How many guys have you fucked?
"More than I'd like to admit."
And women?
"There's not a number that would be satisfactory to either of us."
What do you think is the cap to your life expectancy?
"Shut up."
Isn't it a beautiful day in the favela at least?
"…could have fooled me."
No?
"No."
As long as I've been around, we've shared much of the same cameraderie. It's a dynamic that I respect, though Graça has different views of the situation than I do. No offense.
"Sure."
Can't blame her; I'm insufferable. We always did come off as left-and-right-brained and right-brained. Even now, she's trying not to talk to me. At least I'm not special; I watch through her eyes as she avoids the faces of strangers. It's too bad, because I always like feeling vital.
"You're not."
But it's a whisper, to avoid others wondering who the crazy is that's talking to herself. Can you cross the street already? Pollution is bad enough. Please try to avoid accidentally bumping into people. We don't need the attention. Move, you crazy bitch.
We navigate busy sidewalks and back streets, looking each and every way for anyone who might be after us. Finally, we arrive at Tristão's house. He's sitting outside. What a sight for sore eyes. Red baggy eyes. Shaggy hair. Slumping onto the door. That weak smile. As good of a friend as he is, he has a ridiculous unhealthy schedule. Why, it's almost like he —
"Didn't get any sleep last night, huh?"
"Same answer as usual, girl." He stands up and holds his fist out for a fistbump. Bump goes the fists, and a connection is born anew. It was way too long since we got to jam; a whole four months. Pounding the drums is more than just a way to soothe the nerves; it's the vibrations sent up one's spine, the arms shaking as the sticks are raised, repeating the process all over… it's the closest to fucking one can get. Less of a mess, too.
"You really need to sleep, though. Regular 48-hour all-nighters are just gonna make you worse at making music. Promise me you'll sleep the moment I leave."
"I don't see the big deal though, it's not like —"
"Not like it'll make any difference, when we haven't played in so long, shithead?" Bonk goes the palm, right on the head. "Please tell me you practiced once between then and now."
"Well…" He drifts off, pretending to not know the answer. His sly smile gave it away. Every time. Our eyes twitch a bit. "Hey, hey! In my defense, I had no power for a whole month. That's why I wasn't able to contact you or anyone else."
"Fucker." Tristão's divine punishment is a solid minute of noogieing, perhaps the worst possible one for him. His soft head can't handle a sustained attack from our worker-like hands and knuckles for too long. "Asshole. At least you're fine, and not some shitty imposter." We sit down by him and relax for a few minutes. The silence is nice.
After ten minutes of quietly watching the smoggy clouds drift by, Tristão speaks. "I still have your drums in the guest room. I've been cleaning them; I know how particular you are with your stuff getting dirty." We smile no, grin. Tell him thank you at least, or do you prefer not to ruin that real-world image of yours? Nothing? …nothing? Okay. "The only downside is that the toms are a bit detuned, and the snare got scratched. I could only do so much maintenance on my own time."
"Eh, it's fine. So long as we're not St. Angering it up, it'll sound fine."
"Oh come on, that album wasn't that bad. Neither were the snares."
"That's because you're not a drummer."
"You think Lulu is their best anyway! You don't get to talk." Punch him for that! She punches him. Yesss.
"Let's go play, you fag."
"Only if you take initiative again this time, dyke." We share a laugh. It was good to be back in good company.

The sounds of percussion blare through the house as we warm up and blast our way through every inch of the kit. The air feels vibrant; there's a sort of thickness that each drum creates unique to the way it is hit. The drumstick bounces up, and each time you are in that moment, you are engaged in a battle with the walls of sound. Either you win and are able to continue producing a rhythm that others can use in order to keep track of the music being produced… or you fuck up and people get pissed.
As for Tristão playing the bass? Eh, it's probably just as simple as plucking some strings.
"God, this rules. It sounds fine to me. How's it on your end?" He can't hear me with those earmuffs on, but he can read my lips. He gives a thumbs up. That's how we spend the next hour; noodling and getting used to being in-sync with one another. It just feels right again; we've never been able to click with anyone else ever since we started playing instruments. Sometimes, she thinks it's part of God's plan that Tristão came into our lives. In those times, I tell her to stop talking nonsense; since when has Christianity ever worked out in our favor?
"Dude, I love playing fills and blast beats and 7/8 funk rhythms, but I'm done warming up. Let's try playing one of our old songs and see if it still has that touch."
Tristão groans. "Ugh, but most of that stuff is shit." It's hard to tell if he's being genuine or not.
"Then the ones from earlier this year."
"Which one? You have to pick." What song would any of us even remember how to play?
"'Justificação', then. No singing in that one." We nod to each other, and the sticks go
1 2 3 4
Blast off. The room starts to shake, unable to contain the distorted bass crackling through a broken DIY amplifier and drums that roared like Hell itself. God's gift to us all.
Ten seconds in and the first key change happens, sounding more like rumbling beasts than music. Punks could dance to this.
Twenty seconds in, and a tiny crack forms in the wall behind us. A humid energy pulsates from it. Punks could only dare.
Twenty-five seconds in, Tristão rapidly shifts the key upwards, the sound becomes triumphant, and (

goodpostskitty: Tanaka, you still haven't told me how it actually works.
goodpostskitty: Tanaka, you still haven't told me how it actually works.
KiraQueen: Right, right. I don't totally know how it works, but i'm guessing based on conjecture and enough incidental… incidents. I don't have access to actual information.
KiraQueen: My sample size is you, Tristao, Thom, Sugako, No-Name, and around… a hundred and some people across various concerts.
goodpostskitty: …?
goodpostskitty: …?
KiraQueen: You know, Back when Aussie was still a thing we were involved in.
goodpostskitty: Oh, yeah.
goodpostskitty: Oh, yeah.
KiraQueen: Everyone has a bit of anomalous energy lurking in their soul. They have potential to use it, but because most people's energy is way too weak, or they're unaware it exists at all, they can't really use it. Especially when it comes to music. You can, like…
KiraQueen: Feel the vibrations of the music and it rubs you in a way you can't describe, like you're in a daze. Or you swear the room turned some kind of different color when a certain part came on, but maybe not. Like weed or taking the lightest amount of shrooms possible without fucking up your brain.
goodpostskitty: I don't do drugs, but okay. Go on.
goodpostskitty: I don't do drugs, but okay. Go on.
KiraQueen: We can use that stuff (the music and its/our energy, not drugs) more easily because we know how to tap into it, even if only at a base level of usability. So when we write music, it just naturally flows out of us. And when we perform it, everyone around us will feel it. That's the intended effect if you're doing anart, you know?
KiraQueen: So you want your audience to feel like they're pulsating. You write the music and perform it in a certain way so that your energy gets carried along the soundwaves to them. It leaves your body and enters theirs. So now they pulsate, and the music makes them shake a certain way, and they're on another level of reality, where you want them to be.
KiraQueen: Like, Thom can animate stuff in ways he's not aware of that does some neat shit to people's minds. I almost wanna tell him, but he doesn't need to be involved in that life.
goodpostskitty: Sure. I get it I think. Tell your fiance I said hello.
goodpostskitty: Sure. I get it I think. Tell your fiance I said hello.
KiraQueen: I would, but he's in Japan with Sugako. Tell Tristao he's gay as fuck.

) Oh, we're back, and our bodies have already begun to soar, vegetation growing out of the cracks as we move in-sync. Grass become vines become moving plants. The TV in the room over starts to turn to a static-y mush. Flowers bloom on the ceiling light.
And then the amplifier bursts.
We collapse.
"Fuck!"

"Don't worry, we still need to practice. We can't be in top form if we don't practice." He gives a thumbs up to us. I smirk, and she sighs, lightly punching him in the shoulder.
"Yeah, yeah. Can you at least text me when you finish building a new amp?"
"It'll take a couple weeks, but I can. You can crash on my couch if you want." He relaxes, leaning back in his computer chair. "Your dad doesn't know where I live I think. I won't make you pay rent." It was considerate of him, but we really couldn't afford to stay there if we —
"Yeah. That'd be nice. Thank you." She rushes over to hug him and starts to tear — You dumb bitch, our dad is gonna kill us if he finds out where we've been staying. "It's fine, it's fine," she mutters. Whatever. I can't argue with her like this.
"Just be careful about the practice room. I think the plants are sentient. I'll go make some coffee."
"And then you'll sleep, right?"
"…fuck. Yeah, I will." He pats our head and gets up to go to the kitchen. Whatever. At least here, it's home.


« Freaky Commodities II ~ Freak Harder | Dread & Circuses Hub | So They Called Him Darke »

