It was an ordinary day on the moon. Well, not so much a day as much as the generally accepted awake time/sleep time cycle, though, in all honesty, the whole 28 and a half earth days that composed a moon day were fairly ordinary as well. One might even describe it as "quite boring". As one might expect, not a lot goes on all the way up on the moon, and it can get extremely boring. So boring in fact, that extreme amounts of time in these conditions could make a person go mad with cabin fever. This information will not become relevant later, it just feels important to set the scene with it.
"Ma'am, there's… something you need to see."
The opening of the pressurized door knocked over the card castle that the woman had been laboring over for ten whole minutes. Her name was Daisy Conway, and she was Area Director for Lunar Area 33. In truth, she wasn't very good at her job. Their Area had been constructed for the express purpose of housing one single anomaly, the last egg in a dozen eggs whose anomalous property was being so incredibly fragile that even the force of gravity was beginning to destroy it, and thus it had to be taken to the moon. That went quite well, at least until Agent Beckard sneezed too hard across the Area, causing the egg to break. Speaking of Agent Beckard, that was the man whose vaguely ominous statement had destroyed Conway's card castle.
"Goddamnit Beckard, what have I told you about coming into my office with only vaguely ominous statements?" Conway grumbled, chucking the last of the cards at his head.
"I'm so sorry ma'am but this is of the… utmost importance," Beckard replied, as ominously as possible, as he caught the low-gravity card.
"Just tell me what it is. And what have I told you about dramatic pauses? You'll go blind if you keep pleasuring your vocal cords like that."
"Please, just…" Beckard pretended to cough to mask his dramatic pause, "Just follow me."
Conway grumbled and followed Beckard. The halls of Lunar Area 33 were empty. There really was nothing to do. Any remaining personnel had gone back to Earth for Christmas, with no real reason to stay at the Area. This complete outflow of people had left the Area with no ships in which to escape the Moon in case of some sort of crisis. Conway and Beckard were the only people left to watch the Area: Conway to manage it, and Beckard to protect it. In truth, it was just that neither of them wanted to go home for Christmas.
Things weren't great at home for Conway. Years ago, she decided she wanted to get married, and when she did get married to a very nice guy, she found herself to still be unhappy. This dissatisfaction caused her to want to have a child, to see if her problems would be resolved, but she still found herself to be unhappy and unfulfilled. Now she lives on the Moon, with her husband and child on Earth, and she still feels unhappy. At this point, she resolved that perhaps she is just an unhappy person, and according to a poll in Lunar Foundation Bimonthly, was ranked "unhappiest person on the Moon" in the superlatives section.
Nobody knows why Beckard didn't go home for Christmas. Maybe he's just a weird guy.
"Stop here," Beckard commanded, "I gotta get the keys to the lunar buggy."
As Beckard entered his room, he left the door wide open, revealing the interior to Conway. The walls were covered with the statement: "All Moon and no Earth makes Beck a dull boy", written in a blood-red substance that smeared every area of the room. The only area without this paint in it was a poster on the back wall for My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, as well as a race car bed. This did not faze Conway in the slightest, and if she did have a thought at that moment it was, "Maybe he's just a weird guy".
"Yo Beckard, on the back right corner on the floor you wrote, 'All Moon and no Earth makes Beck a dill boy.'"
Beckard emerged from the room with a key. "Ah thanks, I'll fix that later, Follow me."
The two roamed the empty halls until they reached the garage with the lunar buggies. Suiting up, they drove out into the lunar landscape. They weren't driving for more than two minutes before they saw what had Beckard so worried.
It was a sign.
A kangaroo crossing sign.
"Okay, I have to admit, I didn't see that joke coming but where the hell did you get this? Did you make it yourself? If you've been hiding papier-mâché from me there's going to be hell to pay."
"This wasn't me ma'am."
"Sure, we've got nothing better going on. I'll keep going along with whatever bit you're doing."
The buggy continued to chug on past the sign. Conway lightly chuckled to herself at the absurdity of the situation. Kangaroos on the Moon? How would they even get here? Did they take that sign with them to the Moon? And of course, the most important question, how high could they jump on the Moon?
Conway was so perplexed by the number of questions that the situation, if real, presented that she didn't notice Beckard slump forward in his seat until the buggy rolled to a stop.
"Hey dumbass, wake up, I want to get back and redo my card castle."
With no response, she began to actually worry, beginning to shake Beckard before realizing that that's probably the reaction he wants with whatever bit he is doing, and resolved to simply look around herself. Nothing to the right, nothing to the left, nothing on the floor…
Conway looked up.
Silhouetted on the Sun was the shape of what looked like a disfigured monster in a jumping motion.
Two large legs, thin but muscular arms, a head with bunny-like ears in what seemed like a bowl, and a huge tail. The figure descended, putting a leg down like a trained ninja performing a flying kick. The
last thought that went through Conway's head before the foot broke straight through her helmet was:
This is not at all improving my mood.
And all of the residents of Lunar Area 33 were gone.

Why are there no soft things in this car?
Oliver the Kangaroo drove the lunar buggy after disposing of the two potentially alive or potentially dead bodies. After all, you can't check pulses in space suits. Besides, Oliver is a kangaroo and likely didn't know how to check pulses. If he did, he would likely rip the suits open to check, which would be extremely counterintuitive to the whole point of checking if they were alive, as at that point they would certainly be dead. But Oliver didn't understand air pressure either, and if he did he would face some very serious problems, due to the fact that he also wasn't wearing a spacesuit.
Oliver reached up and scratched his face under his fishbowl, which let him breathe on the Moon. This concept Oliver understood. One of his friends had taken off his fishbowl and was unable to breathe, which he found to be very non-conducive to living. He didn't find the fishbowl to be at all comfortable but at least he was not like one of his other buddies who only had a fish tank, and didn't even get the nice bowl shape.
Getting very sick of the slow movement of the lunar buggy, Oliver exited the vehicle, and after stealing as many tires as he could hold, namely two, he hopped along on the Moon. Oliver also didn't have a fundamental understanding of metric units, but innately he seemed to know he could easily jump 9 meters up, which he found to be very nice. That's the whole reason they all moved to the Moon; Queensland had shit gravity. Those who are kangaroos have a fundamental understanding that the ultimate goal of living is to achieve "mad air", a concept that humans just wouldn't get.
Within thirty-five hops (if one was to count), Oliver had returned to the area that the kangaroos had set up as a home base, at least if you consider a small area with a very basic shuttle a “home base”. It really was just a place to keep their spaceship. Now, Oliver obviously did not know how to fly spaceships, as that is an action that was very foreign to kangaroos. To this day, there has never been a kangaroo who has managed to fly any sort of aircraft, no less spacecraft. That was what The Pilot was for.
There are no King Kangaroos, but there are King People, and The Pilot was a King People. Kangaroos are not ambitious enough to be King and are largely too confrontational to each other to maintain a kingship. So Oliver and his court of fellow kangaroos allowed The Pilot to become the King Kangaroo.
Kangaroos cannot speak English, but Oliver thought himself to be a very bright kangaroo, so he could usually get the gist of what The Pilot was gesturing for. Requesting an audience with The Pilot was very easy for Oliver, due to his relative lack of large visible bodily trauma. The Pilot could be fussy about trivial issues like that.
Oliver entered the ship containing the great King Kangaroo, the esteemed “The Pilot”. The King Kangaroo was not actually a kangaroo, at least physically. The Pilot was actually a small human in a kangaroo costume. In Oliver's opinion, the costume was not very convincing. Oliver had seen humans before and the costume still exposed The Pilot's face, which seemed very much human. Oliver was a good sport though and acted as if The Pilot was a real kangaroo. He was, of course, the King Kangaroo, and it would be ill-fitting of the King Kangaroo to not be a real kangaroo, at least in the eyes of the kangaroo people.
The tires were placed at the feet of The Pilot, who touched Oliver's head. Instantly, the power flew from The Pilot to Oliver and he could feel his breathing easing, and his body starting to ease under the pressure from the Moon. Oliver never understood why but he really felt as though he couldn't live on the Moon without this little guy. Maybe he was magic, maybe it just made Oliver feel better. Either way, he was King now and King says to stay on the moon. Hopefully, he loved his meager offering of Soft Thing today.

Jamie didn't understand why kangaroos brought him soft things. Maybe it's just a thing they do.

