An Anthropological Approach to Sarkicism
Dr. Matthieu Desmarais, Department of Anthropology

Forward:
Our understanding of Sarkicism has changed dramatically over the last few decades. This information has revealed a diverse and shifting paradigm far different from the monolithic creed first hypothesized. We are now able to paint a broader, more detailed picture of the Sarkic religion, its various sects and cultural traditions.
Modern sects are the product of divergent interpretations, many bearing a mere superficial resemblance to their ancient progenitor cult. Most unexpected, especially among early scholars of Sarkicism such as myself, are the seemingly benevolent intentions of its founders. The road to hell, it is often said, is paved with good intentions - an aphorism the Foundation must always keep close in mind, for despite the aeons between us, we gaze into that very same abyss.
And like the ancient Sarkites, we have found it full of monsters.
Dr. Desmarais, at great risk to himself, seeks to better understand Sarkicism and its ever shifting paradigm through the study of living communities - revealing what ruins, artifacts, and the dead cannot. Though his methods are unorthodox (at least for the Foundation), his results are undeniable and deserving of continued support.
Dr. Judith Low, Senior Adviser at the Department of History - Religious GoI Threat Analysis.

CASE STUDY 02: The Divoši of Prague

A collective condominium owned and inhabited by Divoši.

Overview:
The Divoši (derived from Slavic "divoch", meaning heathen or savage) are a crypto-Sarkic1 people inhabiting Central Europe. My research has ultimately led me to Prague, capital of the Czech Republic and home to a community of urban dwelling Divoši. Blood libels, expulsions, forced conversions, and massacres - the history of the Divoši is one marked by persecution. Such incidents has rendered them a stoic and grim people, suspicious of outsiders even by Sarkic standards. They have suffered much to maintain their secrets and earning their trust will be difficult.
History:
The Divoši came to this region following the Sarkic Diaspora between 1200-1000 BCE. Following the fall of the Adí-üm, the followers of Sarkicism were scattered throughout Eurasia; isolated and decentralized, this event is believed to be the principle cause for the immense diversity among Sarkic cults and culture groups.
The Divoši initially settled in the Rhineland, living in relative peace among Germanic and Slavic tribes until the Christianization of the region by Charlemagne during the late 700s CE. Like their pagan kin, they were the victims of forced conversion and exile. Throughout the Middle Ages, they were accused of heresy and/or witchcraft and burned at the stake. By the Early Modern Period, they endured pogroms alongside Roma and Jews despite having no discernible relationship to either. By the 1600s, surviving Divoši had resettled in Bohemia and Moravia - finding tolerance among the Czech people2.
Like others who previously found a safe haven in Prague, they would ultimately suffer vast casualties during the German occupation of Czechoslovakia between 1938 and 1945. Records provided by the Divoši indicate a population of approximately 12,000 throughout Europe at the start of the 20th century; by 1945, they had been reduced to around 600 individuals. It is believed that their people only escaped total eradication when their anomalous nature was recognized by the Ahnenerbe Obskurakorps3, though these survivors were forced to undergo human experimentation.
The Foundation first encountered the Divoši as test subjects at Eisenblut, a top-secret Nazi science facility located near the then recently liberated Theresienstadt concentration camp. A bargain was struck with their leader, the Karcist Nakiakken (SCP-████), which resulted in the unusual amount of freedom enjoyed by these Sarkites despite being technically under Foundation control. Karcist Nakiakken was able to achieve this by accepting containment without resistance and the promise of its cooperation, though the details of this agreement are presently classified and only available to authorized Project: Sitra Achra personnel. Dr. Judith Low, a senior member of the project, has informed me that the Foundation initially refused to comply with the offer and attempted to act against the Divoši people. Though she was not authorized to divulge the details of what occurred, it does appear that Karcist Nakiakken had several contingency plans in place to ensure cooperation - leaving the Foundation with no choice but negotiation.
Culture, Tradition, and Misconceptions:
The Divoši refer to their religion as The Sin-Eater's Church, though recognize Nälkä4 as the spiritual guidelines of their faith. Efforts to externally disguise their religion and culture have inadvertently resulted in syncretic changes to internal traditions and beliefs (i.e. both esoteric and exoteric traditions and beliefs have developed into an amalgam of Abrahamic, Pagan, and Sarkic influences). Examples of this include the presence of "saints" (svatých) which do not fit under traditional Sarkic hagiography5, choosing not to limit their reverence to strictly the Grand Karcist and his Klavigar.

A fresco depicting Saint Antal (left) and Saint Imanta (right).

Such saints include:

Saint Antal, The Thrice Returned - Patron of resurrection6, metamorphosis, and the protection of children.

Saint Biellá, The Devourer of Godsmen - Patron of soldiers (particularly defenders of the faith), self-sacrifice, and defiance against the gods and their earthly agents.

Saint Joŋgu, The Poison Moon - Patron of medicine, alchemy, and healers.

Saint Imanta, The Shepherdess of Flesh - Patron of midwives, surgeons, butchers, and the art of fleshcrafting.

Saint Milan, The Red Hook of Mercy - Patron of righteous assassins, executioners, and other enforcers of justice.

Saint Szabolcs, The Ashen One - Patron of fair law and good governance.

Saint Uksáhkká, The Worm of Midnight - Patron of outcasts, the impoverished, and the diseased.

Saint Yrathas, The Unbroken - Patron of craftsmen and the triumph of endurance over drudgery.

Divoši practice social seclusion and self-segregation. Most civilians are unaware of the Divoši and those that are do not appear to know of their aberrant nature. Though the Divoši primarily achieve this via anomalous methods, such minor anomalies ultimately serve the Foundation through the preservation of normalcy. Such anomalies are designed to alter how they are perceived by outsiders, causing the Divoši and their homes/temples to appear especially unremarkable and easily forgotten or ignored. This effect is traditionally accomplished through the use of bio-chemical solutions (known as németh)7 and antimemetic cognitohazardous symbols (known as ūrma), with such symbols being painted on Divoši structures or tattooed upon individuals.
The use of ūrma is especially noteworthy, as these are able to render received information resistant to memory. For example, if a subject looks at an alleyway, that information is transferred from the eyes to the brain without complication; but if there is a certain ūrma painted or engraved within view of the alleyway's entrance, the subject will look and that information will be perceived but fail to translate to the brain; the human mind does not deal well with such gaps of information and will instead attempt to fill it in with whatever is most likely based on the rest of the environment. Testing this, the Foundation was able to determine that most will merely perceive a wall, dense vegetation, and in one instance, a police barricade. Ürma can be employed to make doors seemingly disappear, render an individual indistinguishable, or to hide the presence of written words, among other uses. The Divoši credit Klavigar Nadox8 with the invention of ūrma.
Law is of singular importance to the Divoši and the Sin-Eater's Church concerns itself with these matters on a level comparable to Judaism and Islam. A cursory glance would suggest little difference between Sarkic law and the secular/religious laws of public society. Murder is forbidden, so is rape, theft, and assault - but like other cultures and religions, these seemingly straight forward prohibitions are subject to interpretation. Some of the more specific laws include:

"Thou shalt consume the flesh raw, touched neither by flame nor luxury9"
"Honor thy Prophet, Devourer of All Sin, and never speak His Name in vain."
"Thou shalt awaken the senses, prying wide thy third-eye; thou shalt not seal thyself from Truth through inebriation."10
"Thou shalt eschew decadence in all its forms."
"Thou shalt enforce the ways of jaka11; inaction to evil is evil in itself."

The Divoši are not a welcoming people, but this is not unexpected given their history and practices. It is only through the Foundation, and its various agreements and threats, that I am able to study these people - and this certainly does not endear them to my mission. Interviews were difficult to procure but not impossible, having found some success reaching out to the younger generations.

+ Interview Subject: Zdeňka Slováčková (04/11/████)