“Now remember, you can't drink this stuff. Just soak a rag in it, wring it back out into the bottle, and then huff the rag. If you drink it, it will kill you.”
As Lolly went over the risks and benefits of Clown's Milk with her customer, Victor examined the odd paper bills of the Utterly Bazaar. For convenience sake, all the merchants at the Bazaar accepted the same currency, which the money changers would provide in exchange for almost anything. Curiously though, they had valued Lolly's Fuller Funbucks higher than Victor's US dollars.
The legal tender of the Bazaar was a living ink, printed upon slips of parchment. The ink was in a constant state of motion, gracefully forming a never-ending series of abstract shapes, lazily pulsing and shifting in colour in an almost hypnotic display. The slips came in seven denominations, determined by how much ink had been printed on them. That made Victor think that despite being paper money it was a commodity currency and not fiat, but he had no idea why the ink was so valuable.
“Believe me, I don't want anyone getting hurt. Dead customers aren't repeat customers,” the Milk buyer nodded as he counted out a stack of nearly a hundred ink slips. “Thanks for doing this by the way. I usually buy Bloom from the Babylon Whore's Corner Store, but I'm boycotting them because they changed their name to Supernatural Corner-store Plus. Apparently, biblical references and ‘sex negative' terms for prostitutes can't get past the PC thought police these days. Fuckin' SJWs.”
“Uh-huh,” Lolly said with a nervous nod. “Ah, I'm actually on the rainbow side of the spectrum myself, so I'm probably more closely aligned with social justice warriors than angry white guys, but I'm…sorry you're upset?”
The man glared at her for a moment as if pondering a retort, but seemingly thought better of it and finished counting out the slips.
“Nine thousand eight hundred, nine thousand nine hundred, ten thousand inky-dinks. Pleasure doing business with you,” he said, setting the cash down and rolling the dolly of Milk crates away.
“Come back anytime,” she said with an enthusiastic wave, though discreetly sighing with relief that that encounter hadn't escalated. She picked up the bills and briefly flipped through them. “Bailey was right. We have so much more Milk since we started ultra-pasteurizing it. We're going to make a butt load selling all the surplus, and it will make so many people happier. It will save lives too since you can't O.D. just by huffing it. Are you sure you don't want to try some? It's so good!”
“I'm sure Lolly,” Victor nodded. “MC&D has a surprisingly strict drug policy for its employees. No matter how good your Milk is, it's not worth losing my job over.”
“Narc,” Lolly teased. “Now that that's out of the way we can take a look around the Bazaar. I've been here a hundred times and I never get used to it. You never know what you're going to find here.”
The Utterly Bazaar was, needless to say, utterly bizarre. The sky was nothing but a grey haze and the Bazaar itself was permeated by an eerie mist. The wooden stalls and cobblestone shops looked like something from an age long past, but many of the wares and denizens of the Bazaar looked like they were from an age yet to come, or an age that never was and never would be. It also had Wi-Fi, obviously.
The bathrooms were best left undescribed, which was likely why the side alleys stunk of ammonia.
Victor tried his best to ignore the oddities of the environment and focus on the vendors and their wares for anything MC&D might be interested in acquiring.
“Monopoles! Get your magnetic monopoles here! Great for quantum and nano tech of all kinds! Use them as a catalyst for proton decay to get perfect energy conversion, or toss them into a particle accelerator to make a baby universe! Also good for trick compasses!”
“Sign up today for our course on epsilon wave lucid dreaming, and become the master of both the waking and unwaking worlds! Our comprehensive three-hour course will unleash the type Green literally sleeping within you! That's epsilon wave lucid dreaming; make your dreams come true!”
“Springwater! I've got Water from the Astrakhan Spring! Cures all ills and restores youth! Got it from a reality where the O5 council is corrupt as fuck!”
“That sounds like something we could move,” Victor said, approaching the stall and examining the glass bottles. “Tell me, what effect would this have on an individual who, due to multiple mishaps with experimental life extension, now ages about fifty times faster than normal and has to continuously siphon the elan vital energy from young donors to keep himself alive?”
The woman who was renting the stall stared at him blankly for a moment.
“What?”
“I'm asking for one of my bosses,” Victor replied.
“I don't know about any of that, I only know how it works on vanilla humans,” she replied. “I sell it in 10 ml vials and 500 ml bottles. The vials will kill all pathogens, parasites, and cancer cells, plus supercharge your regenerative abilities to heal any damage, up to and including severed limbs. The vials will have a mild rejuvenating effect, but each bottle will take twenty to thirty years off. That cleans out plaque, senescent cells, and any other garbage that makes you grow old. It corrects mutations in both nuclear and mitochondrial DNA, plus restores telomeres to a youthful length. Each vial is five thousand inklings, and a bottle's a quarter mill.”
“Still cheaper than American healthcare, right?” Victor smirked. “I'll take a vial for now. We'll have our lab run some tests on it, and if it does what you say it does we'll be back for more. Do you have a business card?”
“Mind if I save you some time, young man?” a voice from behind them suddenly spoke up. “I can personally attest to the effectiveness of that particularly potent product. I've used a number of methods to reach my current count of one and three-quarter centuries, and none has been as efficacious or as benign as water from the Astrakhan Spring. I highly recommend it, especially when compared to more invasive methods, like wrangling the White Worm. That Karcist told me I wouldn't be able to control the little blighter, but did I listen? No. Story for another time though.”
Victor and Lolly both turned to see who the talkative interloper was. It was a short, skinny, middle-aged man. His dark brown hair and beard were overgrown, and he was dressed in a weather-worn long coat and squashed top hat.
“You look familiar,” Lolly said, squinting slightly. “Are you a regular here at the Bazaar?”
“As of late, Miss, as of late,” he replied with a curt nod. “I've been hoping to cross paths with some old friends of mine whom I've sadly lost contact with. This is the busiest extra-dimensional hotspot in the multiverse, after the Library of course, and I'm not allowed in there anymore. Too many rules, too little table service. Honestly, those spider people are running the length of the Library all day. Would it kill them to bring me a Monte Cristo while they were at it?
“Tell me though Miss, was that Clown's Milk you were selling a few moments ago?”
“Yes, and I'm fresh out I'm afraid,” Lolly replied. “Except for my personal stash, but I need that obviously.”
“That's quite all right Miss. I was merely curious as to whether you were a True Clown, from the Circus of the Disquieting?”
“I am, actually. Have you been to our Circus?”
“Oh yes, though it was many years ago, and I don't recall seeing you there.”
“Well, the Circus is super old. It's over a hundred years older than I am. I bet you saw Manny when you were there though. Hard to miss a guy with an upside-down face; plus he's been with the Circus forever, like since the very beginning.”
“Well, not quite,” the man said. “Do forgive me for being nosy, but I happened to overhear the end of your conversation with the other gentleman and I couldn't help but wonder if you might be the paramour of a Clown by the name of Icky?”
Lolly beamed a proud smile.
“Why yes, I'm the Ringmaster's playmate. Do you know Icky?”
The man's cheek twitched at the naming of Icky as Ringmaster.
“Indeed I do. Better than you do even. For longer, at least. In fact, you could even say she wouldn't be where she is today without me.”
Lolly's face suddenly froze in horror as she realized why this man looked so familiar. She had seen his image every day since she was seven years old. The moustache of his beard was still slightly curled, the squashed hat on his head bore the crumpled monogram of HF, and the back of his faded red coat had the tails of a Ringmaster's costume.
“Fuller,” she whispered softly. The man smiled widely at her, chuckling. “Victor, run! Get out of here!”
“Now now now Miss Lollipop there's no cause for alarm,” Herman said. “It is Lollipop, isn't it? Oh, I've heard about you too. Icky's lovely and beloved assistant. I'm sure you two put on quite a show. I really do just want to catch up and get to know the new additions like yourself. Perhaps over some Clown's Milk and animal crackers at my place? I've got the howler monkey crackers: quite the delicacy.”
“Get away from me!” Lolly screamed as she backed away, unwilling to take her eyes off him.
“Sir, you're upsetting her. You need to leave,” Victor said, placing his hand on Herman's shoulder. Herman snarled at him, and then blew a stream of air as cold as liquid nitrogen onto Victor's hand. It instantly froze solid, and Victor fell to the ground screaming in agony.
“Straight from my icy, icy heart,” Herman said, brushing the frost off his shoulder. “Also, I smoke menthols.”
"Guards!" the water merchant cried, running off for help.
Lolly gritted her teeth, her eyes burning a fiery red, and pulled out a war hammer sized wooden mallet from her pockets and charged at Fuller, swinging wildly. Herman effortlessly dodged each blow, ducking and bobbing like a champion boxer.
“Move like a butterfly, sting like a bee, if you're going to fight dirty you should swing for the knees!” Herman slipped behind her and then knocked her down with a kick to the back of her knees. She fell to the ground and dropped the mallet. When she looked up she saw Herman towering over her, holding the enormous hammer over his shoulder like he was playing crochet. “Last chance for those animal crackers.”
Lolly sprinted off down the alley as quickly as she could.
“Worth a shot,” Herman said, pulling out a walkie-talkie and speaking into it. “Looks like we're doing this the hard way, Tom. I'll drive her to you.”
“Understood,” Tom radioed back.
"There, that's him!" the water merchant shouted, pointing at Fuller. She was now accompanied by a pair of masked guards in leather armour and hooded cloaks. Fuller glanced around for potential weapons or distractions, and saw that a nearby produce merchant was selling critical tomatoes.
"Hey, did you hear about the Sarkist who lost his copy of the Valkzaron? " he asked loudly. "He should've kept a better Ion it."
The tomatoes immediately shot towards Fuller at a dangerous velocity. He rolled out of the way at lightning speed, leaving the guards, merchant and Victor to be mercilessly pelted for his pun.
Herman slipped off in the chaos and sped off after Lolly, zigzagging around stalls and merchants as he raced down the winding alley. It didn't take long to catch up with his quarry, and when she saw him she ducked into the food court to try to lose him. She dropped to her knees and crawled between rows and under tables to avoid his gaze.
Herman immediately started knocking over tables and chairs with the mallet. The diners screamed and shouted, and he knocked over several cans of Diet Ghost so that spirits were flying around like swarms of flies, driving most everyone else away in terror.
This quickly attracted the attention of the food court's judge, leaping from atop its pedestal of the Starbuck's sign and descending upon Fuller. The blindfolded being, in its damask robes and powdered wig, towered over Fuller and unleashed a deafening, unholy howl that signified that he should clean up his mess and reimburse the other patrons whose meals he had destroyed, roughly translated.
“Hey, if you're the judge, then how come I've got the gavel?” Fuller asked as he brought the mallet down upon the judge's head, smashing it like a watermelon. The rest of the body fell limp and showed no signs of regeneration. “Yes! In your face Gallagher! Wait, what was I doing? Crap, Lolly!”
Lolly had already vanished from the food court in the confusion, having run down a stray, deserted alleyway. Not daring to stop, she pulled out her phone and speed dialled Gary.
“Hey hey, you've reached Herman Fuller's…”
“Gary, it's Lolly! I'm in trouble! I'm at the Utterly Bazaar and so is Fuller! He's after me!”
“What?”
“I know there's a Way into the Library here somewhere, I'm going to try to get to it. Tell Icky and Manny or anyone that I need help now! Tell Icky I love her, tell everyone I love them!”
Lolly screamed as she was hoisted up into a net, dropping her phone to the ground.
“Lolly? Lolly? Zoltan, go find Icky and Manny and tell them that Fuller's at the Bazaar and he's after Lolly!”
Gary could hear Fuller's laughter over the phone as he skipped towards his prize.