Conway woke up covered in moon dust. As she checked the body next to her, she discovered that it is quite obviously gross and dead. Unlike the moon creature that kicked the shit out of her, Beckard was not magically immune to the effects of space. She dragged herself to her feet and examined further around her for a glimpse of the creature.
Fucking kangaroo-ass-looking piece of shit trashing the only interesting piece of boring fucking moon life I'm gonna kill that piece of shit.
During this incessant mental raving, Conway checked her and Beckard's bodies for anything she could use, coming up with very little except for a small black tube in Beckard's left pocket. Tapping a button on the underside, a light emerged from the barrel, and five seconds later, Conway was nearly shot by a beam of light emerging from the tube and continuing into the sky. The tube opened up on the bottom and seven fried AAA batteries fell out and slowly floated to the ground.
Damn, it's a low-caliber battery laser. These batteries are way too inefficient.
Doing another cursory search of Beckard's body, she came up with seven more AAA batteries, a single D battery, and inexplicably, an incredibly small pink pony, small enough to fit on a fingernail. Conway pocketed all of these, figuring the pony to be a useful good luck charm, before realizing which one of them had died and which one had the pony, before chucking it as far away from her as possible.
Conway would never fancy herself a detective but was reasonably smart enough to notice a very large pair of feet that were all spaced a few dozen meters apart. Conway began to thank her lucky stars that the wind had not blown the tracks away, before remembering that she would definitely have to report something to someone if there was a stiff breeze on the Moon. She began to follow the footprints while muttering curses at the concept of jumping, as well as rationalizing her decision to recklessly follow something that could produce enough force to hurt or kill people on the Moon.
“Supervisors will never know, how could they know, I'm on the fucking Moon, I'll just kill the thing and say it was self-defense, and then I'll get reassigned to Disney World or something in honor of my achievements. It'll be great. After all, I have a laser gun and the creature doesn't. The only thing that can beat a laser gun is another laser gun! But what do I do if the creature has a laser gun as well…”
This kind of ranting and rationalizing continued for a half an hour until Conway finally saw something interesting on the horizon. The tracks led to a circular looking spacecraft, styled like a classic UFO. It looked more like it belonged as a prop in an amusement park that liked to imagine what the year 1990 would look like. Conway cared about none of these details, only really caring about what she saw coming out of it. It stood in the doorway, a silhouette again, against a strong white backlight, until the light faded and she could see it clearly.
She stared at it.
It turned its head and stared at her.
It WAS a fucking kangaroo.
Conway felt the rage welling up within her, clouding her vision in a shade of red. She bounded across the Moon's surface like a kangaroo herself, as the kangaroo looked more confused than anything. Landing a few meters away from the monster, she took aim with the laser tube.
“HAHA, I GOT YOU NOW!”
At this moment, a particularly strange series of events occurred. The kangaroo stared at the tube, which was just now beginning to emit a small light, which seemed to charge in the barrel. Kangaroos do not understand the principles that constitute small projectile weapons, especially small projectile weapons in which the primary projectile is concentrated light and heat. This simply isn't something a kangaroo could conceptualize, even at a fundamental level. Only a Person could understand something like that.
A second passed.
A Person stepped in front of the kangaroo.
A second passed.
The Person pulled an incredibly oversized mirror from a small purple bag which looked more like it
should contain marbles than comically oversized mirrors.
A second passed.
With the arrival of a Person, especially such an odd Person, Conway began to angle the tube up and away from the Person.
A second passed.
NYOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM
The laser emerged from the tube and bounced off of the mirror at more of a 30-degree angle, and nearly popped a hole in Conway's helmet. Seven AAA batteries fell out of the tube and Conway began to run in the opposite direction, her anger being replaced by the sudden realization that she no longer had a useable laser gun, and now a small Person had entered the play as if a kangaroo monster wasn't enough to deal with. Before she could get very far in her escape, a herd of kangaroos closed in around her, seemingly coming from out of nowhere.
So Conway ran into the ship.

If one was thinking completely rationally, you would likely decide that this particular option was just an awful idea. Conway didn't realize that this was an awful idea until she realized she had no clue how to close the door. None of the buttons seemed to tangibly affect anything on the ship as if all of them were purely for decoration. The Person saw this as a good time to enter the ship with his kangaroo companion, closing the door behind them.
“Hi, lady.”
Conway was startled as the Person spoke. This Person was very short but his voice was muffled by the helmet speakers. The Person moved forwards and slowly removed his helmet, revealing his face. It was the face of an eight-year-old child, seemingly a boy, wearing what looked like a child's attempt at a kangaroo-astronaut costume, looking like cardboard covered in aluminum foil, with patches of brown “fur” on some parts. His visored helmet was not a visor at all, but a fishbowl painted white, with black paper on the front as a “visor”. He also had bunny ears on the helmet, which didn't really look much like kangaroo ears at all.
The kangaroo followed suit and just removed his fishbowl.
“Are you a government lady?” The child said, cautiously, “You have a government symbol on your shirt.”
Conway looked down at her space suit to what the child seemed to be indicating towards.
“Uh… not really,” Conway replied, “I'm from the Foundation. Do you know the Foundation?”
“Sorta. Are you still chasing me?”
“No?”
“Good. Stay here then. I need people to play House with.”
The child guided the kangaroo to a table across the room with cardboard props of food on them. A selection of cardboard fruits, meats, and drinks sat flat on the table. Conway approached the table with trepidation and sat down.
“My name is Jamie,” the child, who was named Jamie said, “let me make the food work.”
Jamie waved his hands elaborately over the table but nothing on the table changed. The kangaroo and Jamie mimed bites of food extremely convincingly, doing everything but taking actual bites of food. Whenever the kangaroo would attempt to eat something without picking it up first, Jamie thumped him on the shoulder to remind him.
Conway looked at the pair incredulously. Seeing them distracted she stood up quietly and started backing slowly to the exit.
“No, don't leave.” Jamie commanded, “Sit down and eat please. Tell me your name.”
Conway complied, saying, “My name is Daisy Conway.”
“Hi, Miss Conway. This is my favorite kangaroo, Oliver. Do you like my spaceship?”
“Yes, it's very nice here. Can… I ask you some questions?”
“Yeah, but you should eat. It's really good and I spent a lot of time drawing it.”
Conway tried to take a bite of the cardboard only to come up with… cardboard. As to be expected when eating cardboard. Jamie frowned from across the table.
“You're a boring adult. My food and stuff don't usually work on adults because most of them are boring.”
“Er-well, I'm sorry. How did you pull a mirror out of that tiny bag? Is the bag anomal-err, magic?”
“No, I just saw it in a show once. Maybe if you start pretending it will work you can eat the food. I don't have anything else.”
Conway frowned and tried to mime a bite as Jamie and Oliver seemed to be doing, which produced effectively nothing.
“Are you pretending hard enough?” Jamie's voice was muffled from eating with his mouth full.
“What the hell do you mean? And stop talking while pretending your mouth is full.”
In response, Jamie took a large sip of “water” and spat it back out at Conway. A spray of water cascaded onto Conway as she recoiled sharply from how cold it was.
“What the… how the hell?”
Briefly, the table flickered in her eyes to be a full spread of food and drink before reverting back to the cardboard state. Conway rubbed her eyes in disbelief.
“Eh whatever, sometimes that works. You can still play House. I can set up a little room for you in the corner, kay?”
“Uh, sorry kid but I have a whole job and all and I really gotta go home. Could you just let me head
back to my base so I can get a ride back to my family on Earth?”
“You're… leaving?”
“You seem like a fun kid and all but I really have to go home. I can take you with me back to Earth though. Where did you live?”
“Queensland,” Jamie muttered, looking down sadly at his meal, “Queensland, Australia.”
“Is your mom and dad there?”
“Yeah, but they'd just give me away again. I would much rather be here with my friends.”
“These are kangaroos, not friends.”
“If you don't like it you could be my friend.”
“Let me go home, kid.”
“Fine. Oliver, kick her out.”
Conway quickly reattached her helmet as the kangaroo approached.
“Hey, hey, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, there's no need to be harsh, I just want to go home. I promise I'll visit you.”
“I don't care, just go away.”
“Call the kangaroo off, I can walk home myse-“
“Hurry it up, Oliver.”
“Okay, okay I'm sorry, I'll stay he-“
“I DON'T EVEN WANT YOU HERE ANY MORE JUST GO AWAY!”
A pedestal containing a single button raised next to Jamie's foot and he slammed his fist down on the button. The UFO sprung to life and began flying extremely quickly upwards. The sudden G-Force pushed Oliver and Conway to the ground. At the same time, a set of panels opened up around the room and mechanical gloved hands emerged. A hand grabbed every one of her limbs and lifted her up and put her in a very large catapult that popped up on the roof of the UFO.
THWING
Conway was launched along the surface of the Moon, away from the UFO. In the distance, Lunar Area-33 grew larger and larger, before she landed flat on the roof soundlessly.