- ACCESS GRANTED

Zdeňka Slováčková

Interviewed: Zdeňka Slováčková
Interviewer: Dr. Matthieu Desmarais
Foreword: Ms. Slováčková (b. 1991) is a woman presently employed at a Divoši-owned butcher's shop and delicatessen. I approached her while she enjoyed a smoke break, identifying myself as a member of the Foundation.
<Begin Log>
Dr. Desmarais: Hello, Ms. Slováčková. Would you mind if I asked you a few questions?
Zdeňka Slováčková: Ask your questions, outsider.
Dr. Desmarais: Are you an active member of the Sin-Eater's Church?
Zdeňka Slováčková: Yeah. [Subject takes a drag from her cigarette and exhales; the odor of cloves is strong] I lend my voice to the chanters. Help teach the sone12 to the young bloods.
Dr. Desmarais: Very good. Have you always been with the Church?
Zdeňka Slováčková: [Subject appears perplexed] You're either born to the faith or you're not. There is no other way.
Dr. Desmarais: Right, I was aware of that. Allow me to rephrase that. Have you always been so close to the Church?
Zdeňka Slováčková: Ah. That makes more sense. My faith has wavered in the past but I feel it has been renewed in recent years.
Dr. Desmarais: Oh? Why did it waver?
Zdeňka Slováčková: [Subject shrugs] Youthful rebellion, mostly. Unlike our rural kin, it's hard to escape the influence of outsiders. In my want for my own identity, I forgot the importance of preserving who we are. Assimilation is our people's greatest enemy.
Dr. Desmarais: Youthful rebellion - how did you go about that?
Zdeňka Slováčková: Vegan diet, listening to straight edge13 Christian punk rock - by the Prophet, it was embarrassing. Eh, not sure how much any of that related to my skepticism. Wasn't like I actually considered worshiping the Christ God. Was more about pissing off my parents. Maybe it was my faith in the Church that wavered, not so much its truth - you know? The old rituals, the chanting, it can get pretty boring as a kid.
Dr. Desmarais: Has any other religion appealed to you? Don't worry. Not trying to convert you or anything. Just curious.
Zdeňka Slováčková: Uh… Buddhists, I guess? They seem to have the same goal. The Buddha is a lot like the Ozi̮rmok14. Well, that's how it read to me. Never actually met one.
Dr. Desmarais: But your faith is strong now. How did that come about?
Zdeňka Slováčková: My sister never doubted. Her faith was truly unshakable. She was beautiful too - blessed by Lovataar15 herself. We weren't close. I was jealous, my heart blackened with the vile envy of a Daeva. I know this now.
Three years ago, someone took her away. No, I shouldn't sanitize the truth - that's the way of the God-fearing. [Subject spits on the ground] They raped her, tore her apart, but she went down fighting. The bastards left her in an alley, next to the garbage. Our fleshcrafters couldn't save her; maybe if we had our Karcist. [Subject glares]
Dr. Desmarais: I'm sorry. I wish there was something I could do.
Zdeňka Slováčková: Words are meaningless. They won't bring her back. But when I saw her broken body, I found my faith reignited - and I understood the ancient teachings with newfound clarity. Saarn16 becomes me and my sister will soon be avenged.
Dr. Desmarais: Avenged?
Zdeňka Slováčková: Never forgive, never forget. We tracked down those beasts and in a few days they will face the Judgment.
Dr. Desmarais: I'm sorry but I doubt the Foundation would allow it. Not unless I can convince them otherwise. Perhaps this can be negotiated? I am not authorized to make such arrangements but I could make a request. Based on what little I know about the "Judgement", it could be a most educational opportunity.
Zdeňka Slováčková: These are our secrets, our traditions, and you outsiders have no place in them. But if you truly believe that they would deny us, then… [Subject hesitates] Please, do what you can. My sister, she needs this - it is our sacred duty to see this through.
<End Log>
Afterword: While our duty is to the preservation of normalcy, this has never stopped us from learning from anomalies in a controlled setting. Much remains unknown about Sarkic rituals and we won't have such a chance with other sects. What we learn from this may even help us prevent similar anomalies in the future. The Divoši have hidden these practices for generations, thus I have no doubt that it can be conducted clandestinely. Though it may seem ghoulish, I do believe that allowing this ritual to proceed will be for the greater good, potentially leading to breakthroughs in how to best contain and/or terminate hostile Sarkic cultists and their anomalies.

A formal request for authorization was approved by the O5 Council under the following conditions:

Event is to be overseen by Project Sitra Achra.
Captives held by the Divoši are to be classified as D-Class personnel.
Security is to be provided by MTF Psi-9 ("Abyss Gazers").
Anomalies/anomalous phenomena are not allowed beyond the designated ritual site.
Ritual site is to be installed with audio/video recording devices.
In the likely event of anomalous corporeal generation or transmutation, tissue samples are to be secured and delivered to Foundation personnel.
Majority of personnel are to observe the ritual indirectly, through the use of live video feed with a thirty second delay (a defense measure against possible cognitohazards).

Official reports can be retrieved upon request but certain files require Level 3 clearance or higher. The following represents my personal observations and opinions of the event, partially redacted as required by the O5 Council.

+ The Judgment: Personal Observations

- ACCESS GRANTED

Our guide led us by lantern light through nameless alleyways and hidden roads. The local architecture was old, possibly medieval and long forgotten by the rest of the city - a testament to the subtle power of the ūrma. I caught fleeting glimpses of malformed figures in the shadows and could not escape the feeling of being watched. "They are the Guardians," our guide informed us. "Bring violence to this place and you will know them well." A chill fog rolled in and engulfed the area in darkness; still, we followed the lantern light.
The environment grew increasingly exotic with each twist and turn of that urban labyrinth. Creeping tendrils of flesh climbed brick walls like ivy, sporting luminescent pustules at meter length intervals. Buildings appeared warped, displaying crooked doorways and spiraled rooftops. The further we traveled, the more the structures resisted their very own geometry. It reminded me of a certain Foundation mathematician who once told me that such dimensional anomalies tend to "loathe a right-angle". Upward pointing pikes surrounded us, displaying the impaled remains of historical foes. Among the dead I see the rusted armor of knights, the ragged robes of inquisitors, and the uniforms of Ahnenerbe Obskurakorps field operatives. A grim reminder to behave ourselves while in Divoši territory.
Our destination proved to be the source of that obfuscating mist, which effused from its chimneys like so much factory smog. Outside of this abnormality, the building otherwise resembled a Catholic cathedral (albeit one utterly bereft of any Christian iconography). The walls displayed a singular texture almost organic in nature, like something out of a Beksiński painting. I wondered to myself if the church had been built through standard artifice or if it had been somehow *shaped* into its current appearance.
And such questions allowed an especially disconcerting thought to enter my already anxious mind: was the church, in fact, alive? I pondered this possibility, along with its numerous dread implications, all while unconsciously following the others inside.
A great ribcage held up the ceiling, supported by pillars of bone resembling the femur of some mythic behemoth. Hovering overhead was a heart, human in shape but of impossible size. A cathedral of flesh and bone; I thought it might be decorative - or that was at least what I tried to convince myself. I received an answer to all my questions the moment I heard that colossal heart beat, the noise reverberating throughout the temple.
A woman clad in leather took me by the hand and ushered me to the front. I remain unsure if this was an honor or if they were merely sick of my prying, as what I ultimately witnessed would dissuade most from further study. The sight of security personnel failed to make me feel any safer but they, and the various video cameras and researchers, at least added some familiarity to an otherwise alien location.
A man stood at the center of the chamber; he was an imposing figure, over 2 meters tall with at least 200 kg of muscle. He wore the traditional attire of a flesh-shaper, resembling a stained butcher's apron over a crudely stitched leather kilt. His body was painted (or tattooed) with a number of Sarkic runes and he carried an immense cleaver (the cleaver appears to lack a proper hilt and its wielder's hands are bloody and scarred as a result). He wore a mask (or helmet, as it does appear to cover the entirety of his head) resembling a rust-covered medieval torture device, which dug into the flesh and left his upper body soaked in blood.
A woman entered the ritual site. Like her male counterpart, she wore the bare-chested attire of a flesh-shaper but instead carried a sickle. A bone mask covered the lower half of her face, resembling the jaws and teeth of an unknown predator and giving her a somewhat lupine appearance (though the teeth seemed more akin to those of a shark; odd considering the landlocked nature of the Czech Republic17). Her hair had been braided through the hollows of vertebrae, perhaps an aesthetic leftover of their tribal past.

She was followed by another flesh-shaper - a thin, almost cadaverous fellow of indeterminate sex. They carried a spear resembling some sort of chitinous spike and wore a distorted, asymmetrical mask, which appeared to be ejecting tendrils from its grossly gaping maw.
The torchs that lit the chamber were suddenly extinguished and were slowly replaced by the queerly violet bioluminescence of thin organic threads dangling from the ceiling. This new light revealed the true depths of the structure which descended down into a seemingly bottomless pit. Hanging over the chasm were numerous clay human effigies, though too small to contain an actual adult human. They were suspended in the air by those same creeping tendrils witnessed earlier, which wrapped around the "throats" of each effigy like a noose. Their purpose would remain unknown until the end of the ceremony.
Three individuals, all clearly bruised and beaten, were led to the center and chained to a pillar of bones. The three included two men and one women; all were nude and had Sarkic runes carved into their flesh. Much of the following information was provided to me after the ritual had ended.
The first (from left to right of my vantage point) was an overweight male carved with a rune meaning "polluted devourer" and another rune meaning "defiler of autonomy" but augmented to express that said "defiler" targeted children. The prisoner was later identified as 54 year old Petr B███, a wealthy heir to ███████████, a lucrative financial company. Though he had been accused multiple times of sexual violence against children (including his own), he was able to avoid prison through the exploitation of a technicality by his legal team. He disappeared several weeks ago, presumably having fled the country under a false identity. To my surprise, none of his actions were committed against Divoši individuals but they felt his "Judgement" necessary.
The second was an attractive woman carved with runes meaning "oath-breaker", "serpent's venom" and "Daeva's vanity". She was later identified as 30 year old Klára L████████, a model and former escort infamously known as a "black widow" for the possible murder of three husbands and five stepchildren. Though suspected of being involved in the other deaths, she was only on trial for the murder of her latest husband along with two young stepdaughters. She was found not guilty due to lack of evidence. It was later discovered that she had been having an affair with her own prosecutor, who had significant evidence of her guilt but refused to use it. She disappeared several months ago, shortly after buying plane two tickets bound for the USA. Like the previous subject, her crimes had nothing to do with the Divoši.
The last was a young male carved with runes meaning "defiler of autonomy", "ripper of flesh", and "Archon's Cruelty". He was later identified as 22 year old Jakub P████, a man with a long and violent criminal history. More importantly, he was the one responsible for the rape and murder of Ms. Slováčková's sister. His body language seemed oddly defiant, considering his current circumstances.
The female fleshshaper began to recite in Adytite, pointing at their prisoners as she unveiled their litany of crimes. The thin fleshshaper thrust their spear into the bloated belly of the leftmost captive, causing him to scream like a stuck pig. The crowd began to chant, bellowing a low and guttural noise. The large fleshshaper raised his cleaver, repeatedly shouting "Ke nok k'trol!" or something similarly unintelligible.
The skewered captive's abdomen increased dramatically in size before rupturing and spewing forth entrails that moved of their own volition, coiling around the other captives like a voracious python. What was once the anus was now mouth full of serrated teeth. The female flesh-shaper turned to the center captive and proceeded to slowly carve off the woman's face. I could hardly hear all the screams beneath the endless droning of the chanters and the sharp, visceral shouts of the ritualists.
The cleaver fell, slicing the rightmost captive in half, yet despite the mounting damage among the captives, they all appeared quite alive and fully aware of what was happening to them. The entrails force themselves down the center captive's throat, which burst through the other end and proceeded to enter the gaping wound where the rightmost captive's genitals used to be - weaving all three together from within and without. The flesh-shapers sliced and cleaved and penetrated - and their victims, the guilty, the JUDGED, began to appear as though they were merging together.
How were they still alive? It was beyond anything I had ever seen before.
The grotesque performance became too much for me and I began to retch; I stumbled from my seat, my hands and knees on the blood slick floor as I vomited. I take some comfort in my knowledge that I was not the only researcher to end up incapacitated by the sights and sounds of that living nightmare; even security personnel appeared ill prepared for what ultimately transpired. The flesh-shapers handed their tools to a number of approaching assistants and then proceeded to bury their hands deep into the screaming mass, causing it to stretch and shrink, tear and repair, before my very eyes.
And this is when the ritual became truly surreal. The mound of living flesh exploded into a mass of tendrils and bone expelling orifices. That horrible thing reacted to the motions of the ritualists, fusing the three and molding them into a new, increasingly degenerate form.
I vomited again and lost consciousness. When I awoke, I beheld the fruit of their terrible craft. I never should have agreed to this. I expected maybe an execution but this? This was truly beyond the pale.
It had no mouth with which to eat or, more appropriate to the situation, scream. It was weak and impotent; a deplorable and utterly feeble creature. Worms had more dignity than that trembling, pitiable thing. I wanted to crush it beneath my boots, put it out of its misery, but the ritualists had other plans in mind. With a flick of their wrist, the thin flesh-shaper beckoned one of the effigy carrying tendrils, which lowered its prize. The female flesh-shaper pulled a cork from a hole in the clay effigy's top, causing a number of writhing maggot-like creatures to attempt and fail escape. The large flesh-shaper lifted up their newest creation and disposed of it within the effigy, trapping it with the rest of its kind. The cork was replaced and the tendril returned the effigy to its original location, where they have no doubt remained for hundreds of years.
By the number of jars, there may be thousands of them. It would be merciful to burn them all. These pathetic, helpless things were once murderers and rapists - people whose only nature was to spread suffering. Are the same people still inside those pitiable forms - three atrocious minds, forced to forever share a single, miserable body? To punish the wicked, the Sarkites have created a corporeal hell.
I cannot look at the Divoši the same way after that ordeal and I fear this will harm my impartiality in any future dealings. Was this justice? My liberal educated mind says no but am I, from my place of privilege and comfort, really able to judge them so harshly? I will mediate on this but it is unlikely that I will ever find a satisfying answer.