“Child, oh child, now don't you fret.
There is no need for curses and threats.
I wouldn't dream of hurting you - yet.
Not 'til you're my merry, merry marionette.
Oh, my merry, merry, marionette,”

Herman sang, bending down to pick up the phone. “Gary old pal, is that you? Listen, I'm sorry about the last time we talked. I was under a lot of stress at the time, but I'm in a much better place now. No hard feelings?”
“Are you out of your mind? Do you know who you've got? Icky will send the whole Circus after you to get her back!”
Herman only chuckled, tapping a red phone icon on the screen.
“I'm counting on it,” he said as he went to put the phone in his pocket.
“What?” he heard Gary ask.
“Oh crap, did I not hang up? Curse these modern phones. The red button's ‘end call' right?”
“You can't just tap it, I have it set so you have to hold it for a second so I can't hang up by accident,” Lolly replied, bobbing up and down in her net.
“Ah, thank you,” Herman said, successfully disconnecting the call this time. “Excellent work Mr. Brenneman.”
Herman's accomplice emerged from the shadows. Even in the dim light, he was not pleasant to look upon. He was skinny, but unevenly so, as if parts of him were missing. His cheeks and eyes were deeply sunken, and his face was heavily and randomly scarred. His grey hair was limp, and his eyes looked like they had seen far too many horrible things.
“Wait, Brenneman? Tom Brenneman? Manny told me about you! You're the one who tried to kidnap Elisa, aren't you?” Lolly asked.
“I tried to save Elisa!” Tom shouted, coming right up to her face. “And do you know what The Man with the Upside-Down Face did to me for that? He tossed me to your kind! I…I can still hear them laughing, do you know that? I barely sleep, and when I do I wake up screaming. Do you want to know something else? Your Icky was there too, as monstrous as the rest of them. I wonder if you would still think she's so wonderful if you knew what she did to people who get on her bad side, what she did to me.”
“I know exactly what Icky does to freak killers and traitors,” Lolly assured him. She blew a bubble of spit out like it was bubble gum; bigger and bigger until it finally popped like a balloon, showering her abductors in spittle. “You obviously weren't inflated, so you got off easy.”
“You think so? That wasn't even the end of it. I obviously wasn't too happy with Icky or Manny after that, so when they turned against Fuller I took his side, and they tossed us both into the Darkness Between Dimensions! We were there for years! In the Darkness, I could see the faces of all the vicious Clowns Manny sicced on me!”
He pulled the net closer to him and cocked his fist.
“Easy Tom! Easy,” Fuller said. “Remember: she's bait. We get her back to the Matinee, then the Circus comes to us and we can have our revenge. Alright?”
“Right boss,” Tom nodded, releasing the net.
“Lower the net. We've got to get moving.”
“What the hell is this net made of anyways?” Lolly asked as she struggled against it, noting that it seemed to be suppressing her magic.
“Oh, just some electro-thaumic conductive alloy. Ed & Al's sold me a 60-mile reel for 99 thousand inklings. It's amazing what you can buy in bulk.”
“I know, right? Just like a week ago I got a huge tub of Antabuse. I used it on an elephant!”
The net was carelessly dropped to the ground, and Tom picked it up and slung it over his back.
“Lead the way, Fuller.”
“Where are you taking me? And how did you even get here without a Kaleidoscope?” Lolly asked as they hustled through the alleys.
“Who do you think made the Kaleidoscope my dear? I know everything there is to know about Ways, and a Kaleidoscope is just a device to create temporary Ways to any door you want. That's why it needs calliope music. That's the Knock that lets you through. Of course, I also put other security measures into it, like making it impossible to accept incoming Ways unless you had a valid key, which I don't anymore, and charmed the whole Circus to prevent anyone outside creating Ways in through ordinary doors, so it seems I was too prudent for my own good.
“No matter, no matter. I can still create Ways on my own, which is how I got here. It's also how we'll get back to the Matinee, assuming I can find it. All these alleys look alike.”
“What is this Matinee you keep talking about?” Lolly asked.
“I wouldn't want to spoil the surprise, but I assure you it is the most…”
“LOLLY!” Icky's panicked scream echoed through the Bazaar.
“…that ain't good.”
“ICKY! ICKY I'M HERE!” Lolly screamed back.
“Goddammit, move Tom, move!”
The pair of Clown-nappers sped down alleyways more or less at random, but always away from the sound of Icky's enraged screams.
“LOLLY! LOLLY WHERE ARE YOU?”
“IN THE ALLEYS! FOLLOW MY VOICE!”
“Boss, we aren't going to be able to outrun her. We should drop the girl and get out while we can,” Tom said.
“The hell we should! I'm not giving up now, not when I'm this close to getting my Circus back!” Fuller snapped. “Just duck into a building. The stone walls are thick enough to be soundproof, so she won't find us no matter how much her little urchin screams.”
Tom grabbed the knob of the first door he saw, but it was locked. As was the next one, and the one after that.
“FULLER!”
“We don't have time for this!” Tom shouted, growing increasingly panicked by the growing proximity of Icky's psychotic screams of fury.
“Stand back!” Fuller ordered. He took a running start at the door, slamming it multiple times with the mallet, but to no avail. “Oh, the tragic irony! Herman Fuller; master of interdimensional doorways, barred by a mundane one. No matter. This moment was inevitable anyway, that the once and future Ringmaster should have to duel his usurper to reclaim his Circus. Icky! Let us battle! Let our skills of spectacle be put to the test! Let nothing less than the fate of the Circus be decided by the pitting of our two great…”
While he was talking Icky ran up from behind and snapped his neck 180 degrees. She shoved the body out of the way and stared down Tom with murderous intent. Tom immediately dropped Lolly to the ground and raised his hands in surrender.
“Icky, it was all Herman. I didn't want to help, I had no choice, I…”
Icky grabbed the mallet and swung it upwards, knocking Tom's head clean off and sending it flying into the nearest building. His head struck the wall with so much force it splattered, leaving a Rorschach test of blood and brains stained upon it.
Icky dropped to her knees and untied the net, then clutched Lolly as hard as she could without hurting her. She broke down into unrestrained sobbing.
“Lolly. Lolly,” she whimpered.
“It's okay. I'm okay. They didn't hurt me. They didn't have a chance. You got here so fast! You saved me! You were incredible! I'm safe, thanks to you. Icky, you're shaking. It's over now, try to calm down. Deep breaths, okay?”
As Icky attempted to regain a modicum of composure, Manny finally caught up with her. He came to a stop over the body of Fuller, bending over to examine it.
He jumped backwards when Fuller started laughing.
“Why didn't I think of this sooner? The Man with the Upside-Down Face and Backwards Head Guy! What a duo we'd make!” Herman said, rising to his feet.
“Fuller!” Icky screeched, charging at him to tear him limb from limb. He somersaulted into the air to avoid her, landing on his feet and then snapping his head into its proper position.
“I'm going to have a hell of a time explaining that one to my chiropractor,” he said.
“If I have to cut you into a thousand different pieces and bury them in a thousand different universes to keep you dead, I will Fuller!” Icky shouted. “Manny, don't just stand there, grab him!”
Herman beamed a mocking smile towards Manny, who made no move to attack.
“…Veronica, I think we should fall back. We don't know what he's capable of, it's too risky.”
“We can't let him get away!” Icky screamed, charging at Fuller once more. Her nails extended into monstrous claws and she took multiple swipes at him, all of which he ducked.
“Veronica, that's not working! I want him dead too, but we need a strategy!”
Icky growled in frustration, but conceded his point. She retracted her claws and stepped back towards Lolly to better protect her.
“You know Herman, you're shorter than I remember,” she mocked.
“Lost about a foot to the Darkness,” he sneered. He took Lolly's phone out of his pocket and tossed it back to her. “You can have that back. It would be more of an annoyance than anything. My invitation for animal crackers still stands.”
“Buzz off,” Lolly replied.
“Ah, for the best. You murdered my valet. I may be a rat, but I would never stoop so low as to serve my own guests,” he said. “I'll be seeing you all again real soon.”
He placed his hands in his pockets and ran off down another side alley. Icky sighed with relief and hugged Lolly to her, kissing her lovingly on the forehead.
“Victor! We've got to help Victor! Herman froze his hand!” Lolly remembered.
“I ran across Victor on the way in. He's fine. He's covered in tomatoes, but he's fine. He drank that vial of Springwater he bought. I directed him to the Door we opened,” Manny told her.
“Manny, did you see anything in Herman's mind? Anything that might help us find him?” Icky asked.
“I did,” he replied solemnly. “He's at the Matinee, Veronica.”
“Yeah, he mentioned a Matinee a couple of times. What is it?” Lolly asked.
“It was a theatre he used to own. He used to…well, you don't need to know the specifics right now but it was a way to punish those who defied him,” Icky replied. “But Manny made him close it down in the sixties.”
“He closed it, but he still owns it. He must have gone back there after he escaped from the Darkness,” Manny speculated. “He's been killing people Veronica. Dozens of innocent people, maybe more, all hooked up to that infernal machine!”
“Why?” she asked aghast.
“Practice. He wants us, all of us, the entire Circus, all his again. Everyone connected to his machine, his puppets for all eternity.”
“He said I was bait,” Lolly said. “He knew you'd send the whole Circus in to get me back. It's a trap Icky. What are we going to do?”
To both Lolly's and Manny's surprise, Icky smirked.
“We're going to spring his trap on him,” she said. “Come on, back to the Circus. We've got some planning to do.”

Icky stood in front of the Kaleidoscope Doors, gazing out at the posse she had assembled. Most of the Clowns, many of the Freaks, and even some of the Carnies had armed themselves and stood ready to defend their Circus. Lolly sat off to the side, with Mr. Noodles for protection and Yume and Ragamuffin there to console her.
“Twenty or so years ago, all of us banded together and overthrew Fuller, freeing us from his cruelty and greed, taking this Circus for ourselves and turning it into the sanctuary it always should have been,” Icky pontificated. “We showed Fuller mercy he did not deserve and let him live, and now he has returned to make us suffer for it! Manny has seen the twisted vision that fills Herman's mind; all of us strung up as puppets in his Matinee. He tried to kidnap Lolly to lure us there! My Lolly! He tried to take my Lolly!”
She screamed in rage and pounded her fists into a clown-shaped punching bag by her side.
“Thanks Eugene,” she sighed when she was done.
“No problem boss,” the punching bag replied, shimmering back into his Clown form.
“As I was saying,” Icky resumed. “We're not safe just because Herman failed this time. If he can't lure us to the Matinee, he'll come for us. He'll snatch us up one by one if he has to. He'll never stop until he takes this Circus back. I say we don't wait for that! I say we take the fight to him, and end this now!”
The crowd of Clowns and Freaks and Carnies cheered. Manny stepped up beside Icky, brandishing a large machete.
“I don't know exactly what's waiting for us, but I know that Fuller already has dozens or more puppets ready to fight for him,” he announced. “Remember that they are puppets. Cut their strings, and they will fall. Don't waste time attacking their bodies; they're already dead.”
“Herman may have been born a Humdrum, but over his very long life he acquired more powers than even Manny knows,” Icky added. “We don't know all he's capable of, but he doesn't know we have this!”
She pulled out a small sphere of beryllium bronze and held it up for everyone to see.
“A little souvenir from my trip to the Essie P! A Scantron…”
“Scranton,” Manny corrected.
“…Scranton Reality Mini-Buoy! It should be enough to take some of the fight out of Fuller! Are you ready to defend our family from this menace? To make him pay for everything he's ever done, everything he tried to do, and would do if we let him roam free?”
The crowd cheered wildly.
“I'm working on a swarm of Giant Asian Hornets just for Fuller!” Quincy shouted, hiccupping up a couple of them prematurely.
“If anyone needs a light for a torch or Molotov cocktail, I've got you covered!” Danny yelled, pointing to his flaming head.
“And we've got the bazooka!” Eugene cried, hoisting the weapon onto his shoulders.
“…Which, again, only shoots cream pies,” Pius reminded him.
“Still deadly, if used properly,” Eugene insisted.
“Spin her up Manny,” Icky ordered. Having already dialled the coordinates, Manny wound up the Kaleidoscope with an enormous key. Once it was fully wound, the largest pair of doors on the Kaleidoscope slid open, revealing the smoking white portal held open by the Circus's ever-present calliope music. “Fun-lovers first! Ripley, Bailey, all of you move out!”
The black, fluid-filled sacs ran through the crowd on their varying assortment of limbs and leapt through the portal. Icky blew a kiss to Lolly and then hopped to Manny's side, both of them facing directly into the glowing white doorway.
“You ready buddy?” she asked, tossing the buoy up and down in her palm.
“We should've tracked him down a long time ago,” Manny nodded. He raised his machete in the air and then pointed it forward to direct the small army. “Everyone, move out!”
And with that command, the company of Clowns and Freaks and Carnies marched out of Herman Fuller's Circus of the Disquieting, and marched into Herman Fuller's Marvellously Macabre Mechanical Marionette Matinee.