Awful kid, good aim though.
At least his fit of rage meant skipping a lot of walking, even if it hurt like a bitch. A cursory check of her body revealed that she was just sore from the fall and that the low-gravity landing didn't do permanent damage, at least through the spacesuit. Conway got to her feet and walked inside the base, making a calm beeline to her emergency phone.
“Yeah, there's an anomaly a few ticks east of the Sea of Tranquility who has a troupe of kangaroos… yes, he got the moon via UFO… as far as I know, he is a reality bender that makes reality like a cartoon… no, I'm not on anything, just get somebody over there! A kangaroo killed my partner!”
Conway hung up, and thought ”I must sound like a lunatic.” before returning to her office. Sitting around for a moment, she realized the only logical thing to do at that moment was return to her card castle.
And so she did.

It was done. And it was beautiful. The greatest card castle of all time. And they RUINED IT.
Nobody has ever claimed Foundation custody is a cushy lifestyle. If one did think something like that they would need to be placed in Foundation custody because they have been infected by some memetic infohazard causing insanity. Unfortunately, that was currently the lifestyle of one such Daisy Conway, former Area Director at Lunar Area 33.
“Why are you doing this? Put me back in my Area! Go about a kilometer west of the Mare Cognitum and its right there! Big-ass UFO, and kangaroos! When you see the kangaroo crossing sign you're close!”
The guard did not acknowledge this statement. He was too busy reading Lunar Foundation Bimonthly to stoop so low as to respond to prisoners. As soon as a shuttle was available, she was going to be taken from Lunar Area 36 back to Earth for a quiet trial, likely followed by amnestization. The guard didn't want to get at all attached to somebody who would be gone in a few days, as he was a sweet guy and made friends easily. Who wants to be friends with a murderer anyway?
Conway began pouting in her cage. Pouting was something Conway did quite well. Looking at her helmet on the wall, she traced the large dent with her eyes.
I know I'm not crazy, the dent confirms that it happened… doesn't it?
Maybe… amnestization wouldn't be so bad. If they're nice, they might give me a nice identity, as a nice person with a nice job. That would be good.
No, that's wishful thinking. I'm going to jail after they amnestize me.
Well, we don't really know that.
Yes, we do.
I guess we do…
Conway had quiet conversations with herself in the dark. Maybe she was crazy. Maybe being crazy isn't so bad. The thought of being crazy intrigued her.
Maybe being crazy will make me happy. I would like to be happy.
You don't deserve to be happy.
I guess you're right. I didn't consider it that way…
Several hours later, personnel escorted Conway to a shuttle where they returned to Earth. The days passed quickly. Her trial was held in a single day, by a “judge” within the Foundation who ruled her to be guilty, finding no evidence of "kangaroos on the moon". She would just be amnestized, and then what? I guess Daisy Conway would never know.

Danielle Carter woke up in Green Dolphin Street Women's Prison. She was 35, well-educated, had a husband and a kid, but she killed a coworker and ended up in prison. She remembered that much. But there was something else. A memory welling up inside of her. No, not a memory, but an idea.
I think I'm just a very unhappy person.


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“You're telling me that we have to actually do our jobs?” the white-coated Sevens questioned with disbelief.
The man sitting on the other end of the bland white table proceeded to dramatically sigh. “Yes, I suppose so.”
“Jesus, do we even have like, the equipment for that? I mean— you're asking for us to actually start being a plastics company! That takes a lot of stuff! Clients, materials, machines, actual knowledge of manufacturing!” she listed on her fingers, progressively shouting louder.
A sigh somehow more dramatic than the last escaped the man's lips. “Listen, I know how you started here and I think you could be a lot of help to—”
Sevens interrupted, “Oh please, I know I came here because I thought this was a plastics company at first, but that doesn't mean I have any knowledge of that stuff! I was looking for a job where I could actually use my computer science degree but instead I got thrown into a basket full of crazy!”
The man stood up. “And yet, you quickly became one of the best researchers here. I trust that if I throw you into a basket of… plastics…" he frowned slightly before continuing on. It sounded better in his head. "You will most likely be able to quickly adapt.” He walked over to the door of the barren room, leaving a final, slightly sassy statement before heading out. “So, Head Researcher Sevens, you better get started.”
Sevens jumped up and dashed out the door. “I don't care if you're a higher up, you're still a jerk to me!”
The man looked back and shouted, “What was that? You want to be transferred to Site 19?”
A wicked smile spread across the man's face as he watched Sevens sigh in defeat, and he continued with his walking.
This is stupid, Sevens thought, retreating to her desk. How do I even start?

Evelyn was walking down the hall, coffee in hand, when she heard the sound of papers fluttering to the floor. She followed the sound to find Sevens in the file room, juggling papers in her hands, dropping many of them as she stumbled to a table full of many other files already. “Whoa, whoa, what're you doing?” Evelyn voiced her concern and helped her move the remaining files to the table.
Sevens' panting filled up the room “Just… Looking…” She dug into the files, scanning them quickly.
“No, there's something going on, what is it?”
Sevens stopped, then dropped the papers down, rubbing her eyes. “Alright so you'll never believe this-”
Evelyn quickly interrupted. “I think you're forgetting we all live in Sloth's Pit.”
“Yeah, yeah," Sevens rubbed her eyes and dug back into the papers, shuffling another stack. "but y'know how we're S&C Plastics?”
“Yes.” Evelyn raised an eyebrow.
“Well the big guys up the chain," she sighed, still annoyed at the man from before. "They want me to actually start living up to the ‘plastics' part of the name.”
“So… They want you to make this a plastics company—" Evelyn stuttered, trying to put the puzzle together. "Wait, wait, then what are you doing here?”
“Looking for…” Sevens floated a paper titled Past Business in front of Evelyn's face, pointing specific line about halfway down. “This.”
Pop's Plastic & Printing Co. flashed on the page. Evelyn pushed the paper down from in front of her face to look at Sevens. “And what do you intend to do with this information?”
A mischievous smile spread across Sevens' face. “Why, I'm going to go on an adventure, obviously.”

Somewhere deep in the woods, a cricket chirped. It hopped around in the grass, minding its own business until it found a run-down brick building. It curiously hopped up onto a windowsill.
Then a brick was thrown, shattering the window instantly. The cricket hopped into the darkness, passing the celebrating Sevens. She ran past an old sign reading "Pop's" all the other words faded by time. She awkwardly climbed through the broken window, making sure not to cut herself on any of the scattered glass shards.
An old, raspy voice croaked, “H-hello? Who's there!?”
Sevens proceeded to fall the rest of her way through, startled by the voice. She pulled herself off of the blood-stained carpeted floor, and stood up, checking for any wounds before replying. “Uh, firstly, who are you?”
“I'm- ARGHHH! Oh dear, please help me!” The voice begged.
Sevens quickly clicked her flashlight on, revealing a grotesque scene among the large machinery. In front of her was a rather green old man with discolored eyes and raggedy hair stuffed into the pipe of a machine, likely used for plastic molding.
“Please… Just turn it on…” The deformed man pleaded.
“I- Uh…” A green light flashed on the contraption, grabbing her attention. She hovered her hand over it for a second, before pulling it back. "I can't! What will it do?"
"Just press it…" The old man coughed and wheezed. "P- please…" He begged, his voice growing weaker.
Following the directions of the old man, she hesitently slammed her hand down on the green light, pressing the button into the machine, which burst into action, sucking the old man inside with a small pop. The machine's clunking and clanging filled her ears as she panicked.
Did I just kill him? Oh God, I've never killed anyone before, is he dead? Please don't let him be dead. Her hands clasped over her mouth, and she began to shake, tears leaking from her eyes. Why the hell did I do that?, I should have just stayed at the site, I should have called for backup, I should have-
Suddenly there was a loud whoosh that interrupted her frenzied stream of thoughts. The old man's voice called out gleefully, “Oh dearie bless your soul! Thank you so!” Sevens nervously opened her now reddened eyes, peeling her hands away from her slightly teary face. There, at the end of the machine, was a green plastic strainer. It reminded her of those plastic strainers kids would sieve through sand with.
“Wh- What? Where are you?” she stuttered, wiping her eyes with her jacket's sleeve.
“The strainer, my girl, the strainer!” he exclaimed, and the strainer shook a small bit.
Sevens approached the plastic device carefully, “How did you- Are you in there?”
“Yes, yes! I am the strainer!” Sevens never thought she would be able to see a strainer express emotion until the happy vibrating of the strainer created a rapid click on the metal table it had been spit out on.
“Wait, so you- Are- What's even happening right now?!” She backed up, resting herself on the windowsill she had climbed through prior.
“I have reached my true dream! To become what I made! Eternal life— It's amazing, euphoric even!” Sevens paused, rubbed her eyes, then looked up at the strainer again. A few seconds passed as she processed the situation, then she burst into a bout of laughter. “Young lady, what's so funny about this!” The strainer heaved itself upwards, clanging on the table.
“Oh lord…” Sevens managed to calm down, stifling her laughter, “It's just that this-” She stretched her hands forward, gesturing to the scene, “It's so damned ridiculous! I just turned you into a strainer for godsakes!”
“You turned my soul into a strainer! Thank you for arriving when you did by the way, it was getting uncomfortable in there. Why are you here?”
“Well, sir, I did intend on seeing your setup here to know what I needed, but…” Sevens picked up the plastic strainer carefully, “Looks like I've found something far more interesting.”
“Intriguing.”
“That I am, you… Strain-ger?” Sevens chuckled and awkwardly climbed back out the window, heading back to Site-87.

