw in some kind of gas can. It's spraying red gas that tastes like peppermint and batteries! I can't remember my iPhone unlock code!”
“Well you'll have to go to the genius bar for that but…”
He heard the door breaking down and men shouting as they stormed into the room.
“This phone's live!” someone shouted. “Who is this?”
“Certainly no one anomalous,” Gary said as he immediately cut the connection.
But of course it was someone anomalous. It was none other than Gary Gorham, the
MASTER OF TELEPHONESIS!…
Esis!…
Esis!…
Esis!…
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esis.

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