« Freaky Commodities II ~ Freak Harder | Dread & Circuses Hub | So They Called Him Darke »


Log from Bluntfiend's Big Boyz Burger Club

jockjamsvol6 has entered the chat.
harmpit: yuor a ducking fdool
lesbian_gengar: lmao what about warren??? they're ALL fucking creepys.
jockjamsvol6: Guys, I got some bad news.
gaycopmp4: listen andrews super cute it makes up for it
lesbian_gengar: that's surprisingly het of you, gaycop.
polaricecraps: cmon buffy rofl normies
harmpit: im' soryr gcm4 btul iking the trio isr idicoulus
jockjamsvol6: Shut up about stupid shit for a second, fuck. This is bad.
hetcopogg: ?
jockjamsvol6: I'm sorry.
jockjamsvol6: One of our number, one of the young ones, killed herself. Dove. chereamie.
polaricecraps: oh god. that's fuckin horrible. would I have known her from anything?
bones: This is a time of sorrow for us all. She was an exemplary human being. I regret that you did not all have the opportunity to know her.
hetcopogg: i was just talking to her the other night. i knew her from the trans girl chat. she really was an angel.
gaycopmp4: i knew her from the medical stuff and i was always so worried that the janitors would clean her up you know she was pretty free with what she could do at the planned parenthood and the clinics and fuck
hetcopogg: i'm sorry guys. i'll be back later. i can't do this right now.
hetcopogg has left the chat.
lesbian_gengar: it was the parents, wasn't it?
jockjamsvol6: I didn't hear much, but I think so.
bluntfiend: I knew her from one of the chats. Sweetest girl you ever knew, honest. Jesus Christ. Never knew anybody who was just so fucking willing to help.
gaycopmp4: i know she was so good dove was so smart and funny and she really helped me a lot w/ the hugbox thing she knew so much about that shit so much about the body.
lesbian_gengar: i didn't get the chance to know her. i saw a few things she did. talented girl, honestly. i'll miss her. and what she would've done, i guess.
lesbian_gengar: may her memory be a blessing. what do you christians say?
bluntfiend: I don't remember what we say.
gaycopmp4: i never know what to say during these things im sorry guys
bones: It is alright.
bluntfiend: Do we know when the funeral will be? Or, the wake? Does she come from a wake family? @lesbian_gengar, if you're up to it, I think we should go there. I don't want Dove to be buried under another name.
jockjamsvol6: I'll PM you both.
polaricecraps: is there anything I can do?
gaycopmp4 has left the chat.
bones: I think the only suitable option we have at this juncture is to mourn. We mourn, and we strive to ensure it is never repeated.
lesbian_gengar: if i need anything, i'll ask. thanks, PIC.
harmpit: i hope there is some place else she can go where she will be happier than she was here, and i hope it doesn't take a long time for her to get there.
bluntfiend: You don't have to pull yourself together like that. I don't think she'd be mad if you made typos when talking about her.
harmpit: the least i can give her is my concentration.
polaricecraps: I wish I had known her. I really do. I always meant to talk to her. she seemed so kind.
bones: @jockjamsvol6, when you receive news of her funeral, please send me the address. I wish to provide flowers. She enjoyed lilies.
jockjamsvol6: She'd've really liked that. Thanks, big guy.
bluntfiend: Hey, so. Apropos of nothing, but can we change the name?
lesbian_gengar: no.
jockjamsvol6: No.
polaricecraps: I wish there was something I could do. I wish the world wasn't like this. why do our best keep dyin and the bad fuckers keep on livin?
bluntfiend: Wish I knew.

Log from Weedville Population You

polaricecraps: fuck there's another nazi march thing at the campus near my house. I don't even have energy to troll. fascists have gotten too fuckin brave.
orbhorse: its definitely a shitbad world we live in yeah
polaricecraps: makes me want to fuckin pakoosh the living hell out of the whole thing, every last one.
harmpit: dnot joek about thatt htsa not cool
rubberbannedman: im super NOT in the mood to talk about all this serious shit.
polaricecraps: fuckin newsflash dudes but we are livin in the fuckin serious times. we are livin in the fuckin wildstyle bullshit world and you don't get to pretend. maybe we can't be all adverse to violence when it's fuckin bein done on us!
harmpit: thsi chat is 1 of the lghith aerted 1s for a reason PIC
bones: PIC, your passion is being diverted into anger. Do not take this out on a comrade.
kkrule: hey guys come to my twitch im about to start playing
tiedyeduck: no
FreakyGhostBed: Never in a fucking million years
Kektagon: PM me a link @kkrule
kkrule: :-)
bones: Send me a link as well, and I will watch.
kkrule: !!! thanks bones !!!
opposum: dont get to into it bones itd be unfair for a robot to play LoL
bones: I will do my best.
polaricecraps: this isn't a time to calm down. people are succumbing to despair and we're watching that stupid bernie fuck play some fucking normie ass moba game?
harmpit: tid oesn't always haev to be gloom n doom
kkrule: im playing PUBG anyway
bones: I don't play games.
polaricecraps: I'm sayin doom n gloom might be what we fucking need or else we're no better than liberals.
harmpit: aer yuo honstely callign me a liberal?
bones: Calm down, now. Both of you.
polaricecraps: nazis are marching in our streets and people are killing themselves and you want me to fucking talk about kkrule streaming some fucking bullshit?
kkrule: it's a shooting game.
harmpit: dnot ducking act like ims oem dispasssionate observaer im not white ill be killed dont pretend just cuzi mnots cremaning allthe tiem doesnt mean i dont care
FunkoPopFan1 has left the chat.
bones: I am muting the chat. This is not a productive conversation. polaricecraps and harmpit, take this to private messages if you must. I suggest that you do not.
orbhorse: @kkrule did you seriously die already
polaricecraps: fuck your mute order or wjatever fuck this tepid liberalism in the face of a dead comrade.
polaricecraps has left the chat.
Kektagon: uh i'm gonna head out i'm too high for how serious this shit is getting
Kektagon has left the chat.
tiedyeduck: escalated p quick huh
harmpit has left the chat.
kkrule: hey guys im in a different game you should all comr back!!!
bones: polaricecraps will be banned from this chat for forty-eight hours. This is a second warning.
opposum: fuck
talman_corvett: yo im in late but kkrule video games suck send me that link let's see you get owned, boy.
kkrule: :-) kk
rubberbannedman: well i just got back and jesus im SUPER sorry for starting all this shit, bones.
bones: I do not feel there is any reason you should have to feel sorry.

Log from GAW Mod Talkzone

bluntfiend: I'm back from Dove's funeral.
lesbian_gengar: me, too.
jockjamsvol6: I wish I could've been there. How was it?
bluntfiend: Not so good at first. Dahlia came with us. She wasn't doing so good.
lesbian_gengar: the monsters were going to bury her in a suit. they cut her hair.
bluntfiend: Nothing a little razzledazzle couldn't fix. We brought Dahlia in after. I couldn't let her see Dove like that.
bones: From there, it went smoothly?
lesbian_gengar: treated her like the woman she'd always been. i wanted to fuck with them.
bluntfiend: I told her that wouldn't be cool.
lesbian_gengar: bluntfiend had said yeah that it wouldn't be cool. dove wasn't about that life.
jockjamsvol6: I really do wish I could have come. I'll miss her until the day I die.
bones: We all will in the place where the truth of our heart is kept.
bluntfiend: It was a beautiful mass. Roman Catholic. They've loosened stuff about deaths from suicide, you know. Dahlia gave a eulogy. I don't know how everyone felt about it.
lesbian_gengar: it was beautiful.
jockjamsvol6: How'd they take it?
bluntfiend: Better than they would have if Esther and I weren't there, I guess.
jockjamsvol6: Yeah.
lesbian_gengar: anyways you shouldve seen jude in his big boy clothes.
jockjamsvol6: No pajama pants? No dirty shirt?
lesbian_gengar: fucking khakis, dude.
jockjamsvol6: Lmao when did you get khakis, Jude?
bluntfiend: I went to a Catholic high school. You guys know this. We had uniforms and everything.
jockjamsvol6: Oh yeah, shit. The pope would've wanted you to look slick. That's good.
bones: I do not mean to intrude upon owning Jude and remembering Dove, but I believe there are some things that we need to deal with.
jockjamsvol6: PIC thing?
bluntfiend: Shit, is he okay?
bones: Physically unhurt. That is not the issue.
jockjamsvol6: Got in an argument with harmpit. We think Dove's death is getting to him. He's just really fucking serious and mean lately.
bluntfiend: What was it about?
bones: Mostly, it was about killing.
lesbian_gengar: what?
jockjamsvol6: PIC was kind of mad about the whole no killing rule. Just got in a big row kinda with harmpit.
bluntfiend: And Armand didn't let it out?
lesbian_gengar: they're not an idiot.
bones: Armand did not reveal any secrets during the argument. Their argument was emotional but academic.
bluntfiend: I know I just had to ask. I think maybe someday I should tell them.
jockjamsvol6: Let's not rush to tell them their pacifist hero has a body count.
lesbian_gengar: don't be a dumbass.
bluntfiend: I'll talk to PIC, bones. Thanks for dealing with it.
bones: It has never been a problem, and I cannot foresee it becoming one.
jockjamsvol6: He's been banned for a couple days.
lesbian_gengar: when's it up?
bones: The ban has timed out. I have not seen him. I will notify you if he signs on.
jockjamsvol6: Think he'll be okay?
bluntfiend: I don't know. I hope so. Maybe. Probably.
lesbian_gengar: he'll be fine.
bluntfiend: Yeah, you're right.