“You know, I never actually got your name.”
“Hector, but I suppose you can just call me Pop,” he shook as Sevens carried him through the Site, passing by many alarms. “Ah, that really sounds urgent, do you think-”
“Don't worry, they've got it handled," She glanced back for a moment before continuing on. "Probably. Anyways, I'm Sevens! And this…” She pushed through a door, revealing a blank, white room, completely devoid of any personality or furnishings. Or in other words, a typical containment chamber. “Is going to be your new home! I plan on getting some machines, stuff like that, and launching a whole new plastics business!”
Pop popped himself upwards, almost flipping in Seven's arms. “Ah! I can help you with that! It'll be like reliving my glory days!”
“I'm glad you're excited, but first we gotta do some tests with you, alright?” Sevens pulled out a clipboard and set Pop down. “Ready?”
“Well, I suppose I am!”

Procedure: Ran warm water through the strainer.
Results: Pop giggled and said that it felt strange, like he had just drunk something hot.
Analysis: The 'net' part of the strainer seems to be like his 'inside' body. Could it be that the body of his soul is still together in there, and it still has feeling?

Procedure: Ran boiling water though the strainer.
Results: Strainer hopped out of my hands, hitting against a wall. Pop noted that it felt like he was burning for a few seconds, and that he instinctively jolted his 'body' away.
Analysis: It seems that feelings— like excitement and pain— really help Pop's ability to move, but most times he cannot control the moving.

Procedure: At the request of Pop, ran molten plastic through the strainer…

Sevens knocked on the door to one of the many chemistry labs of Site-87, only to have the door opened right in her face. "Ah, sorry, that could have hit you!" The male researcher on the other side exclaimed.
"Don't worry about it." Sevens pointed into the lab. "Is this room open?"
"Yep, I just finished up. What do you need the lab for?"
"Ah, just gonna do some tests with this strainer." She held it up and shook it. "Say hi, Pop."
"Hi!" The strainer shook as it spoke in a cheery voice.
Sevens continued, "It's basically a horcrux for an old man's soul that still has feeling. Somehow."
The man stared blankly, slowly processing the story before walking away muttering, "Just another Tuesday, will anything normal ever happen…"
"That man seemed fun!" Pop exclaimed, shaking slightly. "But let's get that plastic melting already, I can't wait for this test!"
Sevens walked in and started melting plastic on a pan. "You surely seem pretty excited for this test, what if nothing even happens?"
"Well, then we try running something else through me!" Pop thought for a moment. "Like, molten metal! Or soda, I wonder how that'd feel!"
Sevens laughed and shook around the pan, watching the hot orange liquid move from side to side. It was made from the dumb toothbrushes they give the D-Class. "The plastic is melted. Are you ready?"
"I suppose so," he replied as Sevens moved her hand to the edge of the strainers' left handle, her other hand still resting on the pan. In one quick motion she tore the pan up and tilted it over the strainer, pouring the molten plastic through. A few quick clinks drew her attention to the ground under Pop, where there was an orange cup.
Pop shook with excitement before screaming out once more. "We did it! We did it! I- I just thought about a cup as the plastic went through and it popped out like that!"
Sevens grinned, kneeling down to look at the cup. "This is… This is great!" She shot up, cheering "I don't need tons of equipment, I just need you! We can make S&C Plastics a real company!"
"Well, I guess I don't have to retire yet!" Pop laughed.
As they celebrated, a small tug of hesitation pulled at Sevens. She shrugged it off, and set to work, heading to her desk with Pop in her hands.

A small pat on her shoulder caused Sevens to tense up, flinching away and craning her neck around. Connected to the hand was Evelyn, whom looked very surprised. "Gee, you must be very focused on your work." She knelt down to look at Sevens' computer screen. "Speaking of which, what are you working on?"
Sevens quickly relaxed, looking back at the screen. "Yeah, I'm just ordering some plastic that can be used to manufacture all the products that we are planning on making."
"What are you making?"
Sevens twirled her chair around. "Alright, so, what we're gonna do is get some of the plastics PETE and PP, or um, polyethylene terephthalate and polypropylene." She took a breath and coughed, then continued with her rant. "So the PETE plastic is used to make cups and that kind of stuff, while PP plastic is used to make utensils, but PP isn't recyclable… And for the cups I could use PS, or Styrofoam, cause I think it's cheaper, but it's really bad for the environment so whatever, PETE works. PETE is also a thermoplastic, which means it can go through numerous melting cycles without the quality of it degrading. Anyways, I'm thinking of trying to make deals with some of the food places around here, that way we don't have to spread the products out into the rest of the world. We don't really have to make a profit, so we can be good competition to their current suppliers. So that way, S&C Plastics becomes a real company!" She shot her arms outwards excitedly.
Meanwhile, Evelyn had her arms crossed, looking at Sevens as if she were a madman. "Remind me never to ask you about this again," she said.
Sevens lightly shoved Evelyn, who stumbled and laughed. "Alright, alright, so you have the plastics all planned out, but don't you need like, special machines or something?"
An old man's voice echoed through the room, "That's me!" it shouted. Evelyn's eyes widened, looking around the room.
"W- what was that, Sevens?" She questioned, a fearful quiver in her voice.
"Nothing! Must have been the wind, ha ha!"
There was an awkward silence before Sevens realized how truly terrible at lying she was, so she opened her desk drawer to reveal a green strainer. "This is Pop."

Evelyn sighed disapprovingly, sitting down as Sevens finished her story of Pop and what she currently knew about him. "You broke into the shop? And you just bought it here without following any proper procedures? That strainer could be dangerous!"
Sevens groaned. "Pop is not dangerous, okay? He's important to my operations! It's not like using anomalous items is anything new in the Foundation."
Pop quietly agreed. "Yes, I am very important! And very not dangerous!"
"I know, I know, but still, we have these rules for a reason." Evelyn sighed once more.
"Ugh, this is why I didn't want you to find out, you're too much of a stickler for the rules!"
Evelyn's face grew red. "I am not!" She retorted.
Sevens laughed at Evelyn's growing frustration. "Oh please, name one time you've broken the rules."
Evelyn's hand rose, one of her fingers pointing upwards. "Well I-" She lowered her hand back down, then raised it back up. "Once I- No…" She lowered her hand again and thought for a moment, then sheepishly admitted, "Alright, so I guess I do follow the rules all the time, but its not like that's a bad thing." She stood up and quickly walked to the door. "I'm going to leave now before you can say anything else about me." Evelyn swung it open and left, leaving the laughing Sevens behind.
"See ya!" She yelled after her, then turned to Pop, who had also been shaking from laughter. "Well, are you ready for some hard work?"
The strainer shuddered slightly. "Yes, yes I am."

|Hub|

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The following documents have been assembled by Agent Sinclaire, forming a rough record of the incidents which took place in Douglas County, Wisconsin during the October of 1869.

K SINCLAIRE
20 MAPLE STREET
ZANESVILLE, O.
ASSEMBLE TEAM AND MAKE WAY IMMEDIATELY TO NEW TORONTO, WISCONSIN STOP
ANTI-UNION OCCULT ACTIVITY PRESENT STOP BAILEY SIBLINGS MISSING STOP RECOMMEND HUSBAND, TOFFLEMIRE, CAROL STOP
WEISS

The manor of Jackson Sloth, founder of New Toronto, Wisconsin, circa 1860

From the Journal of Lt.Katherine Sinclaire
Arrived in New Toronto at 9:00 AM on 13th October. Obtained lodging at the Black Garden Inn, the only public house in the city. Tofflemire and Carol had to pose as a married couple, due to policy on rooms not being shared by members of opposite sexes unless married.
The entire town smells of sawdust. As I write this, I am watching a horse cart lumber down the street, towards the station, to be shipped off west. I am told that the wood from this part of the state is durable, and does not ignite easily.
I have a queer feeling about the townsfolk; while they seem welcoming, I can feel the suspicion about them. They do not trust outsiders, and I fear the manager at the Black Garden may have spied the badge within my luggage.