Having observed the "Judgement", I decided it best to enjoy a hiatus from my research. My sabbatical was interrupted by a special request sent to me by Dr. Tomoko Muso. As it turned out, Dr. Muso was merely the messenger and the request came from her ward, SCP-████ - also known as Karcist Nakiakken, the securely contained leader of the Divoši. I would travel to Humanoid Containment Site-486 in Germany to meet with this entity.

+ Interview Subject: Karcist Nakiakken (04/28/████)

- ACCESS GRANTED

Karcist Nakiakken, artist unknown (C. 1640).

Interviewed: Karcist Nakiakken (SCP-████)
Interviewer: Dr. Matthieu Desmarais
Foreword: Though I've studied Sarkicism for nearly a decade, this is to be my first encounter with an actual Karcist. The subject is held within a Psi-resistant humanoid containment cell18 and we are to communicate via intercom. Subject resembles their portrait, though said portrait failed to capture their lower half, which appears structurally serpentine but pale and scaleless like the rest of its body. The subject appears to have four cadaverous arms of considerable length and include appropriately large hands (each palm tattooed with a stylistic humanoid eye) equipped with six long, spindly fingers. They are wearing an orange jumpsuit customized for their inhuman anatomy. Their face displays no discernible emotion prior to the start of the interview.
<Begin Log>
Dr. Desmarais: Karcist Nakiakken, it is an honor to meet you.
Karcist Nakiakken: Is it? [It is at this time that I felt something prying within my mind] You are not well. The Judgment has left you haunted. Tell me, how does it make you feel? You must have questions. (A second voice spoke but I felt it from within: "Questions whose answers you fear to learn.")
Dr. Desmarais: I… [I hesitated, stunned that his ability could reach outside his containment unit] Why? Your people could have simply executed them. It would be over with and they'd never be able to hurt another. I don't even support the death penalty but it would be better than an eternity as those creatures. They won't die, will they?
Karcist Nakiakken: The powerful and the cruel must be… cut down to size? Is that how that phrase goes? And why would we return them to the cycle, when they have yet to learn remorse? We give them a form and place that limits all but thought. And we grant them a spark of our power, for they will live forever. But if they learn remorse… remorse for their countless atrocities… then they can return and we will teach them what it is to be righteous.
Dr. Desmarais: Do you mean they could transform, return to human? Do you have any evidence?
Karcist Nakiakken: We stripped from them their humanity. But the Shepherds19 sacrificed their blood to their designs. The Judged contain the essence of the Old Blood and through the ways of Nadox, we have created a lock whose key is repentance. ("Drain sin from the veins, scourge evil from the flesh, obliterate the tumors of arrogance, greed, and cruelty…") [Visceral images of cancerous flesh and infected wounds assault my mind]
Dr. Desmarais: Has anyone returned?
Karcist Nakiakken: I know of only three. Many hundreds have been judged but only three underwent metamorphosis and returned to us as human - one was a bandit, another a tyrant, while the last burned "witches". Perhaps the others will in time but these three redeemed required centuries. ("The caterpillar struggles within the cocoon; not all will break free and transcend…") [I begin to see moths or butterflies floating in the peripheries of my vision - after a few seconds to burst into flames and disappear completely]
Dr. Desmarais: And what of the evil you inflict? What I beheld was sadistic. It was torture, plain and simple.
Karcist Nakiakken: There is no malice in the Judgment. Without knowing suffering, one cannot know empathy - without empathy, they will never find redemption. ("Take off your mask. Reveal your true face…") [I quickly grabbed my face, suddenly feeling as though it was sliding off]
Dr. Desmarais: You're monsters. [This was entirely unprofessional and I fully apologize for my actions]
Karcist Nakiakken: Such naivety. ("Such foolishness…") [My vision began to blur and distort]
Dr. Desmarais: Get out of my head.
Karcist Nakiakken: I am not your enemy, Dr. Desmarais. I simply desire your honesty. You have limited knowledge of the Foundation. Let us say that our 'monsters' pale in comparison to the horrors your associates have unleashed upon the world. ("Ah, but always for the greater good… that is what they repeat, letting it wash over them again and again… a simple self-deception to sleep so much better at night…")[I saw a mountain of corpses; the dead wore orange jumpsuits, presumably D-class personnel]
Dr. Desmarais: You have no proof. Why should I believe you?
Karcist Nakiakken: [DATA EXPUNGED]
Dr. Desmarais: I've had enough of this. I apologize if my words caused you offense but if you want to wish to speak again, you need to show some restraint. I want to understand your culture and beliefs, I really do, and I assumed that was why you desired to see me.
Karcist Nakiakken: [DATA EXPUNGED]
Dr. Desmarais: Please, someone amplify the psi inhibitors and get me out of here.
<End Log>
Afterward: I had hoped for a different experience. I am far away from Site-486 and, hopefully, far enough from their reach. Having time to reflect, should I be surprised that an entity we've caged for decades hates us so? I was told information. Information I wasn't meant to know. The Foundation saw fit to remove that knowledge. A necessary action for the greater good. Let it be known that I continue to believe in our mission and that the subject failed to dissuade me from our great work.

Reflecting on my previous interview with SCP-████, I could not help but feel that it was I who initiated hostilities. The added stress of SCP-████'s unique manner of communication combined with the disturbing memories of the Judgment rendered me psychologically unfit for the interview. I have communicated with SCP-████ via a number of letters and we have agreed to a second interview. The Karcist ultimately has information that I will not be able to obtain anywhere else.

+ Interview Subject: Karcist Nakiakken (05/14/████)