Log from a private message between bluntfiend and polaricecraps

polaricecraps: blunt are you there
polaricecraps: blunt its real bad
bluntfiend: Hey, I wanted to talk to you.
polaricecraps: I think I know I killed someone
bluntfiend: Are you okay?
polaricecraps: I'm fine I killed someone I'm sorry Jude I was talking tough I killed a man
polaricecraps: I killed a Nazi and I feel dead and I don't know what to do
bluntfiend: Calm down. Tell me what happened. Please.
polaricecraps: i was att he protes tand I kept thinking of Dove and I was looking for a fight I think
bluntfiend: Near where you live?
polaricecraps: and he was tkaing a gun out of his pocket and I pakoosh
bluntfiend: Pakoosh?
polaricecraps: i made the heart disappear out of his body. i took it and oblierated it and you don't know but their lungs collapse, blunt, and I could feel it I think in my throat.
bluntfiend: And he had a gun? You saw it?
polaricecraps: it fell out of his pocket. i think he was gonna kill people. but what if he just wanted to scare someone am I a murderer blunt? don't ban me.
bluntfiend: I'm not going to ban you. You're not a murderer. Calm down.
polaricecraps: I murdered someone direction definition of murderer one who kills
bluntfiend: I think you did the right thing.
polaricecraps: yuore lying
bluntfiend: I'm worried, had I been there, I would have hesitated.
polaricecraps: blunt
bluntfiend: Want to hear a story, PIC? One the kids usually don't get to hear, I guess.
polaricecraps: what are you fuckin talkin about I killed someone and you wanna story
bluntfiend: When I left them, the art boys, I did kill them. I killed a whole swathe of them.
bluntfiend: Their body was static, and I broke it apart, and I pulled it through cords and wire.
polaricecraps: fuck blunt
bluntfiend: And I regret it everyday of my life. I think I did the right thing. I'd do it again, I think. But it's my sin. And I am sure, one day, I will be judged for it.
polaricecraps: like me
bluntfiend: Not like you. Nazis don't wave around guns unless they plan on using it. But, fuck.
bluntfiend: Remember this. I want you to always remember this.
bluntfiend: This is how it feels to take a life. It isn't one for another. It's not a system of trading. It doesn't make up for Dove. Nothing does. One Nazi is dead, and Dove is still gone.
polaricecraps: im sorry
bluntfiend: It's okay.
polaricecraps: are they gonna get me
bluntfiend: I don't know if the janitors are that good. It'll take them at least a day.
bluntfiend: We can get you away if you need to.
bluntfiend: There's always Kenowhere. You made sure it was always safe. Nobody there would turn you away.
polaricecraps: im scared of goin there and meetin him after this
bluntfiend: God, you never met Mr. Destiny in person, did you? You made him, but you never met him. That guy is like, he doesn't see things how we do. He likes to brag about the Sarkic thing, but he's not some kind of avenging angel.
bluntfiend: He just believes in you. He always believes in you.
polaricecraps: what do I do blunt
bluntfiend: You stay put, log off, chill out, and someone will be over right away.
polaricecraps: blunt?
bluntfiend: Yeah.
polaricecraps: can you tell harmpit sorry
bluntfiend: I will.
polaricecraps has logged off.

Archived Log from The Place You Learn What Sublingual Means

chereamie has entered the chat.
chereamie: hi. :3
hetcopogg: hey!!!
acuterobot: owo who's this
hetcopogg: she's the girl i said i was inviting. she just started figuring stuff out and she's way nice
chereamie: ^_^;; also I do magic.
hetcopogg: also she does magic.
chokerless: Can you make anime real?
chereamie: no? I don't think so. I never tried.
acuterobot: it'd be great if you could make homestuck real how about that.
chereamie: what's homestuck? o_o;
acuterobot: what the fuck.
chokerless: Owned.
chokerless: Cool to meet you anyway. What's your name? Im Gracidae.
chereamie: (´ω｀*) I haven't actually picked a name yet. I'm thinking uhh maybe lily or dove?
bluefootedboobies: trans girls love flowers and birds.......
bones: I think they are beautiful names. Hello, chereamie.
chereamie: thanks!!! who're you?
hetcopogg: bones isn't trans or anything, but it's like the mod of all the chats, sort of.
acuterobot: it's always sooooo good at multitasking and it's one of the reasons why i love it.
bones: Yes. You are also good at doing many tasks simultaneously.
acuterobot: :3c
chereamie: it's nice to meet all of you! the trans thing and the magic thing havent made getting a social life exactnyl easy (sweatdrop)
acuterobot: there's definitely a sweatdrop emoticon.
chokerless: literally what else is the ;
acuterobot: no it's crying. that's different from sweat.
bluefootedboobies: it's the same things yo
chereamie: it's contextual.
hetcopogg: most of the people here got those both going at the same time. you're with people who feel you now, dovelily.
acuterobot: relaxxxx! w3 und3rst4nd j00!!!
chereamie: is that homestuck?
acuterobot: i mean a little bit?
chokerless: So what do you do?
chereamie: healing ^_^;;;;;
bluefootedboobies: like the overwatch lady??
chereamie: no I guess I mostly use different ways.
chereamie: I go to clinics. I work at one. well, volunteer I guess. sometimes I take the disease out of people.
chereamie: I've always been able to do it. my grandma did. my mom. and I bet more before that but i don't remember.
chereamie: I think I'm best at it tho, probably.
hetcopogg: i love the false modesty over here.
chokerless: If you can do sweet shit, you should be fucking proud.
bluefootedboobies: honestly you shoul be careful tho. the janitors pay close attn when people suddenly stop being so sick all the time at every place you're @
chereamie: I'm not scared. I just wanna do as much as long as I can.
acuterobot: that's noble.
acuterobot: brave, even.
chereamie: it's just what i'm good at. ^_^;;
bones: It is admirable.
chereamie: thanks!
chereamie: I think I have to put good into things while I can.
hetcopogg: because it's what people should do.
chereamie: yeah! :3
acuterobot: okay cool but do you wanna hear about homestuck
chokerless: Are you seriously doing this already?
acuterobot: she's a total maid of life. maybe a witch of life.
chereamie: :O I wanna be a witch!
acuterobot: hell yeah well why don't i throw you some links and we'll see what your classpect is
hetcopogg: and the siren song takes another.... dun dun dunnnnn
chereamie: btw, you all can just call me Dove. i decided.
hetcopogg: it's beautiful!!!
bones: It is a good name, and I think it will do well for you.
chereamie: oh, shoot. i'll talk to you guys later.
chereamie: parent stuff!
chereamie: thanks for being so cool!
chereamie: bye!!!!
hetcopogg: have a good night, dove.
chokerless: Bye.
bones: It was lovely to meet you.
chereamie has left the chat.


Researcher Rose Labelle gave a heavy sigh as she entered one of many Site-19 interview rooms, slowly closing the door behind her. She waited a few seconds, then turned. Already sitting at the table therein was a skeletal, pale skinned cyborg. His cybernetic eyes reflected the light of the room, Labelle catching her reflection in their lenses as she sat down and quickly looked over the report she had been given. Eventually she looked up and frowned at the cyborg. He gave a smug smile in return.
"To what do I owe the pleasure of this interview, Miss Labelle?" Anderson asked in his deep, metallic voice.
Labelle remained silent and pulled out a series of photographs of a humanoid containment cell, barren and undecorated. In the first, Anderson was visibly coughing up several tiny scraps of metal onto the floor. In the next, the cyborg hastily set about assembling the pieces into something. The third image showed Anderson kissing a small spider-like drone made from the scrap parts, the drone glowing briefly at the contact. In the fourth, he set the drone down and let the creature crawl away. In the fifth, the tiny drone had vanished from the camera's view, and the thaumatological countermeasures in the cell began to glow, the walls of the room alight with bright runes and symbols. In the final shot, Anderson could be seen shaking in pain as the anti-magic field wracked his body.
"We've been doing so well," Labelle sighed. "Years of good behavior. Years of cooperation, and in exchange we let you make repairs to your systems. Should have known you'd have used your components to pull some stunt like this."
"What can I say," Anderson said with a shrug, "I'm an inventor. I invent."
Labelle rubbed her temple in frustration.
"I guess… I just don't see the point, Vincent," she finally said with another sigh. "Your commercially-made Amur drones can't get very far on their own, let alone one that's made out of paperclips and gum. I'm assuming the thaumatological effect you casted on it is weaker too, which means even if it gets to where you wanted it to go, it might fail upon arrival. There's going to be serious repercussions for this. They're moving you to a tighter security cell, with stronger thaumatological blocks. You're not getting any more components for yourself ever again."
"Oh, I'm well aware of how hard you're set to crack down," Anderson chuckled. "I'll take that as it comes. This needed to be done. A message needed to be sent."
"To who?"
"Trade secret," Anderson grinned. "Sorry, Miss Labelle, but this is one ace that's staying up my sleeve."
"We'll see, Vince." Labelle sighed and stood up. "You've got strange priorities. I hope that whoever is on the other end of the line for that Amur can appreciate all it cost you."
"I can guarantee you they won't," Anderson's grin shrunk into a melancholy smile. "But, hey, what can you do?"
Labelle shook her head, and took her leave.