There are marvels at work in this part of the state, that much I am sure of. Our train had to stop two hours out of town because a creature was entangled in the cattle catcher; I caught a glimpse of it, and it appeared to be a reptile with the head of a cow and six legs. Someone on the train commented that this was a 'hodag', a marvelous creature native to the area.
Our investigation of the town has begun. Hoping to find some evidence of either Bailey.

Field observations written by R. Tofflemire
Items of interest observed:

Confectionery store in town. Predominately sells Young and Smylie candy, at three cents per pound.
Manor of town founder prominent landmark in town; people have given directions using it as basis.
Town hall is much smaller. Wall behind front desk prominently features a portrait of the founder's family; Jackson Sloth, his wife Imogen, his son Jasper, and his daughter Caroline. I am told that the portrait is obsolete, as they recently had a second daughter, though they have not released the name.
All individuals within the portrait were wearing odd medallions. The shape was hard to distinguish in the dark hall, but they appeared to resemble the head of a goat.
Tripped over a large turnip on the way out of the confectionery. Owner informed me it's for a local celebration, derived from an Irish tradition of the Sloths. Known as Sawwhen (?). Will inquire with Sinclaire.
Inquired about the Baileys at the public house. Cover is that I am attempting to locate the pair of them so I may inform them of the discovery of their father's remains within the ruins of Baltimore.
One recalled them; a pariah, by the name of Hendricks. He said that the two of them had taken up residence in a small house in the woods, claiming to intend to study local wildlife.
Hendricks seems to have a severe fear of insects; the sound of a bee buzzing against the window was enough to send him into a panic enough to flee.
Hendricks gave the location of the house in the woods. Intending to investigate tomorrow.

Correspondence from Montgomery Reynolds to Nina Weiss
Captain Weiss,
We found the Bailey brothers' bolthole in the morning. It was ransacked utterly. There was a pool of blood on the ground, but no bodies remained. Using marvelous means, Katherine was able to divine that they were alive, but not their location.

In the corner of the room was a pile of documents and photographs burnt to cinders. We cannot make any sense of the surviving fragments. The only intact item in the place is a curious woodcarving, which I have reproduced below.

On the back of the carving, the words "FILLI TRISTITIA"— literally "Sloth's Son". This creature may have some connection to the Sloth family.
As we exited, we found a pumpkin on the porch of the house, grinning at us. It wasn't there before. When Katherine attempted an inspection, it rotted before our eyes, and the wind carried a bizarre, rattling laugh.
Something is amiss in this town. Expect further correspondences.
Kindest regards,
Montgomery Reynolds

Field Report of Agent Alison Carol Regarding: Marvelous Activity around Logging Camp
I was able to infiltrate the logging camp (known as Sloth & Co. Lumber Camp #87) undetected in the middle of the day. From a concealed position, I was able to survey the goings-on. Two things of note happened during this time.
Firstly, at noon, Jasper Sloth appeared in the camp. He apparently is the foreman of this particular operation. He's not an ugly man, though his features are a bit too angular, and his goatee is poorly kept. He briefly got into an argument with one of the workers over wages. When the argument became heated, the worker drew a medalion[sic] carved into the shape of a goat's head from beneath his shirt and held it before him, as if to ward away Jasper. Sloth stormed off, a growl in his voice.
The second occurrence I did not fully witness. I saw a man fall with a yell, but I did not hear him hit the ground. When I inspected the area later, there was no sign of him, and it seemed to have been cordoned off by workers, as if the earth itself had swallowed him.
I made off with one of the goat-headed medaions[sic] carried by the workers. Sinclaire tells me that it may be indicative of Demon Worship, specifically Bafomet(?).
The sunsets here are clouded by sawdust, and produce an eerie shade as they vanish over the horizon. The street smells like blood.

Observation recorded by Lt. Katherine Sinclaire
It is past midnight as I write this by moonlight. In the street outside, a procession of figures is marching, cloaked in black, wearing masques depicting nightmarish, grinning faces. I dare not light a candle, for fear they notice me watching them.
Leading this procession is the eldest daughter of the Sloths, Caroline. She is without a mask, and they all chant something in Greek, which I will attempt to transliterate.
"The Black Equinox comes on the Sabbath. We give praise to her for good health and long lives."
They have stopped in the middle of the street, after circling the block. An opening is made in the middle, and Caroline stands there, seizing back and forth and speaking in tongues. Her head has just caught fire, and she screams in ecstasy. Then, just as quickly as it started, it ends, and the procession disperses.
As I write this, the smell of sawdust has grown stronger. I fear it may soon be suffocating.

Transcription of a children's rhyming game observed by R. Tofflemire
(The children gather in a circle and begin walking clockwise.)
The wind is blowing
The colors are showing
The crows are flying,
Mother Autumn,
Who's next to be dying?
(The children break away from the circle and begin to spin. The first to stop spinning is considered 'dead' and is out of the game.)

Record of a Marvelous Phenomenon as observed on October 20th by M. Reynolds and K. Sinclaire
The moon above had turned red. I believed it to be a natural 'blood moon', or else an effect of moonlight filtering through the ever-present fog of sawdust. Whatever the cause, the effect of it on the townspeople was prominent.
We were observing it from the ground floor of the Black Garden, when suddenly, loud, thumping knocks came on the door. All within fell silent, except for the barkeeper. He asked, "Who is there at this hour?"
A voice, low and with a shaking, almost bleating quality to it, responded, "One who grants you so much power."
The Barkeep retrieved a basket of food from behind the counter and made his way to the front door. It opened in such a way that we could see the figure standing outside— it appeared to have a human figure, but had the head of a goat and cloven hooves. From its mouth hung a smoking pipe.
This figure is the same that was observed in the wood carving found in the bolthole. I overheard a patron mutter the name "Black Jasper". Is this creature Jasper Sloth, somehow transfigured by the full moon?
This warrants proper investigation of the Sloth household.

Evidence gathered on the state of the Sloth household by A. Carol and R. Tofflemire

Item: Jackson Sloth, town founder, has not been seen in public since 1866. His family claims that he is bedridden, and working on a novel.
Item: Imogen Sloth regularly orders large quantities of salted meat, which are delivered by train and taken to the manor by horse and cart.
Item: Imogen Sloth was very welcoming to us when we told them we were interested in settling in New Toronto, but had concerns over the practices of the townsfolk, referring specifically to the carved turnips and gourds.
Item: Imogen Sloth offered tea and licorice. Interior of home smelled strongly of sawdust. Tofflemire had to suppress a coughing fit to the point where he was red in the face; tea helped.
Item: Food and drink offered proved safe to consume.
Item: Imogen Sloth explained that they had founded New Toronto with the help of several Irish families, and that they were of Irish descent themselves (Accent not present). Her husband had started the Samhain celebrations during 1861 as a way to forget the troubles of war.
Item: Celebration goes on for most of the month. Several 'odd' rituals take place, but Imogen assures that they are harmless.
Item: When inquiring about Caroline Sloth, Imogen Sloth called her into room. Seems physically normal. Carol noted, but did not state, that Caroline Sloth lacked a reflection in the tea set.
Item: Inquiries about Jasper Sloth met with more resistance. Imogen Sloth noted to clutch an item concealed beneath her dress; Tofflemire noted that the outline of this item appeared to be a goat's head medallion.
Item: Inquiries about Jackson Sloth met with an answer of him being bedridden and writing. Consistent with other statements.
Item: Resisted questioning entirely regarding their third child. Carol and Tofflemire were ushered out of house shortly after.
Item: It was observed that all windows in the northern wing of the house were blacked out. No doors were observed on the interior of the house that led to the northern wing.

Conclusion: Insufficient evidence. Infiltrate Sloth household.

Log of an infiltration carried out by Lt. K. Sinclaire and M. Reynolds
02:10 AM: Arrived at Sloth Manor. Attempted to enter through first-story window in northern wing. Discovered that windows were bricked.
02:12 AM: Minor marvel used to dislodge, and replace, bricks. Reynolds and Sinclaire within northern wing. Wing observed to be highly disused. At least a foot of dirt on the floor in some places, mold on walls, a large amount of feathers on the floor. Camera set up to take photograph.

Photograph taken by Sinclaire.