- ACCESS GRANTED

Interviewed: Karcist Nakiakken (SCP-████)
Interviewer: Dr. Matthieu Desmarais
Foreword: My second interview with the subject, hopefully resulting in a more fortuitous outcome.
<Begin Log>
Dr. Desmarais: Hello, Karcist Nakiakken. A few basic questions first. When were you born and under what name?
Karcist Nakiakken: I was born to the name Alberich in 764 CE, according to the calendar of your people.
Dr. Desmarais: Were you born in Prague?
Karcist Nakiakken: Nay. I was born to a village in the Black Forest, within the borders of what is now Germany. ("Charles the Butcher20… King of Godsmen… Sword of Archons… My village razed… I still taste the ashes! My family fills my lungs!") [Though I know it was an illusion, I could actually smell the odor of burning bodies and feel the heat of the flames - an empathic anomaly?]
Dr. Desmarais: I'm sorry. I had not intention of-
Karcist Nakiakken: [Subject interrupts] No apology is necessary. It is all ancient history… [Subject places one of his hands over his face and forehead] The few that survived lived as refugees. Our Karcist sacrificed herself so that we might live. I was her student while she learned under Nadox himself… ("How I envied her… To learn at the feet of a Klavigar - and Nadox, greatest of them all… the Prophet's most trusted…")
Dr. Desmarais: Your teacher. What was she like?
Karcist Nakiakken: Karcist Viekudh was wise, kind, and charismatic. A skilled diplomat, she aided the Saxons in the creation of the Irminsul21 and earned their alliance until they too fell to the Butcher. [I saw the defiled temple in the back of my mind - was it truly anomalous? And in what manner? Without it, the Saxons fell - they would bend to the Cross or perish]
Dr. Desmarais: "Godsmen" carries a pejorative connotation to you and your people, but the pagans certainly worshiped gods as well yet you appear to regard them in a positive light.
Karcist Nakiakken: And we disagreed with their faith but there was respect between our people - they had no desire to convert us to their way. ("Or to set us aflame!") It is the nature of Godsmen to convert or destroy all non-believers. ("Blood and obedience to feed the Outer Horrors… A cosmic tragedy for all eternity…") [I felt a sudden, overwhelming dread, though it was not accompanied by any images or sensations]
Dr. Desmarais: That is a despairing view of the universe.
Karcist Nakiakken: Such is reality. ("Death feeds the altar… Death feeds the Beasts… And digests our souls until nothing remains…")
Dr. Desmarais: When your people came to Prague, were they welcomed?
Karcist Nakiakken: Indifference was the only welcome we desired and, for the most part, that is what we received. The Bohemians are an irreligious people. Though ignorant of our true reality, we respect their defiance.
Dr. Desmarais: But there were other Godsmen, weren't there?
Karcist Nakiakken: Always outsiders. Hunters of witches and heathens. Though my power was great, we suffered losses. I could not protect them all. ("I used their bones to build my church…") And later, Hitler's paladins…
Dr. Desmarais: Do you regard the Nazis as Godsmen? While most were Christian, I do not believe they killed in the name of religion.
Karcist Nakiakken: Most do not notice the machinations that guide them. To create such a sacrifice… I see no other purpose in it. ("The Outer Horrors lead with an invisible hand… their evil beyond comprehension…") [The feeling of dread returned, more powerful than before]
Dr. Desmarais: Did you ever befriend or associate with non-Divoši?
Karcist Nakiakken: Yes.
Dr. Desmarais: That is somewhat of a surprise, considering the lengths your people have gone to remain hidden. Who were these individuals?
Karcist Nakiakken: Mr. Dee22 and Sir Kelly23 came to see me. ("I nearly devoured them…") Such gall, to divine my location! Ah, but we parted as friends. They were eager students but I did not teach them all our secrets…
Dr. Desmarais: Anyone else?
Karcist Nakiakken: There is one. Though I love my children24, they regard me in such a way that it renders honest conversation difficult. I have no desire to be praised and pampered.
Dr. Desmarais: Go on.
Karcist Nakiakken: His name was Judah. A child of Abraham and the leading rabbi of Prague, he was known to his people as The Maharal. Much like Dee and Kelley, he was a seeker of truth… ("Ever eager to unravel the infinite mysteries…") A philosopher and a mystic following the path of knowledge, wherever it took him…
Dr. Desmarais: You miss him.
Karcist Nakiakken: Yes. ("A wound that never heals…") We were kindred spirits. He was eager to understand the nature of life, hoping to replicate it. He ignored much of my advice, assured in his belief that the flesh was the domain of his "god"; still, he had hoped to achieve similar with more basic matter. How proud he was of his creation, that golem… ("But clay… so inefficient… so inferior…") Though I know not what became of it. [The dread subsided and was replaced by melancholy]
Dr. Desmarais: The Golem of Prague? It is a famous legend. But I assumed it was only a legend. There is a statue of its creator at city hall. Judah Loew… ben something or another.
Karcist Nakiakken: Judah Loew ben Bezalel25. I have visited the statue many times, through the eyes of others. I offered him a chance at immortality but the fool was stubborn. He told me he was ready to meet his maker. ("No one is ready… Not if they knew the true depths of oblivion…")
Dr. Desmarais: Death comes for us all in the end.
Karcist Nakiakken: But it need not be that way. ("The cycle can be broken… The wheel can be shattered…")
Dr. Desmarais: But how? How are some of your kind able to achieve this?
Karcist Nakiakken: The Great Work is not achieved through obtaining immortality… The Great Work is achieved through tearing mortality from the flesh.
Dr. Desmarais: Those sound the same to me.
Karcist Nakiakken: Mortality is not a necessary aspect of life - it is a curse, forcibly woven into the essence.
Dr. Desmarais: Essence?
Karcist Nakiakken: Your kind calls them genes. The Outer Horrors do not wish their children to rival them, for we are destined for the altar. ("And thus, a curse of doom… a curse of ending… a fail-safe to ensure that all are devoured…") But my deathless nature cannot protect me from the end of all things.
Dr. Desmarais: What is that?
Karcist Nakiakken: It is not my desire to reveal the full nature of our faith to you. Though I admire your hunger for knowledge, you know only a fraction of our truth. Being witness to the Judgement has done you a disservice, biasing your opinions towards the old conclusions of your predecessors. We are not a "flesh cult" - ("Yes, the term repeats within your mind, over and over…") The Flesh is but a tool - a divine curse we have learned to conquer and control. ("…a dagger turned from the sacrifice towards the heart of its wielder…")
Dr. Desmarais: Is there something we should be worried about?
Karcist Nakiakken: I have said enough. I politely ask that you take your leave of this place.
Dr. Desmarais: I will respect your request. Thank you for your time.
<End Log>
Afterward: As I left Site-486, I was overcome by a terrible headache, followed by dizziness and the sudden loss of consciousness. I awoke to find myself at the Site's medical ward and a memory implanted within my mind. There is something important buried beneath the Black Forest of Germany; something Karcist Nakiakken wants me to find but could not tell me directly for reasons unknown. Clearly I would report this to the Foundation, so it wasn't as if he feared the Foundation learning this information.
So if not the Foundation, who? Who or what does the Karcist fear?

With this newfound information, I traveled to Germany with a team of Foundation archaeologists. After several days of digging we discovered the ruins of a village employing a distinct bone-based architecture. Skeletal remains were found as well, along with a significant amount of ashes and charred debris. It was concluded that the location had been the site of a massacre and that the village had been intentionally razed.
Abnormal remains were discovered among the dead, displaying both humanoid and cervine traits, along with other mutations indicative of a Karcist. The bones were held together by oily black substance with the consistency and adhesiveness of firm tar, preserving the shape and pose of the body at their time of death. The body was positioned on its knees with its head low and its arms wrapped around an unknown object. The remains were exhumed and delivered to Site-282 for autopsy, leading to the discovery of number of rusted arrowheads and sword blades lodged in the body.
It has been hypothesized that these remains belong to the late Karcist Viekudh, who according to Divoši records was murdered by Christian soldiers presumably under the orders of Charlemagne in 774 CE. A stone puzzle box26 was extracted from the remains, something that the Karcist presumably died while protecting. Sarkic puzzle boxes have been discovered before at archaeological sites and among the private collections of Neo-Sarkic cultists and are considered extremely dangerous due to the presence of anomalous traps, triggered by failed attempts.
Fortunately, these deterrents (normally the release of chemical or biological agents27) were designed to infect living organisms and have no impact on inorganic materials. This has allowed the Foundation to solve the puzzle box via a remotely controlled machine in a sterilized and sealed environment. The puzzle box was found to contain the following:

A bone flute: Object appears to be non-anomalous and was likely secured within the container for sentimental reasons. Listeners have described music produced by this instrument as "somber" and "hauntingly beautiful."
A golden sickle: The Roman historian Tacitus reported that golden sickles were used in Druidic rituals. As Sarkic weapons and tools are traditionally crafted from bone and similarly tough organic materials, it is hypothesized that the golden sickle was a gift, possibly from the Saxons.
A wicker doll: Object appears to be non-anomalous. Similar to the flute, it is hypothesized that the object was of sentimental value.
The Black Forest Codices: The codices are a collection of thirteen ancient scrolls written in an unknown language whose symbols regularly change shape through some anomalous means. Though the script is unfamiliar to the Foundation, it employs several symbols encountered in both Sarkic and Daevite writing systems. The scrolls are crafted from the hide of an unknown animal and have been dated to approximately 1100 BCE; analysis of the ink suggests that it is primarily, if not entirely composed of blood. Efforts to translate the Black Forest Codices have coincided with a number of anomalous incidents and they have since been reclassified as SCP-████. Many of these scrolls contain the Seal of Nadox.
The Doom-Song of Karcist Viekudh: A scroll inscribed with the writings of Karcist Viekudh. The document has been dated to approximately 600 CE. It has been translated from Late Adytite and provided below:

+ The Doom-Song of Karcist Viekudh

- ACCESS GRANTED

A symbol or perhaps a stylistic representation of a real object or entity depicted in the scroll. Dr. Low has theorized that it is an artistic rendering of an Archon or "Old God", malevolent deities that play a major role in Sarkic mythology.

I: Sone Juksi
Darkness came to me and whispered,
"Death is thy familiar"
I declared this a falsehood
And proclaimed before Darkness
The True Name of the Prophet,
For Death held no dominion over my [heart/spirit]
And Darkness laughed,
And took me by the hand
To guide my way through the Forest of [Spears/Impalement]
And into the Swamp of Forgotten Things
Until the waters became clear
And without impurity.
And Darkness said,
"Look upon these waters"
Thus I gazed upon their surface
And in my reflection I found decay,
Flayed of Skin and carved of Flesh
And my Skull anointed with sacred oil28.
And Darkness held my face to the sky,
Where I beheld six red stars aligned
In the most abominable of omens;
And I fell to my knees in anguish
As I turned again to face the Darkness,
In fear of this dread portent.
And darkness shed its shadow skin
And began to consummate
And consume [itself];
From the Blood and Seed
Of this defiance of Nature29,
The Grand Karcist was reborn.
And He said unto me,
"See as I have, my child,
Through eyes unbound by the shackles of time"
And the Prophet tore the eyes from His skull
And placed them within mine,
So that I might know His Truth.
And I beheld my kindred
Hanging lifeless from the killing tree
Immolated by blasphemous flame;
And beneath this atrocity there resided
A Stranger wrapped in the fantastic colors
Of their tattered robe and mantle.

A heavy hood and golden crown beshadowed
All aspects save gray lips curled
[Into] a deceiver's poisoned grin,
Revealing a visage of decay
And three venom soaked tongues,
Writhing to the rhythm of a distant drum.
My limbs refused to heed my call,
Allowing me neither the paths of predator or prey30
And if the Stranger held dominion over these bones;
I remember the foreboding scent
Of burning flesh and wicker,
As my soul was set aflame.
Leaving naught but oblivion
And the ceaseless disharmony of that hated drum.