Erica Herring, now Erica Lister, stood on a hotel balcony, overlooking the central Oregon Coast. The last few days had been filled with so much excitement, that she was now finding it difficult to sleep. Behind her, in the darkness of the hotel room, her husband of three days could be heard snoring. She smiled to herself, and continued to listen to the waves crashing on the shore in the darkness. She closed her eyes, and took in a deep breath.
When she opened them again, a small, ramshackle drone sat on the railing in front of her.
She froze, her smile turning into a sad frown. It had been a while since the father who had abandoned her all those years ago had sent one of his little messengers. She eyed the drone cautiously.
"You're a shoddy little thing, aren't you?" she said, and poked at the droid. The tiny robot sputtered and gave a little jerk.
"Pzzzwrd?" The droid buzzed.
Erica rolled her eyes.
"My little inventor…" she sighed.
The droid exploded into a fine silver mist. Erica coughed, attempting to catch her breath. As she wheezed, a voice entered the back of her mind.
Hello, my little inventor…
Erica froze. Her father's deep metallic voice sounded clear as day.
I learned, through some distant sources, that you and Luke finally tied the knot. Congratulations.
Erica closed her eyes, tuning in on the voice. She was tempted to bang on something around her to drown it out.
This is going to be the last time I'm going to be able to contact you, Erica. My chickens have finally come home to roost, and there is no getting out of it. I just wanted to let you know how sorry I am. When I left you and your mother, I always justified it that it would keep you two safe. The world I entered was dangerous, and you two would likely get hurt. That was a lie.
Truth be told, I couldn't chase the dream I wanted with you two tied to me, so naturally I cut the weight. And it worked. I soared so very high before it all came crashing down. I've had so much time to myself to think over these last few years, and in the end, I can tell you it wasn't worth it. You deserved so much better than me. Glad your mom found Tom, and he could be there for you.
Erica tightly gripped the nearby railing. Her face turned into a scowl. Still, she kept listening.
I'm not going to ask for your forgiveness. And you shouldn't give it. I just wanted to use this last chance to reach out and tell you how proud of you I am, and to provide one last gift. In your memories, once this message finishes, you'll have knowledge of a few bank accounts I set up under a dozen or so aliases. All in all, there should be over a few million in there by now. Drain them, and do anything you want.
I love you, Erica.
Have a great life.
As suddenly as it had started the voice stopped. Sure enough, in the back of Erica's mind, several memories popped up out of the ether.

Pin Numbers
Names
Bank Account Numbers
Security Questions
Branch Locations
Her name as a joint member on all the accounts.

Erica's scowl vanished. She opened her eyes and looked back out over the ocean.
"I fucking hate you…" Erica mumbled to herself. "You manipulative bastard…"
Tears ran down her cheek.
"You can't buy me…"

« Assault on Site-64 | Anderson Robotics Hub | Family Disclosure Protocol »


A second collection of sonnets.

2085
2558
1762
1457
288
567
2118
095-J

The Black Rabbit Company
Wiz says, "We have dreams we want to achieve,
"We have our plans and charters, jobs and locks
"We have our symbols, robes and ships and seas
"We're here to push the world outside the box."
1 says, "Watch the wizard, he's going to try
"To leave here, you can save him from himself."
2 says, "Listen to me, I'll tell you why
"We cannot be contained upon this shelf."
3 says, "Please let us go, we've done no wrong.
"Why suffer us this never-ending hell?"
4 says, "Get on your knees and suck my schlong
"Or leave me be. Just get out of my cell."
When 5 comes, there is nothing to discuss.
Leave her alone. "Happy birthday to us."

Horseshoe Beach First Baptist Church (Relocated)
One Dalet member stands along the sand
Of Panacea's crashing, awesome waves
He's waiting for the church again to land
And send the screaming Baptists to their graves
There's thirty-seven of them, chosen few
Selected to live lives exempt from want
Recite the hymns and scriptures from their pews
And die within their mass baptismal font
There's hardly bubbles when resurgence comes
And Dalet waits for Holy Ghost and fire
But all he hears is heartbeat loud as drums
Within his chest, march for a liquid pyre
All now that's left is murmurs in the seas
Protestants whisp'ring "help us, save us, please"

Where The Dragons Went
They came to us with hope that we would view
Them as they once appeared in all their glory
Wanting us to help, and not to be skewed
As drawings in a children's fairy story
But all they were was paper, folded tight
Into flimsy avatars of splendor
They tried to warn us of the dying light
That war was coming, and they couldn't render
Themselves upon us, they needed our aid
But all we saw was toys alighting on
Our fingertips, their messages waylaid
And then came fire, blood—then they were gone
We've now lost how they had loved us before
"Here were dragons" is how we've priced their lore.

Mourning Cloak
It's seen no empires fall, no cities burned
Its memories are not so light or big
No shipwrecked boats the sea has overchurned
Or war-massed graves, and those who're forced to dig
Its thoughts instead are small and intimate
Heavy sorrows upon the brows of men
Prayers they've pressed upon the filament
A cry for sympathy time and again
It's seen the hungry mouths, held wide
The lonely tables meant for more than one
A child in darkness, trying hard to hide
All these it gives to you, suppressing none
The thoughts destroy you, ravages of time
It whispers, "Here now, let me show you mine."

The "Stepford Marriage" Rings
"Come here, my sweet, I've got something to ask.
"It's something that you've longtime waited for.
"I know I've thought you not up to the task
"To settle home and hearth and clean-swept floor.
"I know you've thought of leaving—please don't lie.
"I know you think our love is all askew.
"But darling, I can change, or I can try,
"And more importantly you can change too.
"I know you've thought me to be quite the jerk
"Insisting on tradition; now I plea,
"I think I've found a way to make this work
"So please, my darling, won't you marry me?"
"Yes," she cries, so thrilled to end her wait
And ring upon her finger seals her fate.

The Dungeon
There's water softly dripping from the roof
And with conviction six feet step in time
While two of them are quiet and aloof
The third is wailing, telling of his crime
His jailers are unsympathetic, taut
Unwilling to think of him as human
A person who had done wrong and been caught
And now was lead through their stone-wrought lumen
"I didn't want to!" he cries through his tears
"They said that I would have to take the blame
"They played on all my loves, and all my fears,
"Please tell me, would you not have done the same?"
The chains snap out and drag him to his fate
To quench a thirst for justice we can't sate.

The Lost Child
The doctor rests his hands upon her cell
On glass that separates the child from him
He waits for her to loose her words and tell
What he can't find upon a paper skim
She watches him with eyes that tell of grief
Of children just like her who passed away
Of sadness, terror, sorrow and relief
Of babies who were lost or gone astray
He cannot speak now, he has no more words
He only waits in dark solemnity
For his son's speech to fly her mouth like birds
Assuage the guilt he's felt so endlessly
Her mouth will give him words to help him grieve
While lifted hands cry out for him to leave

Anomalous Typeface
For real, my dudes, I do not understand
Why we can't just be chill about this font
It's just a typeface! Nothing to be banned
And purposely designed to never daunt
I think it's truly silly, really, now,
That we've allowed ourselves to be so cowed
By this. Do we think our collective brow
Is so high that some letters aren't allowed?!
We're better than this, look inside your heart
And see that we can end this petty spat
That's driven kerning nerds and friends apart
So just believe that we—oh dear, what's that?
NO WAIT I DIDN'T MEAN TO MAKE IT SHOW
I'LL MAKE IT STOP DON'T TOUCH ME NO NO NO!

« First Quarto | Second Quarto »


