The Hall of Humans Extraordinaire was gloomy with the light of dawn, and dusty from the foot traffic of the day prior. Today, the Circus would be quiet and contemplative. Their stay at this location had come to the end of four days, and that meant that the Circus was going to be packing up and moving soon. However, due to a scheduling error, Herman Fuller's Circus was stuck with something that rarely happened; downtime. The Circus need not be packed for another two days, as the next location had not been fully staked out just yet. Most people would stay in their rooms or around the mess halls, others would choose to pack early anyways, and others would walk away from the Circus to hike outside the fairgrounds. But now most were asleep still, enjoying one of few days where they could sleep in and enjoy their dreams. Brainy, however, was to work.
After cleaning himself off as best he could with a spigot by Nixie's tank (the only one at head level, and Brainy had yet to discover the location of any showers), and changing his clothes with a uniform provided by Manny, Brainy set himself to janitorial duties around the Circus. He expected to need to ask for help at some point today, but there were several jobs that Brainy felt would be self explanatory, and he would rather get things done earlier than later. As such, Brainy had entered the dim, dirty blue tent of the Hall, ready with a mop and water, several sprays for various stains and other uncleanly offenses, soaps of all kinds, and rags galore. His white janitor cart, becoming somewhat brown itself with disuse, clinked and jostled over the rough terrain of the grassless fairgrounds. Brainy assumed that the cart seemed so unused not because nobody cleaned around here, but that it was a shared job. Now it was his job, though. He'd better be good at it, too. Brainy had never been very close with any Mechanical Merrymaker back in Wonder World!™, and he'd never stuck around to see them do their job, so Brainy felt rather in the dark on the matter. Not that he wouldn't try his best. He simply expected to be reprimanded for something he didn't know he had to do.
With the worst expected, Brainy set valiantly forward. He'd be sure to keep each and every stall in the Hall simply sparkling. Dusting this and that — an ornamental assortment of jewelry in one stall, a wooden mannequin in another — and spraying and scrubbing other things — namely a metal sign promoting Zoltan's third eye act — Brainy eventually came to a mirror. "Eugh," Brainy exclaimed, "has no one ever bothered to clean this grubby thing?"
It sat on a stand, leaned back on one leg, in the back of a small circular stall. Tall black candles ran in a crescent behind and around it, all unlit but melted with use. "Pepper's Haunted Mirror!" a sign boasted, "Just [　　　　] to see a real life ghost!". Space was left for a cost to be written. Currencies and prices changed depending on the location of the Circus. All the same, this one seemed less worn than others. A new act? Whoever Pepper was, they clearly didn't take good care of their props. The mirror had smudges, dirt, and other marks all over it. Fortunately, it was glass, and glass was pretty easy to clean. Brainy put down the cart's handle, grabbed the spray, and got to work.
A scrub here, a wipe there. A spray all of everywhere. In less than 10 minutes, Brainy could actually see his own reflection. Appreciating his own work, Brainy waved at himself. Brainy remembered when image was everything. He appreciated being somewhere where people seemed to revel in the more disgusting and unruly of looks. It was truly a weight off his back.
"Thanks."
"Huh?" Brainy's thoughts were suddenly interrupted. After several seconds of standing in place, Brainy began to search for the source of the voice. No one else seemed present… each stall of the Hall was clearly empty. Brainy turned back to the mirror and jumped. "Gee monetley!" Staring back at Brainy was the visage of a pale blue teenage girl with braided pigtails and a dress that Brainy had only ever seen people wear in pictures and at costume parties.
"Sorry to startle you, just, no one ever cleans my mirror." Her face didn't look all that sorry. "Besides, I didn't think we had a janitor." Her spectral presence slowly leaked out of the mirror and stood just in front of Brainy. "You new?"
Brainy waited a second as he processed the image before him. "Uh… yeah, I'm new. Never seen a real life ghost before, though! Thought the haunted mirror thing was just a bit." Brainy backed away slightly examining the area around the mirror for any tricks.
"Nope, it's really me."
"Well," Brainy said with satisfaction after having picked the mirror up off of its stand and putting it back down, "you're pretty."
"Ugh, I was hoping that getting bought by the Circus would ensure that I didn't get hit on by older men."