II: Sone Saarasaati
Oblivion pulled me close
And whispered in my ear,
Prying old memories from the depths
Of my fragile and half-mad mind
And I remembered a curious tale,
Older than the Archons.
How unfortunate is the ken of man,
Unable to relate to the cosmos and planes,
Save through the simplest of allegories;
Though perhaps this is a mercy,
For man is a bestial creature,
Far too similar to its Blind Progenitor.
The tale itself is inscribed within the Blood
And tells the story of Nature
And her rape at the hands of Chaos;
Her womb defiled by his disease,
She would give birth to a stillborn universe,
A failed and fallen creation.
Her offspring scream for a mother who will not answer,
Consumed by hunger unending.

III: Sone Sodasika
I awaken to a familiar world,
Bound to an unfamiliar eon
Governed by smoke and metal,
Like that of the Brazen Men of long concluded wars;
And still I heard that ceaseless rhythm
Like the drums of a warmonger's charge.
The power of the gods has been seized
But it has been turned upon their own
And thus the many fall for worthless glory
Among the mud and excrement;
A feast for the corpse-eaters
To satisfy the desires of tyrants.
And all throughout there does persist
The mad rhythm of that terrible drum
As I watch iron beasts adapt and evolve
Among ever shifting battlefields;
A yellow miasma suffocates and blisters,
As profane fire rains from the sky.
I called for any who would hear me,
Demanding to know the purpose behind such bloodshed,
And the Grand Karcist appeared before me
And revealed unto me a most abominable truth,
"The world is an altar and each death is a sacrifice
To the Ravenous Gods of Suffering and Pain."
And He once again took me by the hand,
Guiding my way through fields of fire and bone,
And to the top of a mountain of corpses;
Despite the horrors of the world below
The stars were beautiful that night
And the Grand Karcist directed my gaze towards the Worm of Midnight31
And I saw that which was once hidden,
Beholding a great rift where not a single star did exist
And to my horror, I saw the darkness expand,
A long shadow cast across the cosmos,
An unspeakable cancer,
Until every last light had died.
And it was here that I remembered
The ominous words of Nadox,
Who warned that the coming of the Archons would be presaged,
Not by the moon and stars,
But by the festering of the Void,
Cold and black and infinite.
And a deluge of visions flooded my mind
Of shattered worlds and devoured races,
Violence and perversion beyond man's comprehension,
Across the cosmos and all realities and every iteration;
Seed-time was over,
The Harvest had begun.
I see no more, for I am blind
In the face of such hopelessness.

Footnotes
1. "Crypto-" is used to designate a secret adherence to a faith, usually in response to persecution and forced conversion.
2. The Czech people have been historically characterized as tolerant and even indifferent towards religion for hundreds of years. This remains true today, with 86.7% of the Czech Republic describing themselves as non-religious or undeclared.
3. The Ahnenerbe Obskurakorps was a Nazi organization tasked with the study and the containment/destruction/creation of anomalies. As a sub-group of the SS, the organization answered directly to Heinrich Himmler. The organization was composed of scientists, field operatives, and occultists (most of which were former members of the Thule Society).
4. From Proto-Uralic *ńä(x)li + *-ka, meaning "hunger". As noted in my previous case study, "Sarkic" is a pejorative term used by the Greek speaking Mekhanites, considered by many to be the predecessors of the modern Church of the Broken God.
5. A hagiography (from Greek ἅγιος, hagios, meaning 'holy', and -γραφία, -graphia, meaning 'writing') is a biography of a saint or an ecclesiastical leader.
6. Resurrection includes what many would refer to as "necromancy". Sarkites do not appear to distinguish between the two the way Abrahamic traditions do.
7. Németh has been shown to function in a way remarkably similar to class B amnestics. The substance is usually self-applied much the way one would apply cologne or perfume, leaving the Divoši unaffected for reasons unknown. Their ability to tolerate the solution may help explain their unnaturally strong resistance to Foundation amnestics.
8. Klavigar Nadox was one of Ion's four disciples and is associated with intelligence, wisdom, perception, and mysteries. Epithets include: the Tongueless Speaker, Lord of Mysteries, the All-Seeing, and the Anticipation of Ion.
9. "Luxury" is generally interpreted as spices and other flavor enhancing ingredients. Most only follow the latter part of the law during the high holidays. Meat that has been cured is generally considered acceptable as well.
10. Depressants such as alcohol and opium are forbidden, as they inhibit or dull the senses, while the use of stimulants is tolerated. The use of hallucinogenics is highly encouraged and plays an important part in religious ceremonies.
11. Jaka translates as "divide", "separate", or even "cull". It is employed in Sarkicism as a concept of cosmic justice, separating the strong from the weak, the good from the evil, adherent from apostate - terminating those deemed enemy or unnecessary. To Sarkites, vengeance and justice share a single form.
12. Sarkic scripture, roughly translated as "book" or "scroll".
13. Straight edge is a subculture of hardcore punk whose adherents refrain from using alcohol, tobacco and other recreational drugs, in reaction to the excesses of punk subculture. This can also extend to refraining from promiscuous sex, following a vegetarian or vegan diet or not using caffeine or prescription drugs.
14. Another term for Grand Karcist Ion, though the true meaning of the word appears to be lost.
15. Klavigar Lovataar was one of Ion's four disciples and is associated with sex, love, eroticism, pleasure, motherhood, disease, and unrestrained reproduction (breeding, cancers, growth, etc.). Epithets include: the One Whom Ion Most Desired, the Highblood Redeemer, and the Mother (on rare occasion "Brood" or "Hive" Mother).
16. Klavigar Saarn was one of Ion's four disciples and is associated with darkness, secrecy, deception, poison, assassination, and justice. Epithets include: the Whisperer, the Coiled Shadow, the Faceless One, and the Judgment of Ion.
17. "And I later wondered, had it been crafted from the bones of various creatures, or had it come directly from some Sarkic created chimera?"
18. Psi-resistant humanoid containment cells have spherical interiors and are composed of a lead-aluminium alloy between two stainless steel frames. These containment cells are equipped with Psi-inhibitors alternating between 32 and 66 kilohertz.
19. A reference to the Sarkic practice of "shepherding the flesh". Serves as another term for fleshshapers.
20. Based on the year and location of the subject's birth, this "Charles" was most likely a reference to Charlemagne.
21. An Irminsul (Old Saxon, likely meaning "great/mighty pillar" or "arising pillar") was a sacred pillar-like object attested as playing an important role in the Germanic paganism of the Saxon people. The oldest reference to an Irminsul describes it as a tree trunk erected in the open air. The purpose of the Irminsuls remains unknown.
22. John Dee (13 July 1527 – 1608 or 1609) was an English mathematician, astronomer, astrologer, occult philosopher, and advisor to Queen Elizabeth I. He devoted much of his life to the study of alchemy, divination, and Hermetic philosophy.
23. Sir Edward Kelley (1 August 1555 – 1 November 1597), was an English Renaissance occultist and self-declared spirit medium. He is best known for working with John Dee in his magical investigations.
24. Most likely the subject's faithful followers.
25. Judah Loew ben Bezalel (1512 – 1609) widely known to scholars of Judaism as the Maharal of Prague, or simply The Maharal, the Hebrew acronym of "Moreinu Ha-Rav Loew" ("Our Teacher, Rabbi Loew"), was an important Talmudic scholar, Jewish mystic, and philosopher who served as a leading rabbi in the cities of Mikulov in Moravia and Prague in Bohemia. Due to his unprecedented impact on Jewish study, he is considered one of the most important rabbis of all times. He is also the subject of a legend that he created the Golem of Prague, an animate mythological being fashioned from clay.
26. A puzzle box, as the name implies, is a container that can only be opened by solving one or more puzzles.
27. In the case of this particular puzzle box, deterrents included the ejection of barbed projectiles soaked in tetrodotoxin and an anomalously effective flesh-eating virus capable of converting a human body to slurry in less than 10 minutes.
28. The Divoši mourn their dead through excarnation (defleshing) and cannibalization. The bones are then anointed with oil, to render the Spirit invisible to the Archons.
29. Or "Of Nature's defiance", another possible translation. This resembles the Ouroboros, an ancient symbol depicting a serpent or dragon eating its own tail, which the Sarkites associate with the process of apotheosis - the transformation of mortal into deity.
30. Likely a reference to the "flight or fight" response.
31. The Worm of Midnight is a constellation in Sarkic astronomy, believed to coincide with the constellation Eridanus. Of possible interest to the Foundation, this is also where the CMB cold spot is located, sometimes hypothesized as the Eridanus Supervoid or Great Void. Cosmic voids are vast spaces between filaments (the largest-scale structures in the universe), which contain very few or no galaxies.