_
"The input terminals are now bonded with your optic nerve on the right side," Mo said, screwing on the case. "You should be seeing more or less normally."
"It looks wrong," slurred the object in the clamps. "The colors, are…" It trailed off, breath fogging the plastic mask over its nose and mouth. She saw its cheeks twitch. A trickle of blood leaked from under the boxy machine covering the top half of its face.
"It may take a few moments for your brain to adjust to the images," Mo reassured it. "Try to focus on the idea of what Doctor E. is showing you. The pictures will become clearer if you just work on understanding what they are."
She walked around behind the object, where Reid was suctioning blood away from its exposed brain. "Tell me about what you see." She looked it over; Reid's work separating the spine from the ribs was immaculate, and he'd managed to keep an impressive length of the vagus nerve intact. He's learning, she thought, and smiled.
"I see… Trees. A tree. It's… Looks like grass and trees. Now a dog's there. And a truck. Fire truck."
"That's great," she said, peeking over at Evelyn. The younger woman flashed Mo a quick thumbs-up without looking away from her equipment panels. "That's perfect. See? You'll be used to this in no time," Mo promised.
The object's body shuddered, rattling in its stand. Captain Grounds snapped into a firing stance. The room surged with tension. She saw Ken's hand move from the anesthesia controls to the kill dial.
"SRA holding," Evelyn said sharply, tapping her control panel. The five of them paused, listening to the soothing drone of the reality anchor. "Babies," she added quietly.
Mo rolled her eyes, wishing Evelyn was more professional, knowing it wasn't her place to address it. "You're doing fine," she said to the object, genuine compassion in her voice. "You're doing great, I promise. You're being so brave. We'll be done soon. Keep talking to me. What do you see now?"
She re-checked the placement of the leads in its temporal and parietal lobes, and especially the thick bronze plug stuck into the cerebellum. Everything was perfectly in place. "It's a map," the object said. "Like, from a big book. Atlas. It's… China. Asia, somewhere."
"Good!" Mo said, glancing at Evelyn to confirm. "Keep concentrating. You're part of the team, you know. We're counting on you."
"I don't… I've never seen this way. I don't like it."
"I know it's hard," Mo said. "We just have to finish, then you can rest. Just one more thing." Reid handed her an input spike. "You're going to feel a big pinch, then you can go back to sleep." She lined up the spike with the object's ear canal.
"We're doing such a great thing here, and you're the most important part," she said, meaning it.
_
Site 41 was a kaleidoscope of unique minds from all over the world. Together, they formed a construct of such dazzling brilliance that no one person could ever hope to fully grasp it all. Mo basked in it; walking the halls, just listening to snatches of conversation, was like floating in a warm sea of knowledge.
"Fuck this line, right?" Doctor Ken Baars interrupted her reverie. "I just came for coffee, and I'm having to fight my way upstream like a goddamn trout. Unbelievable."
"You're thinking of salmon," she said, but he didn't hear her.
"And how about we have two more greens to get done this week? That's, what, seven this month? It's like, what are they even doing with them all, you know? They've had me in on some fucked up operations since I've been here, but this just tops everything."
"The Orpheus project is extremely important," Mo said, bristling. "If you aren't interested in being part-"
"No! No-no-no no no. Come on. I'm just saying. I mean, we're doctors, we took an oath." He shuffled forward, pressed uncomfortably close to her by the movement of the coffee line. "They have us in there cutting people's heads off and basically putting them in jars. I'll do it, don't get me wrong, but don't you ever feel like a mad scientist? Is this really what Good Guys do?"
"We're only doing what we have to. In the end, we're protecting the objects as much as ourselves. Some things are about a bigger picture that we don't see all of."
He snorted. "Okay, Boss."
"Why are you here, then?" Her fists clenched suddenly, indignation boiling over.
"It's a higher pay grade than any of the other anesthesiology posts that were open, and a job's a job," he said, spreading his palms. "Look, I'm sorry, I'm just talking shit, Okay? It's just early. And this line for my coffee is killing me. You know how it is."
She looked around, embarrassed at her loss of control. Nobody had noticed. The line kept moving in harmony.
_
She still felt something out of place during the procedure that day, but it went perfectly. Right up until the thing with the extra mouth.
She'd just removed the back of the skull and was starting to insert the occipital probes when she heard grunting and yelling, like someone struggling to push through a crowd. She looked up, startled, to see a pair of wriggling lips where the object's ear had been. A set of teeth gnashed their way into existence, with a tongue snaking desperately out from between them.
"Please don't do this," it begged. "Please just let me go back to my cell. I'll do anything you want. Please, please —"
We have to, Mo started to say, but thought better of it.
Ken's hands were moving furiously over the gas controls. Grounds had his gun up. "Amesvoort, what the fuck?"
"Boosting SRA," Evelyn replied matter-of-factly. Grounds started barking codes into the radio on his shoulder.
"You don't need to do this, please," the mouth sobbed. "I'll tell you everything you want to know, I promise I'll do whatever tests you want, I'll help you —"
I'm so sorry. This must seem so cruel to you.
A distorted thrum pulsed from the looming brass dome of the reality anchor. It sounded like — Mo couldn't think of anything it sounded like. Everything faded to a fuzzy gray. The light in the room hadn't changed; her eyes just weren't sending colors to her brain anymore.
"I swear I've never hurt any…" The mouth trailed off as it swirled back into the object's skin like water down a drain.
Mo was locked in place. Her mind was jammed. She felt her legs starting to sway underneath her, but couldn't conceive of anything to do about it.
The lips receded until there was only a single tooth, sticking out of the object's ear, and then even that was gone. Evelyn let go of something and the thrumming stopped. It felt like falling asleep and waking up at the same time.
"Belay that, command," Grounds said into the radio. The object stood in its restraints, dull-eyed, as if nothing had happened. "Everything's good here."
_
Mo looked over the faces in their glass-fronted cells, worried about the screw she'd found on the floor. The Orpheus core was a huge metal cylinder, covered in rectangular ports for the cells to slide into. The bottom of it sank through the floor, where it branched off into a root system she knew was being tended this very moment by a small army of L1 technicians. The top pierced the ceiling and kept going, ending in a crown of sensors and dishes all the way on the surface. And, somewhere, a screw was missing.
"You know we could lose a hundred more of those before we have a problem. Why are you wasting time on that one?" Evelyn asked. She flipped a switch, and suddenly Mo could hear Director Hernandez's voice from all the way up top, presentation going full swing.
"— able to localize an eight-Hume reality field, with plans to add much more capacity than that. Right now we project our maximum radius to be about six hundred meters, but that will go up exponentially as the project approaches completion. For today, we've adjusted down to an area about four meters squared."
They watched together on the topside monitor as the director led a group of important-looking people to the edge of an old helipad. "Stay on this side of the red line, if you would," he was telling them. "The technology should have no effect on typical organisms, but this is after all a test. We don't want any surprises."
The administrators eyed each other nervously, and kept well back from the line. A pair of technicians came into view pushing a flat cart bearing a huge, transparent cube. Inside the cube were hundreds and hundreds of fully-decorated cakes.
"Some of you may be familiar with SCP-871," Hernandez said, "but for those of you who aren't, well— let's just say there are more where these came from."
Nobody laughed.
"So what we're going to do here," he said, "is nothing more or less than make them go away."
"That's our cue," Evelyn said, cracking her knuckles. "Let's—"
"Wait," Mo said. "Wait. Oh, shit."
Evelyn turned, started to say something, trailed off when she saw. The head in cell B-2 had woken up and started screaming.
The chunky input boxes covered it from the nose up, but there was no mistaking the frantically stretching jaw or writhing tongue. She had severed the major tendons in the object's neck during its procedure to keep it safe in a situation like this, but she never expected it to actually happen.
"We have to tell- we have to stop the test," Mo said. "It's awake. It's going to ruin their consensus. We—"
"On it," Evelyn said. "Just hit the manual override for that one and we'll loop in C-1 instead. We're only using 10 of them. Don't be so dramatic."
The red light stopped blinking. A green one turned on next to another cell. Evelyn kept tapping. "On your mark, Doctor Castelo," she said, holding back a grin. Mo nodded, shaken. "Mark."
"The technique we've developed," Hernandez stalled on the monitor, "not only allows us to safely and permanently remove objects from existence, but also prevents their effects from lingering, and can even undo damage they've caused. I don't have to remind any of you that's what Orpheus is ultim—" He was cut off by a siren as Evelyn hit a final switch.
Nestled in their cells, the heads dreamed a dream together, just as Evelyn directed them. In the dream, the helipad outside was the same, but there were no infinitely-multiplying cakes sitting in the middle of it. Because, in the dream, things like that weren't real.
The two women watched in silence as the view on the monitor changed. "There it is," Evelyn said, as applause crackled through the speakers. "We actually did it." Unexpectedly, she crushed Mo in a hug.
In cell B-2, the head kept screaming.
_
They had four more procedures that week ("where are they all coming from?" Ken asked her in the cafeteria line, and she'd started using the cantina on the other end of the site).
"You're doing great," Mo said to the object as she perforated its hippocampus. "Nobody told you this, but billions of people are depending on you. You're a hero, and you're being so br—"
Something rumbled from deep down in the lower levels.
Mo tensed. Grounds shifted uncertainly. Even Evelyn looked up at the ceiling, just for a second.
"Should we—" Reid started, and the lights went out.
All of them gasped. "Stay calm," Grounds urged, as the emergency lights flooded the room with red.
"Our equipment is on battery backup," Mo said. "We can still finish our—"
"There's no battery for the SRA," Evelyn said quietly.
Nobody said anything. Mo froze, scalpel in hand. Ken reached slowly for the kill dial.
A pair of eyes snapped open on the object's cheeks.
Ken's face lifted suddenly, as if there were a hinge in his forehead. A rabbit chased a snake along the wall. Reid started to run. Mo smelled lilacs. Evelyn clawed at her control panels, swearing under her breath. Reid's left half was suddenly a foot apart from his right. Grounds drew his gun, reciting baseball statistics. Evelyn was screaming. Ken lay twitching, his skull sliding out, eyes still in it and darting wildly. The floor tilted 30 degrees. Mo let go of the scalpel and it hovered in place, her fingertips floating around it like tiny moons. The wall fell away to reveal a void shimmering with fireflies. Grounds kept his gun steady as a seagull's head burst out of his temple and started furiously pecking his face. A helix of brilliant color spiraled across the room. Reid's two halves wailed and staggered in unison as organs tumbled out of the gap between them. Mo stumbled backward, her hand and arm smearing like paint in the air. Evelyn's scream turned low and raspy as the skin of her throat peeled away and crawled down her body. Mo smelled pennies. Her field of vision slanted as she felt something wet, and she realized that her eye was melting. Grounds fired twice, but she only heard the sound of cicadas. She touched her face with her good hand and felt her cheek slide away. She saw Grounds' bullets pass through the object's head in slow motion and curve lazily back toward him, trailing blood and brain, to tunnel into his chest.
Then the lights came back on, and the anchor started humming, and the pain hit.
_
She woke in a hospital bed, nestled in a cluster of tubes and beeping machines.
Her arm was gone from the elbow down. She could feel bandages around her head, a sliver left exposed so her remaining eye could peek out. Panic started to creep into her chest. She would never operate again. The project would go on without her. The Foundation would go on without her. There wasn't enough left of her to serve.
A gray-haired woman in a crisp suit entered briskly and pulled up a chair next to her bed.
"Can you hear me, Doctor Castelo?"
Mo managed a nod.
"I'll keep this brief so you can rest. I'm here to tell you that, if you want it, we have another place for you."
Mo wept with relief. She felt whole.