"Hey! Okay, first of all, A, you're older than I am, and B, I am not old."
"You look old."
"Oh and C I wasn't hitting on you, I was complimenting you, and if you're stuck up enough to not be able to take compliments than I will be on my merry little way." And so Brainy fiddled his various cleaning apparatus back into his cart, and went on to the other stalls. Turning back, the mirror had gone silent and normal once more. Brainy frowned, but only for a moment. Then, back to work.
Thinking the interaction over, Brainy worried that he had forgotten to take his pills that morning. Thankfully, a quick run over of his breakfast in his mind dispelled that illusion.

Brainy vacuumed one of the dorm trailers. One of the guest talents, someone local who they picked up to work with the circus for a bit, had just moved out. One day until everything got packed up again. The trailers were going to be cleared and used as storage space, and Brainy was going to help vacate one of them — or push everything far enough to the side that they could store more things in there. There were numerous dead insects and spiders and other various bugs in this one. "The guest must have had a pretty exciting show," Brainy thought.
In vague recollection, Brainy remembered one of those videos he saw in the Toy Tinker break room. Someone, yellow with black hair, had put on an old VHS of the Little Misters performing on tour with the Circus. After the Circus had changed their image, Brainy remembered. It was a popularity stunt — the Little Misters thought it was so cool of the Circus to shape up like that, they used their own celebrity-hood to bring attention to the new, improved Circus of the Disquieting. Their lineup went a more spooky, disturbing route to fit in with the Disquieting part of the Circus's name. The songs they came up with for that tour wound up in their first Halloween album, "A Nightmare Subverted", who's Disc 1 was a lot more family friendly than their Disc 2. Not only was that a crazy month long stunt they pulled, but it was one of the first real rebellions against Dr. Wondertainment from the Misters. This was all before Holly Light was in charge, and the last Dr. Wondertainment was a bit more cowardly and concerned for image. Where Holly Light has taken up a "freedom and retribution" policy, the previous Dr. Wondertainment, Cornelius Młynarczyk, thought it best to shield the Wonder World!™ populace from the controversial decisions and situations surrounding the Misters' existence and role in the Wondertainment brand. Thankfully, that's all been sorted out, and the Little Misters have a lot more creative license now. Decidedly un-Wondertainment sometimes, but they do still put out the yearly kid's album.
When they were on tour with the Circus, Brainy thought they might have stayed in a trailer just like this. Must have been a bit funny — this was a Circus that at one point tried to copycat the Misters, when the namesake's Herman Fuller was in charge, and that resulted in a copyright battle. Literally. Herman Fuller conceded after some hour or something of robot pursuit. The Misters must have had some fun, joking about that kind of a past. But now the Circus was a frequent buyer of Wondertainment candy and products. The new owners, Manny and whatsername (Brainy didn't make it through the whole VHS), had really repaired a lot of bad relations.
Dismantling the bed, out of which a tarantula and several centipedes fell, Brainy chuckled as his comparison became apparent. In the same way that the Misters had rebelled, Brainy was doing his own rebellion against his previous life. Against the Dr. Wondertainment brand. Finding his own feet, his own nature. The world seemed much bigger than Wonder World!™ had felt. There was a point that he believed that was all he needed. All the pastels, the candies, the shops and toys and the rides, rollercoasters, the Wonder Tower, the tourists. But the world was so much bigger than that. He couldn't even really put it all together, just how big it was. Not that he didn't miss the cityscape. Or the products. Or the break rooms, the casual banter. Or his friends. 3T and Tongue, Ribbit, Holly. Pinwheel.
Polly.
Brainy sat against the wall, a bedpost in one hand and a screwdriver in the other, and stared at the opposing beige doors that could open the back of the trailer so it might be loaded. He missed it all. He didn't need his old job back, though. He had a new job. Rides. Not that he had had any ideas yet — his brain wasn't geared towards rides, he was still stuck on toys. He should have made them a gift shop. The Circus didn't have a gift shop yet, Brainy could have made that. If he proved himself as competent at what he set off to do, he could ask for that to be his next assignment. Then he could be a toymaker again. A Toy Tinker, somewhere far from home. With the clarity that only came from hindsight…
"I overreacted."