02:13 AM: Moaning is heard from two rooms over. Sinclaire and Reynolds investigate, and find Tristan and Trevor Bailey, covered in filth, being held in wooden cages. Cages are observed to have grown into that shape, as opposed to being carved into such a shape.
02:18 AM: The two Baileys are freed from the cages, but are too weak to walk. Reynolds and Sinclaire offer food and drink so they may regain their strength, and armaments so they may defend themselves. They are noted to be naked.
02:21 AM: Reynolds leaves the premises to get the Baileys to safety in their bolthole, and to arrange immediate travel. Sinclaire insists on staying behind, despite risks to personal safety.
02:25 AM: Reynolds uses a minor marvel to dislodge and replace the bricks. He goes unnoticed by groundskeepers at the Sloth estate.
02:31 AM: Sinclaire hears loud screams from the second storey, along with three voices trying to comfort the screamers. Among the voices, the screamers are an adult man and an infant; those trying to comfort them are an adult male and two adult females.
02:35 AM: Breaking with protocol, Sinclaire uses a minor marvel to conceal herself and make her way up the stairs. The stairs creak, alerting others to Sinclaire's presence. Nevertheless, she is able to move up the stairs undetected.
02:36 AM: Sinclaire observes two figures coming to investigate the creaking sound. They are Caroline Sloth, who now displays prominent fangs, and her mother Imogen, holding several bloodied bandages. They make their way downstairs to investigate the disturbance further.
02:37 AM: Sinclaire moves into a room that appears to be a nursery. Standing over a crib is a black-furred, cloven-hooved, goat-headed being, attempting to comfort the infant within. Sinclair observes that the infant has several features that make it non-congruent with average human anatomy, including dark, shaggy fur, large serrated fangs, and ten truncated fingers ending in long claws. The goat-headed being refers to this infant as "Mavra".
02:40 AM: The goat-figure is alerted to Sinclaire's actions downstairs by the calls of Imogen and Caroline; the figure responds to the name "Jasper".
02:43 AM: Sinclaire makes her way to the master bedroom, where the other screaming figure lays. In the bed is a large, black mass of fur and arms, with claws similar to those seen in the infant present, as well as large horns on the head. The figure is observed to have ten eyes with hourglass-shaped pupils, no mouth, and is writing using one of its claws which has been dipped in ink.
The entity addresses Sinclaire directly, despite the marvel concealing her. Sinclaire notices a passage in the wall opposite her, leading to a set of stairs, and flees down these stairs.
02:46: Sinclaire finds herself in a set of tunnels beneath the house. These tunnels lead directly to the pantry of the manor, but Sinclaire finds it guarded by the goat-headed being. Sinclaire shoots the being with her pistol, hitting it square in the head, and flees as it begins to rise.
02:56: Sinclaire makes her way into New Toronto proper, and is re-united with Carol and Tofflemire. She is informed that Reynolds has booked six tickets out of town— four for her team, two for the Baileys. They evacuate almost immediately, destroying all equipment they cannot hastily pack.

Record of Events on the "All Hallows' Eve Raid" of New Toronto, Wisconsin
The following events occurred between the afternoon of October 30th and the morning of October 31st, 1869.
The force was comprised of twenty Union Investigations Unit agents, and seventy-five U.S. Soldiers, mainly infantry and riflemen. Lt. Sinclaire acted as the commander for this mission, due to her familiarity with the town.
New Toronto is found completely abandoned by arriving forces; at first, it is believed the townfolk fled following Sinclaire's discovery. However, Sgt. Pryce of the rifle corps spots a bonfire half a mile outside of town; fifteen individuals are mobilized to that location, while the remainder secure the town.
Inspection of the town reveals several private shrines to an entity known as the "Pit Being", a creature with no known folkloric equivalents. Said to be the embodiment of emptiness itself, and would one day rise to consume the world along with his wife and three children.
Investigation of the bonfire found that it was not, in fact, a bonfire; rather, several members of New Toronto's populous were gathered in a circle, dancing with their heads ablaze. Other members beat drums and spoke prayers in Gaelic. All were quickly either arrested or dispatched.
Lt. Sinclaire led members of force to Sloth's manor, where several lights were present in the windows. Inspection of the southern wing revealed a gathering taking place, with the figure that Sinclaire had encountered in the master bedroom acting as a centerpiece. Several of those gathered were carving off pieces of flesh and consuming them raw, or else after they held them over a brazier briefly.
In another room, the goat-figure was observed committing several acts of sodomy with both male and female guests. The goat-figure was observed to have both male and female genetalia, and was speaking in an unknown language as it performed these acts.
Members of the raiding force stormed the hall and started arresting guests. Several resisted using minor marvels, including the cranial ignition observed in other members of the town's populace. Others dissolved into choking clouds of sawdust, causing injuries among the force. The goat-creature attempted to dismember members of the force, but was halted by Lt. Sinclaire's use of marvels.
The massive, furred entity which guests were consuming was identified as Jackson Sloth himself. Members of the force equipped with flamethrowers dispatched of it once all arrested parties were cleared from the house.
Despite a thorough searching and cataloging of the property, neither Imogen nor Caroline Sloth could be accounted for. Furthermore. prior to forces being able to locate the remains of Jackson Sloth, an earthquake occurred, and the entirety of Jackson Sloth's manor was swallowed by a gigantic sinkhole, measuring exactly 100 feet in diameter, depth unknown.
New Toronto is considered abandoned. Union Investigations forces have cordoned off the area, and the town is currently in the process of being demolished, and its resources relocated. Surveyors within the area have proposed keeping the town on the map, but renaming it to "Sloth's Pit", This is currently under consideration by the United States Department of the Interior.
The wherabouts of Caroline Sloth, Imogen Sloth, and "Mavra" are unknown. Witness statements that their forms were observed in the upper story of the manor cannot be corroborated, as are reports of an infant crawling out of the pit.

Tunnel leading to the 'disused' wing of the Sloth Manor. Photographed 10/30/1869, six hours prior to the collapse.

|Aces and Eights|


Wan morning light crept over the sleeping town at the foot of the hill. Dark rooftops, the smoke of chimneys and the pointed steeple of an enormous church cast faint shadows against the snow. A sky so blue it was almost silver stretched out to vanish over the distant plains, low clouds a hammered sheet of darker grey.
Lottie puffed out a long breath and adjusted her overcoat. Warmth seeped up from below. She'd been fueling strictly to the left hopper in her mechanical legs since the first snowfall. It ran hot, and was a lot less efficient, but could burn anything from twigs and grass to kerosene to dried buffalo dung. Out west at the tail end of December, the good quality anthracite that went in the right hopper was hard to come by. And a little "waste" heat went a long way for a woman on the move.
The mountain vista was majestic, but she was used to it. Right now Lottie had eyes for only one thing: a tiny black speck, wheeling in an updraft above the town. She grinned, bouncing on her toes. All these years out on the road, and her adopted uncle had never once forgotten to send her a Transformation Day present. His letters and homebrewed schema were her only connection to anyone back east, anymore. And having even a little bit of pure alchemical fire meant she could fabricate her own munitions, given a well-stocked workshop to do it in. Word on the trail was Brigham City had grown into a Mekhanist enclave. From the look of the smokestacks peppering the town below, it might be true.
As the raven gained altitude and started a slow glide towards her, Lottie felt a gentle ping in the transmitter in her chest. The birds were great receivers and her own signal was strong, but their outgoing range was very short. Poor thing had probably been straining to catch up ever since she caught the stagecoach north from Dodge City. Lottie gathered the raven in her arms, murmuring to it as though it were alive. She sat down on a nearby fallen log, and fished her small toolkit and a few carefully hoarded lumps of coal out of her satchel. Best to make sure the bird was all fueled up and in good repair. Then she would open up the hatch on its back, collect her presents and put in her return letters.