The ground shook as flames filled the sky. The two armies clashed, and the sounds of grinding clockwork and inhuman roars blurred together. On one end behemoths breathed vicious poison, which rose up as smoke and dissolved into the air. Their opponents, however, no longer had to breathe. Their hearts of copper beat as their bodies of steel and iron marched forward, driven by nothing but faith. The mechanical giants under their command acted without hesitation, releasing rays of light and heat, scorching the beasts and the ground beneath. It was no place for mortal soldiers anymore; they had retreated far away several battles ago, and left the field to gods and monsters.
High up on the hills, a lone figure watched. The army of the Mekhanites was gaining ground, leaving mutated bodies still squirming in their wake. But Grand Karcist Ion only laughed. He had prepared for this; one more step before the summoning was done. He held his staff up high and emitted a chant.
Almost immediately, the space above the battleground twisted. There was a moment of silence. The flames here and there seemingly froze, but the next moment, they burnt higher and more viciously. A monstrous form appeared, its giant torso shifting with distortion, caught between this world and the next. It made the sky darken and the flames dance as a sick, unnatural feeling crawled all over the land.
The half-emerged Archon was shaped like a quadruped with a human torso stuck on one end, and a horned lizard on the other, covered with scales and plates of bones. This was far from its full glory, but as the faceless humanoid blinked its single eye and the dragon head called out, the fallen Sarkicites all stood up. Their broken bodies grew and merged into one another, forming giant masses of even more inhuman shapes. Soon, they began to cling onto the Mekhanite robots, their many hands and tentacles dragging the man-made giants down to the ground. Slashes and cuts did very little to the new abominations; they were instantly healed with tumors and in more disgusting forms.
Ion grinned as the Archon's song echoed. He could feel every cell within his body pulsing with energy, and he could see the victory just ahead. A little more time before he could crush the Mekhanites, before his kingdom could stretch out and cover the world. Just as he had planned, the tide of metal slowed down as the wave of red flesh washed over them. Soon, they would be consumed and reduced to rust and ashes.
But then, he heard faint footsteps coming, and the Grand Karcist turned to look.
Bumaro trekked upwards, supporting himself with his large hammer. The Mekhanite priest was in a bad shape; his robes torn and stained, his motions dull, and his skin cracked with an unhealthy color. Even the metal implant covering the left side of his face no longer shined, but was blackened with the smoke. And every few steps, he stopped and coughed blood.
Ion watched curiously. Playing with his bone staff, he made no effort to stop the man. And as Bumaro finally reached the top, the Karcist spoke. “I see that you were caught in the fumes, Bumaro. You must have used a lot of help to get through the battlefront and make it all the way here.”
Bumaro responded, and surprisingly, his voice was steady and clear, of a mechanical monotone. “And their deaths are on your head.”
Ion only laughed, and stepped closer. “And you thought you could avenge them? With that rag of a body?” His voice suddenly darkened, coming out as something more animal and less human. “Just who do you think you are? I am now the Grand Karcist, Sorcerer-King of Adytum, and you are still just some petty priest of a… broken god.”
But Bumaro did not look at him. Clinging onto the hammer, he coughed out more blood.
Ion frowned at the lack of response. Shaking his head, he casually raised his hand towards the priest. “As much as I'm glad to see an old friend… You're not quite as entertaining as I thought. I have had enough of this.”
“You should have listened to your elders and gotten your body replaced with metal years ago,” The Grand Karcist mocked and tightened his grip into a fist, feeling the other's flesh yield under his power. “That way you might at least put up a fight.”
As Ion exerted his will, Bumaro's skin cracked further under his command. The Karcist grinned with amusement and wondered if he should keep him and turn him into a trophy. But the flesh did not bend and merge as he intended; it started to degrade and peel off. Something smooth and shiny was underneath.
“What the—”
Bumaro did not give him time to react. Suddenly, he grabbed Ion by the hand, moving with more agility than he had previously displayed. A burning sensation shot into his hand, and Ion jumped back. A metallic color quickly crawled onto his skin, and something solidified in his flesh. He felt numb. To his horror, he could no longer command his hand as he pleased. In mere seconds, that sensation crawled upwards, reaching his elbow, but he acted swiftly. Turning his staff into a sharp blade, the Karcist cut off his entire arm. The thing dropped to the ground, landing with a loud thud.
He looked up to find Bumaro now standing straight and high, blackened flesh falling from his person. Metallic spikes protruded from underneath his clothes here and there, and arrays of clockworks now powered his movements. His fingers had elongated to resemble claws; all the mechanical parts seemed to be growing and retracting constantly, as layers of metallic plates stirred and moved. Bound by skin and flesh no longer, the Mekhanite stood with a presence that could choke out the air.
“Thought you were no advocator of hasty augmentation,” Ion said as he watched his former arm completely turning into a chunk of copper. A new one was slowly growing in place. “But I see you've gone far, even willing to infect people with this sickness.”
“I have consumed the Blood of God,” Bumaro responded indifferently, a large metal blade growing out of his wrist. “And you are no person, Ion. I see but a beast plaguing this land.”
Instinctively, Ion raised his bone staff and it clashed with Bumaro's newly formed blade. He had abandoned his hammer to pursue the Karcist.
“As for others… I will endure however long isolation it takes to put this under control,” Bumaro said as he forced the Karcist backward.
Ion had to throw away his weapon and conjure another, as metal and clockwork clung onto it through mere contact. In the next few seconds, he wasted several more weapons made of bone and flesh.
“You've changed. Releasing a metallic plague? I know how you Mekhanites love your holy secrets, keeping them hidden and secure. I doubt your elders would allow just anyone to know about this, let alone giving it to you,” Ion retreated, buying himself distance from his opponent. “So you must have stolen it and claimed its power.”
“I changed no more than you did, and I want no power for myself,” Bumaro glanced back at the battlefield. Poisonous fumes were spreading, forming dark clouds in the sky.
The words only went over Ion's head, as he used the few moments to focus and try to call upon the Archon to his aid. But the angel of flesh didn't even register his call. He realized seconds later as Bumaro made another slash that the song of the Archon was silenced, if only on his side. He felt again the presence from Bumaro as the space solidified around him. Something was restraining his actions, and the power he received from the Archon had been cut off.
So Ion let out a different chant. Immediately, three monsters of flesh rose from below the hills and surrounded Bumaro. Using their weight as advantage, they tried to squash their much smaller opponent, but it was no use. Now relieved of flesh and powered by God's Ichor, Bumaro avoided most of the attacks, and wherever he was damaged, the metal only grew more excessively.
The monsters soon shrieked in pain as the cogs and levers made their way into their wounds. Their many mouths no longer bit and consumed, but screamed in agony. Ion, on the other hand, wasted no time to turn and run. He only needed to reach where the Archon could hear him, and the Mekhanite could be easily dealt with.
But he didn't manage to make it down the hill as a hammer flung towards him, striking him down. Bumaro had gone past beasts, which were now twitching on the ground and clawing blindly at the rocks. The Mekhanite too suffered damage, but unlike the beasts, he no longer felt pain. Not anymore.
Ion decided to turn and face him. He held up another bone weapon, but as Bumaro moved closer to confront him, several bone spikes shot out of Ion's person, three of them piercing through the priest. But Bumaro didn't flinch, and kept moving forward. His mechanical body slowly ate away the bones, converting them to be a part of it.
As Bumaro picked up the hammer, their fight continued. They exchanged blows and Ion grew agitated with every passing second. He grew extra limbs to fend off Bumaro's attack, but this only made him more vulnerable to exposure. Before long, he had to spend all his energy to keep the metallic infection from spreading, and could no longer quickly regenerate or conjure more weapons.
There was a dull sound of metal piercing through flesh as Bumaro nailed Ion to the ground with the sharp end of his hammer. The Grand Karcist struggled ineffectually. This time, it was his turn to cough out blood. As Bumaro grabbed onto him, Ion decided to give up and focus attention to him instead.
“I've trusted you with aid and knowledge, but you only used that to commit great evil,” Bumaro held up his hand, and the blade attached to it shined from the flames on the battlefield. “I shall allow this no more.”
Ion gave out a mocking laugh, which was interrupted abruptly as the cold blade cut cleanly through his throat. The Karcist's head fell off. At the same moment, in the battlefield, the Archon let out a shriek. Space twisted once more, and its shapes suddenly blurred and faded. The flames died down, and the meat abominations collapsed back into individual mutated torsos. The Mekhanites regrouped and started to fight back.
Bumaro coughed, and blood trickled down, but this time, it was silver instead of red. He reached out and picked up Ion's head from the ground.
The head was still breathing, but as the metallic illness crept upon his wounds, the struggle to regenerate was futile. Without a throat, Ion could no longer speak, but in some sharp, hollow tone, he laughed and laughed. His mouth twisted into a smirk and he stared at the one who had him defeated.
Bumaro ignored this. He walked up to the high point of the hill, where the three beasts had now ceased breathing. Holding the head up high, he spoke, but not with sounds a human can hear. And as if waiting for the signal, all the metallic giants moved into their pre-planned formation, and released fires and furies upon their enemies. Seeing this, the Mekhanites elders sang prayer and operated the devices they had prepared.
Between the dark clouds, lighting struck down one by one, in quick successions. Soon, they weaved a giant web of light, covering the sky. Before long, it was too blinding for human eyes to see and too deafening for human ears to hear, but the space twisted in a way that everyone could feel. Bumaro watched in silence as the clockwork in him ground and shifted, as his metallic fingers dug into the skin of Ion's head.
And then, the light died down. The Grand Karcist was no more, and his army and his city were both gone. Banished from this reality to the next, through the same path the Archon had come from.
The thick dark clouds fell from the sky as raindrops, carrying what was left of the poisonous smoke down with them. The rain came swiftly as the final sound of thunder rang out, washing away the little residue of the horrifying Sarkic kingdom.
Bumaro lowered his arm, and in his hands, only a skull remained. And as the power of God's Blood touched the last bit of it, the head of the Grand Karcist collapsed into fine metal dust, and was soon flushed away by the rain.


From: Lisle Naismith [pcs.noitadnuof|htimsianl#pcs.noitadnuof|htimsianl]
To: Lisle Naismith [pcs.noitadnuof|htimsianl#pcs.noitadnuof|htimsianl]
Subject: Memo To Self
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Why bother?

Let's say the Scarlet King awakens. Let's say he eats 4,000 sacrificial virgins for breakfast.
Halfway through #2,374, he remembers a particularly funny knock-knock joke.
He laughs, he chokes, and none of his slaves know CPR.

Let's say the flesh god and the machine god decide to settle their differences once and for all. Let's say they bring every Sarkic cultist and Broken-God-fearing soldier to the final battle.
The battlefield is on the other side of a wormhole, which closes and never opens again.
Only catch, we never know who wins. But we can live with that.

Let's say we find an infinitely huge wall of drawers.
Let's say we fill them up with every anomalous item, where they'll be perfectly content until the heat death of the Universe.
And let's say we still die screaming.

Why bother?

May 12th, 2016. One of my few days off in spring. I drank milk straight from the jug without looking at the expiration date - it should have been spoiled for two days. It wasn't. Still fresh.
8:00 AM, Penny Naismith was off to school, and Mrs. Rosa Naismith told me that she had to go to a parent-teacher conference for Penny later.
"I'll go," I said.
"Don't," she said. "It's your day off."
"Last week, I saw a D-class eaten alive by a snake made of intrusive thoughts. I think I can deal with bitchy teachers."
Rosa grimaced, skeptical. It's Mr. Glassman, isn't it, I thought, starting to miss the Mind Viper.
9:00 AM. I sip a mimosa. There's a classic Doctor Who marathon on PBS. Old Tom Bakers. Rosa catches me grinning ear-to-ear as the title theme comes on. She laughs.
3:00 PM. Mr. Glassman, assistant principal, told me that my daughter "doesn't handle bullies well."
I said, "then how about we do something about the kids trying to provoke her?"
He said, "look, when she's older, you won't be there to force her to toughen up. Do you want to coddle your daughter all your life, or let her build character?"
Half an hour of smiling and nodding later, I took a photo out of my wallet. Said it was of Penny at her baptism.
The photo was a of NARCISSUS-class visual cognitohazard that had just been decommissioned. Seeing the foam come from his mouth was one of the finer points of my life as a father, and well worth the reprimand from the O5 council.
Mr. Glassman's still healthy, of course. Only difference is, he believes that if Penny ever cries, a seven-foot-tall eel-man lurking outside his peripheral vision will eat his eyeballs.
6:00 PM. Penny and I watched a movie that introduced her to swear words. She laughed hard enough to start wheezing.
8:00 PM. Penny's in bed early, contented.
8:30 PM. Pretty sure I can't go into detail on a Foundation email server, but Rosa's still got it after ten years. My pelvis still hurts thinking about it. God Bless America.

You want happy endings?
Fuck you.
You want sad endings?
Again, fuck you.
There are only endings. If 15 years of service to a shadow fascist organization bent on locking up all our demons in boxes has taught me anything, it's that "good" and "bad" are completely subjective. One man's ZK-class reality failure is another man's orgasm.

So.
Why bother?

Because sometimes, temporarily, everything goes right.
Whatever your situation, however bad things get - As long as you're alive, there can always be a great day.

You got this, Lisle. You're making Penny and Rosa proud, and Dr. Henderson too, wherever he is.

Don't let the nihilists and quitters seduce you. There will be more May 12th, 2016's if you can keep the bastards locked up.
And if you can help it, don't detonate the on-site nuke until you've finished the Tom Baker episodes.
Love,
Dr. Lisle Naismith
Site Director, Foundation Site-59