Boston had changed.
What had once been a vibrant city full of optimism and a 'piece of cake' attitude for the War of the Rebellion had turned grey. Countless beggars missing limbs, no doubt veterans, littered the streets. Posters depicting Uncle Sam, Columbia, and a colored man and woman marching in unison encouraged all citizens to join the effort. Some others depicted Columbia herself holding a rifle in one hand and a ballot in the other, encouraging women to sign up for service in exchange for the right to vote.
Jay grumbled under her breath, cursing the fat cats which would no doubt deny her the ability to cast her vote for having served as a 'man.'
But what was more prevalent than any other poster were ones advertising a mysterious new company which had risen to provenance following the advent of the war. Various different posters in a rainbow of colors depicted men in uniform with bizarre contraptions replacing their limbs. They were advertised as 'the pinnacle of craftsmanship and alchemy,' an odd mixture to be sure. She sneered at the thought of how much money Anderson must be making, gazing at her stump as she continued down the filthy streets of Boston.
An hour's march later, she stood across the street from her home. Jay sighed a bittersweet relief as she ran across the dirt road. Her heavy boots thudded against the creaky wooden steps as she bound with excitement. Her knapsack hit the porch as she reached for the doorknob. The smile which had briefly lived on her face faded upon the realization that the lock had been removed.
"Nick?" She called to her brother in the false masculine tenor voice she had trained herself to speak in.
Dread pooled in her mind as her only hand trembled at the doorknob. There was no answer, not even the familiar barking of their dog. Had they left her? It couldn't be, she had received the letter from him a few weeks ago and he had promised he'd be ready for her arrival. Hesitantly, Jay turned the knob and the door slowly creaked open. The faint outline of a man was visible in the kitchen, he sat with his feet on the table.
"Justine Everwood. Please, come on in." The man beckoned her over, his unfamiliar accent sending a shiver down her spine.
"J-Justine?" She almost slipped into her natural voice. "No. I'm Jay. You must be confusing me for my sister. She died a few years back."
"No. I know exactly who you are. Now please, come on in." the voice was confident in itself, menacing yet polite, he spoke like a man who wielded true power. Not wanting to upset him, Jay entered her house and shut the door behind her.
"Who are you?"
"That is not important at this moment, Miss Everwood. Please take a seat." The man leaned back, removing his feet from the table. He appeared to shuffle for a moment as she wearily approached. By the time she took a seat across from him, the gas lantern on the table was illuminating the stranger. His head was completely shaved and his expression was unenthused. There were several scars visible along his face, and he was built like a lumber worker.
"What do you want from me? Where is my brother?"
"I'll answer your questions in a moment, but I need you to answer mine first."
She nodded.
"Good. Now, Miss Everwood, I'm with the Union Government and I-"
"If you're here to arrest me for joining the army with a fake identity, just do it already." Jay spat defiantly, not bothering to mask her voice further. The man wheezed with laughter for almost a minute, which felt like an eternity to her. She would have been mad, had confusion not overtaken her.
"Oh Lord. No, Miss Everwood. We don't give a damn about that. The army is full of idiots, so I'm not surprised you fooled them as long as you did. I'm not here to bring the law down on you, I'm here to talk to you about the 682nd cavalry."
She tensed up, color washing from her face.
"You should consider yourself lucky. You're one of five people to have survived them so far, but the first one to be able to speak after the fact." The man leaned forward, folding his hands on the table. "I need to know everything you know about the 682nd."
They shared a silence for what felt like another eternity. Jay had tried her best to suppress any thoughts of that fateful day, but she had failed. The memories of the screams, spilling scarlet, stomping, and slashing of sabers would haunt her to her last breath. Were it not for the likelihood of her brother being in danger, she would not agree to recount her tale.
"It was about a month ago. I remember my unit and I were marching to reinforce the forces at Spotsylvania, but we got ambushed by them. Most of us had thought they were just a myth to scare the new recruits. An entire cavalry of black horses and riders you can't see the faces of? Come on, that's… That's crazy." She chuckled nervously.
The man nodded.
"Yeah… They first came up from behind a hill and I swear it was sunny until they showed up. There was this smoke, kind of like a coal train's smoke but it made me feel sick. It spooked all the horses we had and made it look like heaven was about to come crashing down on us… And then they charged."
Jay grew silent. The man nodded again, waiting patiently.
"Sorry, I…" She removed her cap, placing it on the table and ran her hand through her short hair. "Okay. I'm okay. They charged, and it sounded like a thunderstorm or something. I've never heard anything like it. They unloaded their first barrage while we were still getting ready to defend ourselves. I got hit in the arm, and I collapsed from the pain… I didn't see much of anything else, but that same arm got trampled…" Jay reached for her empty sleeve, tugging at it idly.
"What happened then?"
"I passed out. I don't know how long I was out for, but I got picked up by the Army of the Potomac. The doctor was a kind soul, she had one of those prosthetic faces... I don't remember much about the days after. I spent almost all of them asleep. Next thing I knew I had my arm hacked off and I was on a train back home."
"Very well." The man leaned back, folding his arms and observing as Jay struggled to keep herself together. "Just two, maybe three more questions. Would you be able to identify the 682nd cavalry from a distance if given the opportunity?"
"I will never forget what I saw."
"Now, given the chance to stop the 682nd cavalry, would you take it?"
"… I… I'd be lying if I said I was a diehard loyal to the Union. I'm not out for revenge. I'm not trying to fight for any ideals. I joined because my brother and I needed to make a living. I couldn't find a job and he's… slow."
"This was a yes or no question."
"Would I be compensated?"
"As one would any job."
"How much?"
"More than your discharge pittance. Now, what do you say?
"… yes."
The man turned around, reaching behind him to grab a sleek, brown box. It was decorated with an eagle and the letters 'AP' were painted on in royal gold. He gently placed it on the table, then lifted the lid to reveal a prosthetic right arm. It was made of refined steel, bearing a few runes and inscriptions on it in red ink elegantly painted in gorgeous patterns. There was even a very comfortable velvety cushion to place between her stump and the cold metal of the device.
"Put this on so we can shake hands. Name's Agent Lombardi. Welcome to the Union Investigations Unit, Miss Everwood. I forgot to mention, but we'll be taking care of your brother so you don't need to worry."
Jay stared at the arm, then Lombardi. "Where is Nick?"
"At headquarters, probably eating lunch." He produced a pocket watch, flicking it open and checking the time. "Come on now, we don't want to keep him waiting."

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SHREEE

The shriek of the whistle broke through the still Kentucky sky. What few game that the shaking of the ground hadn't chased off, scattered. The prairie held its breath with anticipation, waiting for the beast.
The trembling of the earth grew stronger with every second. With a final shriek of metal on metal, the locomotive careened around the tree line and shot through the prairie, dragging its 30-odd cars behind it like a maddened horse.
Inside the cars, things were quiet. The polite silence of a group of people comfortable in each other's existence but unwilling to initiate conversation suffocated the first 10 cabs. They were filled with Union soldiers, coming home after their long campaigns on the front. The rear 10 cabs were filled with black gold and coal, refined in Texas and bound for West Virginia.
The singular cab that lay between them was the prize. In it sat 355 kilograms of an unknown metal, bound for the Alexander University for the Study of the Paranormal in Memphis, and expected to arrive in less than 3 days. Since the Dean was not a man anyone wanted to disappoint, the conductor made the decision to book it to the nearest major junction and unload the ticking time-bomb on some other poor bastard.
The train car was not entirely empty of human presence. In front of the score of locked and filled crates sat a trio of guards on wooden chairs, encircled around a crate loaded with metal. Every bump of the train shook them, but it was leagues better than standing.
"Read 'em and weep, fellers," laughed Union Investigations Unit Supervisory Agent Knight, throwing his cards onto the makeshift table. "Royal flush."
Agent Bauer simply scowled and laid his cards face down onto the table. He lifted the bottle of whiskey and poured himself another glass. The Hessian was a man of few words and fewer mistakes.
The man at the opposite end of the table groaned as he rose from his seat, rubbing his back. Knight ribbed him as they both grabbed their pistols from the gun cabinet in the corner of the metal boxcar.
"Aging already, McGee? Soon enough Bowe'll recall you to Washington and send you to Retirement," Knight's tone was playful but his words carried weight. McGee was already graying (though the stress of his job played no small part in that), and every UIU agent knew that an assignment to the rural Missouri town of Retirement was not an assignment anyone wanted to take.
"Junction is close," boomed Bauer, in his dulcet tone. Knight nodded and shoved his pistol into its holster while drawing his vest tighter around him. McGee looked at him expectingly.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm going," he grumbled, whispering a curse under his breath and stepping out the door of the cab, onto the balcony deck.
Wind slapped him in the face as he stepped out, tearing into his vision. He shut the door behind him, glancing in through the slatted window to see Bauer and McGee starting another game of poker. The wind whipped through his short brown hair before he drew his Stetson even closer to his scalp. Guard duty would be most displeasurable today.
Through the corner of his eye, he spotted a silhou- no, several silhouettes against the horizon. All men in dark clothing, one holding something red. The train sped closer, and they doubled in size, then tripled. For a split second as the locomotive grew close enough, he was able to see the red object one of them was holding.
A dynamite detonator, with wires leading from it into the grass, creeping toward the railroad.
Time slowed down. The figure leaned forward and placed his hands on the detonator. Knight drew his Colt. His finger slammed the trigger. With a BANG, a bullet exited the chamber. The figure pushed down on the detonator, a split second before the bullet tore into his shoulder and threw him into the grass.
Knight wrenched the door of the cabin open and threw himself inside a moment before an explosion shredded his eardrums. His eyes watered and a scream escaped his throat, even as the car flipped around him. The last thing he heard before being thrown into the wall and blacking out were the screams coming from the passenger cars as they flew off the tracks and into the dirt.

Confederate Inspector Jackson rose from his kneeling position in the grass, with a white-knuckle grip on his cane for support. The two men beside him that had opted not to stay with the wagons looked up at the tall, pale man for direction. He silently brushed specks of dirt away from his white suit and straightened his bolo tie, a grimace on his face. He silently looked down at the third man as he lay writhing in the dirt, blood staining his black vest.
"How the fuck did he get me?" he grunted through his teeth, clutching his shoulder.
"Hughes, Wayne, go open the cab." He made a point to ignore the wounded man.
"Yes, Colonel!"
The others scrambled to obey him, picking themselves up off the ground and approaching the wreck. The twisted hunks of metal dominated the formerly serene landscape, with more than a few bodies strewn through the debris.
Jackson turned his attention toward the other half of the wreck. There lay 6 bodies that he could see, only two with inevitably fatal injuries. He limped through the reeds, leather boots kicking up dirt as he approached the nearest one. He gazed down. A young man, no more than 16 or 17, face down in the dirt in his Yankee blues. Probably enlisted to get away from a family. Jackson lifted his silver-handled cane and, in one smooth motion, removed the entire base, revealing 30 inches of cold steel hidden in a mahogany socket. He grinned at his own reflection, a rare sight.
With a quiet precision, he drove the sword between the shoulder blades of the boy. A soft gasp left the prone body. Jackson savored it, the wet thwip of the blade being pulled back out. He wiped it on the coat of the soldier and moved on. A whistle of a working song escaped his lips. There were three more deaths to confirm, and he mustn't dilly-dally on the job.