The last letter was just tucked in around the tiny paper twists of mineral samples when a man's angry voice, brisk and authoritative, sounded from the bushes behind her.
"What makes you think you can trespass on my land and live, upstart quadroon?" A mountain man stepped forward, barely rustling the branches around him. He pronounced every word as if someone had filed off all the hard edges and polished them smooth. In contrast to his cultured accent, he was clad from head to toe in layers of thick, glossy furs. Apart from his face, pale as porcelain, in dim light he would have looked more like an unusually scrawny bear than a human.
"I didn't know this was your land. I'm sorry; I'll go." Though Lottie's tone was mild, her eyes narrowed at his description of her race. Still, she didn't want to start trouble before even getting into town. And there were a lot worse words he could've used.
"You are sorry. Tant pis," he said. He reached under his robes and pulled out a tobacco pouch, rolling and lighting a cigarette with practiced ease as he spoke. "There are bears in these hills. Cougars. If you came into their den unannounced, would they spare you, eh?" He nodded at the bird perched on her left arm. "And you come to my woods, steal my crows, maybe to try and sell them back to me — and you are sorry?"
She stood from the fallen log, dusting snow off her trousers with one arm; the raven still perched on the other. "No, this isn't from around here," she said. "And it's not for sale."
"No matter. I am well supplied with beasts. And if you came to sell me something else," his eyes raked her lithe form. "You have only wasted my time."
Wordlessly, she tossed the raven skyward. Its wings clanked against its body, iron on iron; it drifted up in a slow spiral before winging its way back east. With a tilt of her chin, she slapped a hand to her thigh, waking an echoing clank. "This ain't for sale either."
The mountain man observed this with a sour look, digesting the information. "Heh. I had not thought to see one of you so far west, upstart quadroon. It is good that you have come. It will be a, how do you say. Dry run. An aperitif, to whet my appetite for vengeance." He shrugged, drawing deeply from his cigarette. "In a month's time, non-stop trains will begin to pass through here, making their way to Kansas City. So too will my holkost. They consume all who see them, but they hunt those who know them. If you have just now sent warning, your metal friends will only suffer more before they die."
"Vengeance? But there's… there's thousands, there's tens of thousands of people back there. People who never hurt anybody in their lives. How could your… things even find the people you want vengeance on?" Holkost, he'd said. This mountain man was a goddamn Sarkie. Lottie's fingers twitched towards her satchel. If she caught him by surprise, she might be able to score a hit with the seed fire and still have some left.
He spat on the ground. "The east is a cesspit, filled with vermin. Everything good died with my family. Burned alive in their beds by clockwork whores like you!"
Lottie's fists clenched. She advanced a step, crushing a loose stone into gravel. "You watch your mouth, mister!"
"No," he purred. "You watch my mouth."
Two hulking, yellow-white shapes advanced on either side of him. Grinning jaws, each bristling with row upon row of animal teeth, covered every inch of their massive bodies. Innumerable fangs clicked and snapped, gnashing the underbrush out of their path. Though they had no eyes, their heads swiveled to and fro, as if sniffing at the air, before turning to point directly at Lottie.
Lottie turned on her heel and sprinted from the clearing, angling up along the rocky hillside. She palmed the little clay spheres of seed fire out of the satchel as she ran. Her footsteps crashed through the thin, icy snow and left deep imprints in the dirt.
Her mind raced in time with her steps. Heading downhill would give the grinning holkost the advantage of weight, added to their speed. Those things were the size of bears — maybe had been bears, once — but given their origin, probably outclassed ordinary bears in both endurance and speed. Even Lottie, nimble as she was, couldn't count on being able to outrun them.
The crunch of their galloping steps in the snow sounded closer.
Up ahead, a steep ridge of loose shale stretched up to a narrow ledge, which was piled with a jumble of boulders. Lottie cranked up another burst of speed, already starting to sweat under her coat. If she'd known somebody was going to try to kill her today, she would've fueled the right hopper for a change. Showers of icy pebbles exploded under her feet, pattering against her pursuers as they struggled to find purchase on the sliding stones.
As soon as she got a foot on solid rock, she turned and whipped a handful of seed fire at the nearest beast. It was better than halfway up the slope. It twisted and roared, its own weight bearing it down as the tiny grenades hit and the fire caught. Their old militant order, before it was disbanded, had trained Lottie's uncle to "tune" alchemical fire so that it burned through living flesh like dry kindling. This creature's outside was mostly teeth, but its innards were evidently flesh enough to burn. Every grinning mouth split in angry, pained howls as it slid back down to the bottom.
The second beast, larger than the first, scrabbled to the side as its companion fell. Its grins widened; dozens of tongues flicked out to lick lips it no longer possessed.
Lottie reached into her satchel only to find no more of the hardened clay spheres. Oh flesh, she thought. I'm out. I'm out for a YEAR. Which wouldn't matter if she didn't survive the next minute.
There wasn't much room to get a running start, but Lottie managed a crabwise leap onto the uneven sides of a nearby boulder. Her arms could only try to hang on while she scraped for purchase with her feet — one leg by itself weighed more than her entire upper body. After what seemed like an hour, as the grinning beast hauled itself up the treacherous shale, she finally got a firm foothold and vaulted over the first boulder to land on top of the one above it with a slam.
Lottie jumped up and down with as much force as she could muster. The rock she stood on, wide as the wheel of a train, started to sway and shift, disturbing the ones beneath it. It rolled out from under her feet; she kicked off and landed on the next one back, looking for an angle. But that stone, too, began to tumble. For a long, breathless minute it was all she could do to hop from one careening boulder to the next as they all broke loose and rumbled down the hillside. Under the crash of falling rock, she could hear the grinner's howls and the crunch of snapping bone.
She fetched up, shaking, against the rocky face of the ledge, and took a few deep breaths. One grinner was a mass of silent, writhing flame — not long for this world. The other lay under a cairn of rocks and shale shaken loose by the avalanche, crushed and buried.
But who knew how many more of those things the Sarkic mountain man had crafted? He'd spoken of his creations as if he meant to take revenge on more than just a few hated individuals. Most of whom were no longer even in this world, if his family were among the many Sarkic slave-owners her order had assassinated over the years. One Karcist, working undetected in the mountains, could assemble as large an army of beasts as he had the strength of will to control.
Lottie's skin crawled at the thought; her jaw felt sore. Her gaze swept down the hillside, where a sliver of sun was beginning to burn through the layer of clouds to the east. The townsfolk would be awake soon. And she had a sudden, urgent need for industrial quantities of dynamite.

Minzheng stretched his arms as he stepped out of the freight depot, not bothering to stifle a huge yawn. The morning clerk had been alert enough to inventory and sign for the shipment of parts and dry goods, but had elected to stay inside for a bit afterwards and make sure the coffeepot stayed warm. Minzheng didn't blame the fellow. It was bitterly cold out, and the clear skies promised a day of wind and not much warmth. If he stepped lively, he might have time for a leisurely cup of tea before opening up his parents' store. The thought quickened his steps across the train tracks.
A fleet, furtive movement caught the corner of Minzheng's eye, and he whirled just in time to see a person disappear into the shed behind the telegraph office. He stopped short. That shed was locked. That was where Godspeed Mining's pre-ordered blasting powder was stored. If the thief was just opportunistic, that was bad enough, but if they were breaking into the shed on purpose —
"Stop!" Minzheng shouted, hopping back across the tracks and breaking into a run. "You can't go in there! Hey!"
He realized how foolish he was being just as he reached the door of the shed. Inwardly, Minzheng swore at himself. Rushing in alone to confront a suspected thief was a heedless, American thing to do. He could just picture his father's frown, his mother's raised eyebrows. He should go back and get the clerk, be properly in the background as events unfolded. But it was too late; a ragged voice called out to him from the shed.
"Go away. I need this NOW — I'll go to the sheriff and turn myself in if I survive!"
Eyes adjusting to the dim light, Minzheng stopped again, completely baffled. A person about his own age sat on top of a crate of TNT, struggling out of a heavy overcoat; strands of tightly curled hair fluffed out from under their woolen hat. He almost jumped as they reached into one of the coat's many pockets, but what they drew out were a pair of tuning forks. They struck the tuning forks on the edge of a nearby crate and held them up to a bulge on the side of their neck, fixing him with a furious glare. "You usually stick around when a lady tells you to get lost? It's not safe. I don't know if these things are infectious!"
Minzheng did fall back a step when he saw the bulge on her neck gnash in a silent scream. Another mouth had grown straight down from the hinge of her jaw, her fawn-brown skin broken by unnatural rows of angry white teeth. The musical chime of the tuning forks seemed to hurt it — had it gotten smaller? But as the notes faded, it snapped at the air, attacking the source of the sound with renewed vigor.
He looked back at her eyes and realized she had been crying. "Miss… are you hurt? Do you need help?"
The woman sniffled and swallowed convulsively, looking around at the crates. "Flesh, man, of course I'm hurt. I just need to stay on my feet long enough to stop —" She bit the words back, shaking her head. "It's not safe. I can't tell you."
As she pulled her coat the rest of the way off, another angry mouth came into view. It had chewed through the shirt on her right shoulder. She struck the forks again and gave it a dose of sound.
Slowly, Minzheng eased the door shut behind him and sank down on a nearby crate, thinking fast. Whatever the hell was going on with this lady, she was no simple thief. He pushed thoughts of what his parents might say resolutely from his mind. "Listen. I shouldn't have come after you, but I'm here now. And whatever did that to you," he nodded towards her shoulder, "I don't need to know more to know it needs to be stopped. But — does it have to be right now, right this minute? I have an idea."
Her brows knitted together as she stared back, wariness edging out the despair in her eyes. "Even if you meant that… I don't see how you could help." The metal chimed again; she shifted her feet, ready to stand up in a hurry.
"Not me exactly, but. Um. Bear with me here," Minzheng spread his hands in a gesture of peace. "Have you ever heard of acupuncture?"
"What?"
"There's a doctor in town. A Chinese doctor. He's very good, I've been seeing him for years. There's a treatment called acupuncture where the doctor puts these very fine wire needles a little way into your skin, to help the body's energy flow better."
About to strike the forks again, Lottie's hand stopped in the air. Looking back and forth from the gleaming silver tines to Minzheng's face, she answered slowly. "You think those needles will help? To — to bring the sound down under my skin, to stop these things from growing?"
"It might. And if this danger is something that has to be fought, if…" He grit his teeth in frustration, momentarily forgetting the English phrase for death ground. "If a time is coming when you have to fight or die, when retreat isn't an option? It's better if you can choose the moment, and come prepared with all your strength. And make sure the enemy doesn't know how strong you really are."
"Golly, pilgrim." Lottie shook her head, grimacing as the mouths stretched and snapped. "We sure could've used you during the war." She held out a hand. "Lottie Simmins. Take me to this doctor of yours."
He shook her hand, relief warming the tension in his gut. She was still in danger, but at least she wasn't rushing off to certain death. "Wu Minzheng. We'd better hurry. If I'm too late opening up shop my little sister will bite my head off."
Lottie scoffed, then sucked in a painful breath as she shrugged back into her coat. "If these things don't get better, she's gonna have some competition."

| Aces and Eights | and what he knows, you ain't had time to learn »


Janet hadn't even noticed that the pot of coffee was no longer in her hands, nor the wet feeling in her shoes. She hadn't really noticed anything in the past few seconds.
"Dead?!"

"I wonder what projects we'll be assigned to now."
Janet sank further into the chair.
"It's all so, unreal. They tried everything! I spent years keeping that thing in place for them so they could poke at it, and now no one's telling me how they did it."
Her watch had been ticking away for a solid seven minutes so far, and Sam still hadn't given her the money.
"I mean, it is pretty suspicious. If it wasn't for the situation I'd have thought it's a cover up. Just another thing above our clearance."
Crouched tightly against the floor, Sam could just about stick their arm under the cabinet. They hadn't realised how much stuff had built up in the office over the past few year, and already had several boxes full of crumpled files and broken staplers.
"What is it with you and your clearance? We know it's dead anyway, there's no two ways about it."
"Yeah, yeah. I know, believe me. You wouldn't be getting your fifty dollars otherwise. The whole thing is crazy though, and it's all happening so fast. You aren't even the first person to collect bets. I don't know if I'll still have any money for food left this month soon."
The broken stapler was still out of reach, and their arm was really starting to hurt.
"Well, you've no one to blame but yourself."
Janet glanced at her watch. Still no money.
"Do you think Aidan has found out yet? I haven't seen him in the building at all today."
Despite not being able to see under the cabinet, they managed to locate the stapler. Sam lurched, shoving their fingers towards it. Victory burned in their eyes. The stapler slid away.
"No, me neither. I did hear he would be working on-site a lot more though, so I doubt he's missed it."
The door creaked open, and a nervous face peaked in.
"Hi, um, Dr Stiegler told me to tell you guys that most of those files are gonna need to be burnt or something, so make sure all the classified stuff is in a different box if you wanna keep anything."

"Janice! Jan my man, you work in the B-wing right?"
Turning around, she saw a short figure waddling across the break room towards her.
"It's Janet. Um, no, sorry. I got transferred to wing-A back in March. Is something wrong?"
"Where is everybody? I can't find anyone from down there, and I know they still have some of the stationary I lent them. I'm trying to get it back before it gets 'redacted'."

Janet adjusted her collar. The last thing she needed right now was a demotion, and keeping track of little things always looks good on a containment specialist.
Across the hall, a shaking intern fumbled out of a door. Stiegler had a reputation for being irritable, but if she was leaving people in this state then a higher paycheck wasn't likely.
Not to mention most people had already been reassigned, taking the good jobs with them. She was a little disappointed with how few of her colleagues had said goodbye to her though.
"Oh, you were one of the containment people right, um, what was it?"
"Janet. Yeah, I was. Was she hard on you?"
The intern leant against a wall and breathed out.
"No, just a little, intense. Did you help kill it? I keep on asking how it happened but everyone's really hushed about it."
"That's the researchers's job, not mine. We just keep it in place. They won't tell me either, if it makes you feel any better. Hope the next assignment goes well, anyway."
They rolled their eyes.
"1689. I've heard it's not too bad, but is anything here not terrible?"
The door opened again, this time a little harder. Dr Stiegler's stern face peered down at her.
"Oh. You. Come on in then."

She squinted her eyes. The single functioning light in the foyer was flickering aggressively, and it was giving her a headache. The past twenty minutes had been spent cycling between fiddling with her pen, stretching, staring at the clock, and thinking about reinforced steel cages. One of the doors to the room rattled.
"Sorry about the delay. Normally the site director would do the briefing but we're a little understaffed so I'll be doing it instead. I'm Dr. Matton, the head researcher for 835. Call me Francis."
The man stopped, his eyes locked with Janet's.
"One person? One? Are you kidding me? I asked for at least fifteen people, heck the last time a major project closed we ended up with over twenty, and I didn't even ask for anybody."
"I thought I had missed the briefing."
Francis scowled and shook his head.
"If only. They let half the facility go on holiday at once and only send us one new worker. I can't believe it! They didn't even tell me before hand so I could make preparations, not like they ever tell me anything!"
The man lead Janet across the room to a dimly lit corridor. The only light was flickering even more aggressively than the one in the foyer.
"More power cuts? I can't believe it. At least Stiegler sent us someone competent. Keeping that thing in place must have been a hell of a job, where did you even get that much acid? It's a good thing they finally killed it though."
Several corridors and security doors later, Janet had lost the last of her ability to pay attention. At least as a member of the containment team she wouldn't have to share an office with him. He finally paused and turned to open one of the rooms connected to the corridor.
"This is the crappy break room. The good one is in the other side of the building which has been closed off. Can you believe how filthy this place is? I bet the cleaners have gone on holiday too."

"And, um, as you can see in table G, less than three percent of the experimental group still experienced traumatic symptoms after the week long exposure period, while only two percent of the control group reported similar results."
Maria stopped. Throughout the meeting, the committee had remained as lifeless as ever, only occasionally sending an emotionless question in her direction. This time they stayed quiet.
"Two, two sorry. Two of the members of the control group reported similar results."
Scanning over her notes, she turned back to the screen.
"Additionally, a standard week long course of class A amnestics was effective at fully restoring awareness to the patient in over 95% of the experimental group. Since staff thinking that the thing they're containing doesn't need containing is an obvious no go, this would open the option up of allowing staff to receive the treatment without leaving their project."
A few members of the committee glanced at each other. One even changed expression.
"What standard course of amnestic is that? Class A amnestics are typically single use."
"Oh, um, the amnestics team wrote class A in the report. I can send an email to one of them now, if you'd like."
"No, please carry on with the presentation. We will file for a competency review afterwards."
"Okay, um. I was a member of the memetics team, not the amnestics team, just in case you, never mind. So, in terms of the initial exposure to the agent, we used a new memetic transfer technique based on some of Reyes's work. Since it was engineered specifically for this project, the process ended up being very cost effective, and the exposure is almost effortless."
Maria gestured across the room to the observation window.
"To demonstrate, here we have D-2134, a survivor of the recent 682 containment breach. As I'm sure you've noticed over the past few minutes, they're currently seriously distressed. We've been playing recordings taken during the breach in order to cause that."
The committee had indeed noticed the screaming child in the adjacent room. At least one member was very excited about it.
"All we have to do is display an image carrying the agent to the target, and you should see the relief begin immediately."
She pushed a button on her laptop. The committee stared at the crying girl, and after a short while, she pushed the button again. When this did nothing, she decided to hold it down. The door slammed open behind her, and the room turned to see a very frustrated woman in the process of pulling out an ear piece.
"Stop it! If you wanted me to shove an image in her face you should have got it cleared for testing first. They wouldn't even let me give it to one of the blind specialists!"
The committee murmured. She could feel her name being added to the list for review, along with the amnestics team.
"What, oh. I swear I sent them all the paperwork. I think I still have one of the prototypes in my bag though, but it might be a bit infectious."
The committee murmured a bit louder. Rummaging through her satchel on the desk, Maria could feel her name being added to an even nastier list.
"I swear it's in here somewhere. Maybe I left it behind when I moved offices."
This time you could almost make out what the committee was saying, and as one gray face added Maria's name to a much, much nastier list, another took the opportunity to turn the person sitting next to them.
"682 containment breach? I thought they killed it."