A drop of sweat slid off of Jackson's white mustache as he dragged the last corpse to its brethren and let go. They lay pressed against one another, all wearing their Yankee blues stained with red, so proud of their crimes. Jackson sucked in air, breathing heavily.
"Colonel! We found the car!"
He turned to the source of the shout. Wayne stood near one of the derailed cars as it lay on its side like a wounded bison, waving his hand. Hughes sat on the upward facing side of it, having just broken through the window.
Jackson briskly strode through the weeds to the car, stepping over the barely-cold body of their late compatriot. He had made his mistake. Hughes offered his hand as his superior neared the cab, and pulled him up.
"We haven't been able to get the door open, Colonel," explained Wayne. "Blasted thing won't break."
Jackson leaned forward, hands resting on the top of his cane. His good eye focused on the handle to the door and identified the slight shimmer around it, a corona of light wrapped around the lock. He rose back up to his full height, whispering an ancient phrase not seen in this part of the West for generations. He felt the red jewel embedded in the handle of his cane grow warm, then hot, and then blistering. Swiftly, he tossed up the cane and caught it by its foot, flipping and slamming it against the car handle.
BANG-BANG
The door flew open and the report of a pistol buffeted Jackson's ears. He slammed himself against the doorframe, as Hughes fumbled with his holster.
BANG
"Faster, you dunce!" he screeched, drawing his own pistol from his shoulder holster. The long ivory-handled revolver glinted in the sunlight, the swirling inscriptions on the chamber reflecting the rays. He braced himself, knowing the weapon was already loaded and ready to fire. He threw himself into the doorframe, spinning around.
His pistol snapped back and released its cargo, a bullet in a shape that no man in the state could've named. It sped through the air, into the cabin, and into the eyeball of one Agent Hans Bauer where it shattered, vomiting forth energy lesser men would've called witchcraft. Bauer's skull exploded outward, lining the car with grey matter.
BANG
Another bullet whizzed by Jackson and buried itself in the doorframe. The gaunt man let himself drop onto the floor, behind a crate covered with cards and whiskey stains. He sucked in air once more, ears ringing. He really was getting too old to be doing this so often.
His voice echoed in the debris-filled cab.
"Put down the gun or the Yankees are gonna have to bury your corpse piece by goddamned piece." he drawled.
Silence, then a screech of metal as a Colt slid across the floor.
Jackson rose, quickly leveling his gun with the tall dark man lying against the rear wall. The red stain dominating his white shirt and his labored breathing probably had something to do with the length of splintered wood jutting forth from his stomach.
In two long steps, Jackson closed the gap between them, pistol still dead on. They looked at one another, daring the other to speak. Neither had any such intention, each steadfast in his belief that he was above the other's moral station. After what felt like an eternity, Jackson looked away and down on the floor. His cane, where was his cane? There, on the floor, wedged under a crate.
Jackson's cool anger instantly gave way to hot fury. That cane was more powerful then any gun crafted by man, and this degenerate had forced him to leave it on the filthy floor. He bent over and pulled it up, slipping off its cover. The blade would be used once more before the day was over.

Jackson neatly hopped out of the train car, the door to it lying shattered and useless at the hinges. His bootspurs clinked together as he strode forward, scanning the plains. Hughes trailed behind him meekly.
"Is Wayne back with the rest of the men yet?" Jackson questioned.
"No, but they should be here any minute."
As if on cue, the ground shook from the hoofbeats of horse teams. Jackson looked eastward, where a train of four wagons was quickly approaching. He turned to Hughes.
"The man in the train car, go in and tie him up. I wouldn't advise touching more than you have to, bastard is covered in his own blood. When the wagons get here, I want you to get a couple others and toss 'im into an empty one. He's got something I need."
"Y-yes, Colonel."
Hughes scuttled off to do his job. Jackson turned once more to greet the wagon train and the laborers, raising his hand.
"Hail!"
The man driving the foremost car wore a tired smile.
"Colonel Jackson Bright, I assume? Your reputation precedes you."
The Colonel flashed a mirthless smile as he lifted his red-jeweled cane in greeting.
"I'd hope so."


DarkEnergy MobileOS 3.1

Ms Dark, you have a new text message from:

1-800-iam-dado

hello is this the lady darkness that makes the excellent anomatronics?
Warning: Memetic Hazard Detected!

You may address me as Ms. Dark, and I really hope you're not who I think you are.

this is dado, owner of very fine dado businesses, txting u 2 discuss very fine dado business opportunity.
Warning: Memetic Hazard Detected!

Number Blocked

sry we get disconnect. hamster like to play on keyboard.
Warning: Memetic Hazard Detected!

Alright, now you have my attention. How the hell did you overide my block?

hamster very good with computers. type 222 word per minute on speak n spell.
Warning: Memetic Hazard Detected!

u want 2 hear dado/mick'd big business partnership idea?
Warning: Memetic Hazard Detected!

No, I want to know how the bloody hell you got past my number block.

I wrote this operating system and software myself, using thaumic glyphs from the Chaos Tongue. Glyphs that ordinary mortals aren't even supposed to view, let alone hack, without going insane, so tell me right now how you did it.

u read about how tiny nuggets of gold and the shiny metals in peoples poop r being flushed down the toilet and go to waste with the waste?
Warning: Memetic Hazard Detected!

dado think y not make toilet bowl gadget that strains the gold from the poop and makes you a golden pooper and u become a profit pooper like the hen that lays the golden egg but with poop and also it should make toilet smell nice yes?
Warning: Memetic Hazard Detected!

Number Added to Blacklist

u think ur rich people would like dado golden pooper box?
Warning: Memetic Hazard Detected!

also sry, dado type slow, no like hamster. y u no trust dado?
Warning: Memetic Hazard Detected!

You're hacking my phone!

no, dado no can hack. uppercase key broken.
Warning: Memetic Hazard Detected!

'uppercase key broken'?

And you expect me to believe that an individual with the resources to launch as many business enterprises as yourself cannot replace a keyboard?

dado very strict budgeter. no budget for new keyboard. prometheus labs had same policy.
Warning: Memetic Hazard Detected!

You're insulting my intelligence. You realize that, right?

no dado think the lady darkness is very smart. that why dado come 2 lady darkness with gold poop box idea.
Warning: Memetic Hazard Detected!

And now you're disrepecting me by not addressing me by the name I told you to earlier.

My time is extremely valuable, I don't make business deals by text messages, this doesn't even sound like my department, and it's a horrible idea!

Do not waste anymore of my time, or there will be consequences.

no please, it no have 2 be golden pooper box but dado is on hard times, yes? dado borger and france fry closed because of the not seagulls eating all the france frys and dado go with dado singing the latest pop hits was closed by corporate sabotage of jeff bezos.
Warning: Memetic Hazard Detected!

it been tough week for dado, but 2gether we can make a dado business that make us both lot of $ and dado will be back on top. u trust dado.
Warning: Memetic Hazard Detected!

Trust you? Are you aware that my anti-malware is flagging every text you're sending me as a memetic hazard?

oh dado love the meme, specially the challenge accepted meme. that dado motto meme.
Warning: Memetic Hazard Detected!

Dado, I don't trust you. I don't believe your keyboard's broken. I don't believe your hamster's on the keyboard or whatever other excuse you expect me to swallow. I think you're fully aware that everything you say and type has anomalous memetic properties and that all your businesses are actually just a front so that you have a platform to spread your memetics as much as possible.

no, this is not truthiness. dado business everything 2 dado. dado have humble origins, lowly pharmacist at walgreens until dado bitten by radioactive pill bug that give dado pill bug powers to make the magic pills and transcend spacetime and curl into tiny ball like hamster.
Warning: Memetic Hazard Detected!

Bollocks. Bloody horse's bollocks.

and dado make many money with the magic pills and because dado is fine capitalist just like the marshalls of nick carter in the dark dado reinvest money into many new businesses. dado diversify into many fields, but not anomalaundry because business is too much racket. but new businesses not do so hot, and then the birds came and now dado's empire burns like russel crow in gladiator and dado will not fiddle like walking phoenix. dado want to put out fires and save empire.
Warning: Memetic Hazard Detected!

how can dado save dado empire?
Warning: Memetic Hazard Detected!

I've swapped the sim cards on my phone and gone into my Faraday room, and somehow you're still texting. Congratulations, you've managed to rattle me. Not a lot of people can do that.

I'd rather this not escalate any further. If I give you advice will you stop spamming my phone with memetic agents?

yes dado promise on hamster's life.
Warning: Memetic Hazard Detected!

You said it yourself that your parapharmaceuticals sold well. All your financial problems started when you tried diversifying into a dozen different markets. We kept tabs on you, and your products were amazing, at least from a technical perspective. You need to work on client communication a fair bit though.

Stick to your strengths. Sell off any remaining non-parapharmaceutical assets you still have and reinvest them in parapharma. Grow that business and that business alone, until you are Big parapharma. Don't get distracted running tanning salons and laundromats.

what about dado spaceship rental and plutonium recycling center?
Warning: Memetic Hazard Detected!

Yes, all of it.

lady darkness is right. dado has lost dado's way. dado is pharma bro, and must get back 2 pharma broing. dado go 2 udderly bazzar and open dado's old fashioned apothecary and barber shop quartet, but barbers are barber surgeons so they still fit vision.
Warning: Memetic Hazard Detected!

will martian, cottage and grimdark buy from new dado business? dado need big customer.
Warning: Memetic Hazard Detected!

If you can stop insulting me with bollocks, getting my name and my company's name wrong, actually make what your clients order and most importantly stop infecting my phone with memetics, then possibly. A decent parapharmacologist is hard to find.

***

Thank you, Ms. Dark.

🤨

Number Unblocked, Removed from Blacklist


“Dawn… you'll never be alone in this world.”
Kit's words fluttered around her head like moths, above a dull headache and a noise of rushing water.
Time flashed by - a vague memory of meeting in a graveyard, being together in a park after dusk, pills to mitigate the pain a little bit, weeks then months blurring together until they were in an abandoned house where Kit had stashed a sleeping bag. They had lain together, sharing one old pillow and staring at the mould on the ceiling, trying to make art out of muck.
Dawn remembered turning her head and crying on Kit's shoulder, and he stroked her hair. He smelt of tobacco, blood, and salt. She could smell her own perfume scenting him, marking him. She calmed, asked him if he really lived here, and he went very quiet and said sometimes.
They were all of fifteen years old and didn't know much better. She didn't know how to fix it, but she stole a teddy bear from her sister's bedroom and surprised Kit with it on one rainy day after school. When they huddled together for warmth, the teddy was between them, staring on with scratched eyes.
Dawn pushed away memories and forced her eyes open, trying to make out the world around her. Her eyelashes clumped together from the mascara that had been smeared when a blindfold had been forced over her eyes, so everything blurred. It felt like the morning after something, after something horrible, and something she couldn't quite remember. The room was small and all cement, and she could see her breath in the chill.
What did she know of this place? Experimentally, she flexed her hands and found them chained at the wrist. Kit would be able to get out of this, or at least he boasted he could. Between being double-jointed and the bobby pins he secreted in his long hair, he said that he had gotten his hands free of cuffs twice when police had arrested him for –
Her thoughts were drifting, and it was hard to come back to reality. Normally, she was grounded – realistic. She was Kit's anchor whilst he was a kite, making sure he never flew too far away. But now, it took effort to focus on the here and now. It didn't help that the room offered no focus points, nothing to keep her attention.
Tipping the wooden chair slightly, she realised her ankles were tied to the legs of the chair, slightly spreading her legs. She was still wearing her school uniform – skirt rolled up at the hem as was the fashion, and no tights because she had been finally allowed to shave her legs, and who cared that it was winter when she reached such a milestone. She couldn't help but to feel painfully vulnerable and embarrassed. She felt exposed to anyone who came in, to whoever had taken her, who had done God knows what after she had felt a prick in her neck and a sudden dizzy rush.
Someone would figure out something had happened to her. Kit would figure out something had happened to her. But Kit, despite his bravado, was as scared as her – wouldn't know who to call, wouldn't want to call anyone, much less her father, who was as much of a monster hiding in her home as Kit's was in his house. She felt less like a damsel in distress waiting for rescue, and more a hate crime waiting to happen.
Suddenly, the door across the room opened, pushing in a wash of cold air. A tall, if slightly dorky-looking, man came in, holding a folder. He was dressed in a long white coat, with an insignia she neither knew or cared to know on the breast pocket. He paused, rustled some papers, and then shut the door behind him, coming to sit opposite her.
“Uh, uh… oh, yes, um, David. David Waniewski?”
Dawn's heart froze, then clenched, beating without blood. She couldn't speak – the pain was swallowed, swallowed hard. 'David' rang around her head, and hurt her just as much as any punch.
“…T-That's my dead name.”
Her voice came out weak, hoarse. She thought of sharing cigarettes with Kit in that abandoned house, where the mould grew freely, rats made their home, and the air was dusty. Her throat always hurt afterwards but she did it anyway, wanting to impress the boy who seemed so much older than his age.
The man across from her frowned and rummaged around in the papers.
“No, uh, um… That's what we have. David. I just want to ask you some questions, then, um…” More shuffling. This man couldn't, and wouldn't, feel sorry for using her dead name, a name she had abandoned over a year ago. He couldn't understand. All he did was just push the glasses up on his nose and free the paper he wanted.
“So, David, um… You've been staying… visiting a house, sometimes, on Sparrow Avenue. I think number… uh, oh, yes, number 47. Can you tell me why you were there, David?”
Why did he keep using it? Why did he keep saying it?
Dawn tried to ignore how it hurt every time, but the man in front of her transformed, just for a moment, into her father – towering over her, hand shaking as he held a skirt and asked what the fuck she thought she was doing with this in her room, his knuckles white and his face red. She shook her head, and the figure went back to the geeky, slightly nervous looking young man.
“…Not David.”
It was all she could say. She didn't want to talk to this person. Much less if he was going to disrespect her like this. Somehow, it hurt more coming from someone who had never known David – someone who only knew Dawn, who only knew the woman in front of him, not the boy she was long ago. A boy that not even Kit had known, and Kit knew her inside and out by now – knew what hid under her bed, what monsters burrowed into her mind, what made her laugh and what made her scream.
“Uh. Uh. Okay. Um. Can you just tell me why you were there? Were you, uh…” Flickering through notes – it seemed more like a nervous habit than an actual search for information. “…Compelled to go there, for some reason?”
“No.” She muttered. Her mind was drowsy again and fighting back with words felt just as impossible as fighting back physically – mentally tied down as much as her hands and ankles were bound. “…Just exploring. Listen, if I've been arrested, I think I should be allowed to make a call…”
The man shook his head. “Mm-hm. No, uh, you're not under arrest, I just have to ask you… I'm sorry, this is my first time.” He looked up, squinting at her.
“They keep telling me it's okay because you won't remember but, uh, um… still hard,” he mumbled to himself, though the room was so quiet and had such an echo that she could hear him regardless.
“So, you weren't compelled, that's okay, uh… did you notice anything weird at… 47 Sparrow Avenue?”
“No,” it came with a heavy sigh and she tried to flex her hands again, because they were falling asleep. The man watched her every move as if he believed she could suddenly grow inhuman strength and break the metal cuffs. He seemed, if possible, even more nervous every time she so much as twitched.
“It's just an abandoned house. Look, I'm sorry for trespassing, I really am, but…” She had been about to say something she could never take back.
‘…But my friend was there. Lives there. Needs to be there. Hides from the monsters there.'
She managed to contain it in her head, but it was more of a struggle than normal, like her mind wanted to spill all her secrets, to this stranger in front of her. Instead, she bit her lip and looked at him, waiting, waiting for this reality to end.
“Um. Uh. Okay.” The man mumbled, nodding a bit. “There's mould there, right? And… uh, spores? I-I mean, you may have been able to uh, see something in the air.”
“Yes, I mean… of course there was, it's an old house.”
She shook her head a little, honestly amazed and slightly amused at the apparent situation she found herself in. Being interviewed about trespassing in the house that no-one wanted? It felt absurd and she wanted to laugh but kept that to herself when she thought of Kit, who had almost certainly been at the house that day. Was he somewhere, too, like this? He would be worse than her – struggling, maybe even escaping, making wild, ungrounded claims. What would happen to him?
“U-uh, okay, um…” This man's vocal tics were starting to get on her nerves and she wanted to say that out loud too but fought against it. Her headache grew more every time she didn't allow herself to say some truth, but she would sit on her thoughts.
“After you started, uh, going there… did you notice anything weird about… uh, you? I mean, uh, did you start seeing anything?”
She frowned at him, but memories instantly flooded her.
Seeing first her bullies in the mould, then sometimes hands that reached out to grab up her skirt or steal Kit away. Then the times she would walk down the street and every man she saw would turn into her father, clutching some piece of evidence of her transition – skirts, bras, lace knickers. They all marched the same way as silver-back apes, shoulders hunched, fists firmly closed, faces red. They never said anything, but they were always there, and it was always just men, and it was only after she had been visiting the house for a couple of months.
“… Yes.” She admitted, softly. Maybe this was some sort of mental institution. It would explain the restraints to some extent, and even why they were using her dead name. All official paperwork carried her dead name, after all, until she could produce that damn certificate. It didn't mean she didn't have to respect its use.
“O-Oh, okay, okay.” The man marked something down – a dark black spot on a chart that seemed to have a list of names on one side, and a list of something else on the other. She had failed whatever this was, that was what this felt like, like failing an exam she didn't know she was taking.
“Um, okay, so… uh… “, He flipped pages again and, this time, seemed to come across something akin to a script because he stared down at it as he spoke, and he didn't stutter and stumble over the words.
“David, I have to let you know that the mould made you contract a disease. It is okay. It is not catching. It is not fatal. It can be cured by…” He flipped the page over. “…An injection, and then you are free to go home. We are going to bulldoze the house to avoid any further problems. We appreciate your co-operation in this progress. Thank you.”
Dawn struggled against her bonds more at the words, scowling at him. There was still fogginess in her brain but the anger, the burning anger, at her dead name, at her legs being apart like this, fought against that blurred side.
“Stop calling me that! I'm not David! And what the hell are you talking about, you freak, this isn't a hospital, you can't just inject me! I-I'm still a minor, too, so if you do this, I'm going to go and… tell all the people I can that you had me like this, and anything could have happened to me!”
The man stood up and pushed his glasses up his nose as he slowly reached into his pocket for a small box. He made a humming noise, as if acknowledging her whilst showing he didn't care, all in one little noise. As he approached her, he changed again – now it was her dad bearing down on her, his grin harsh and tainted by the glint in his eyes.
“As if anyone would want to do anything to you, David. You're a freak.” Her pseudo-father breathed softly as he got close, breath stinking of stale coffee.
“I bet I could hogtie you to a fence and no-one would come near. No-one wants you, not even when you're spread out and out of it. I told you no-one would want you if you went down this path. I warned you this would happen.”
Dawn opened her mouth to scream, feeling huge, hot tears rolling down her cheeks, as there was another jab into her neck. The image of her father faded in and out until it was that dorky man again, who looked nervous and concerned, before her eyelids fluttered shut, her mind supplying more of Kit's words before she hit unconsciousness.
“No matter what they say – we're going to be okay.”

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