And not only that, but he had not done his best to judge the motivations and feelings of others. Basic things that everyone had been taught. He had not approached Polly on her own, he had not asked her why she did this, he did not give her any chance to excuse herself. He had become emotional, overreacted in front of a whole crowd, and then forced himself into an exile because he was being too unruly. An exile that, Brainy figured, he very much deserved, but did not do any good for him. They even paid him. They even gave him the Tourist Trap, a wonderful house, to be his time away. They even… let him make a new toy.
Several disturbing images passed before Brainy's eyes. Several, maybe more than several, things that Brainy wished to forget.
Brainy held his head in his hands.
Brainy should have taken his meds.
Brainy hit his head on the wall several times.
Brainy took another two hours just to dismantle the bed.
When Brainy came out of the trailer, someone Brainy didn't recognize pushed him on his back and yelled at him, but he couldn't hear what they were saying. For once, Brainy knew that no one could beat him up worse than he did himself. Brainy probably deserved this anyways.

The Circus was finally packing up. The tents had been collapsed and rolled up. The stands had been broken down, the rides (though they were few) deconstructed and their parts stuffed into the backs of extradimensional vans and trailers. Candy making machines, catalogs, costume racks. Just about everybody had something to do, and the process was made easier since Brainy had cleaned everything the two days prior. Some, but not many, had given Brainy gratitude for his work. Many others either never got to thank Brainy, or, Brainy suspected, ignored his existence. At any rate, Brainy was unable to make any casual conversation unless you count being directed and given chores, or asking for tasks to do. Disassembling stalls in the Hall, gathering several documents from around the various locations, helping take down the light and sound systems from the Big Top.
Eventually, there was nothing left to do, and everyone had packed in. The Kaleidoscope was being readied to bring everyone to their next location, and people had taken positions as drivers or passengers. Some even rode on the tops of vehicles, throwing caution to the wind. Others had their very own vehicles, towing nothing, just because they were either that important or that wealthy. Brainy, however, neither drove, rode, or passengered. No, Brainy instead was shoved in with the luggage.
He attempted to make himself comfortable amongst the metal components of some spinning contraption and the woolen rug of some circus act. The whole place was horribly dusty, and too dark to make out nearly anything. The faintest of glows came from the crack where the back doors opened. Brainy breathed deep, and buckled down for what was expected to be a near ten hour car drive. He situated his small suitcase — a gift from Manny which held only his tiger stripe suit, blanket, pills, a piss jar, and currently a sandwich — into a nook next to him as the rumble of the truck started up. "Here goes," he said aloud, "ten hours."
The first hour passed without incident. Brainy had passed the time by trying to think of a ride. His mind was unfortunately clouded with other, less welcome thoughts though, which made it hard for him to focus. He was having trouble forgiving himself. For good reason, he thought. But it did make his life a bit harder. "Everyone deserves happiness," he told himself. He believed it. He really did. But he couldn't feel it. Brainy tried to do something he'd never done before… Brainy tried to meditate.
His mom told him about it once. You were supposed to sit, close your eyes, breathe, and try and clear your mind of any thoughts just by focusing on your breath. She told him that if he couldn't really clear his head, then he should try to just make all his thoughts be about his breath. It would nearly amount to the same thing. So he counted them.
1… 2… 3… 4… 5… 6… 7… 8… 9… 10… 11… 12… 13… 14… 15… 16…
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8.
1, 2, 3, 4, 1, 2, 3, 4, 1, 2, 3, 4, 1, 2, 3, 4…
1 and 2 and 3 and 4 and 1 and 2 and 3 and 4 and.
1 & 2 & 3 & 4 & 1 & 2 & 3 & 4 &…
Hmmm, hmm hmm hmhmmm, hmm hmm hmhmmm, hmm hmm hmhmmm…
Daaaa, dot, dot dodaaaa, dot, dot dodaaaa, dot, dot dodaaaa, dot, dot dodaaaa, dot, dot dodaaaa~!
A rapatat tat, daaaa, dot, dot dodaaaa, dot, dot dodaaaa,a rapatat tat, daaaa, dot, dot dodaaaa, a rap, tat, tat! Ha reebo, ha rahbo, ha rack tat, tat, a rapatat tat, daaaa, ha rahbo, ha rack tat, tat, a rapatat tat, daaaa, dot, dot dodaaaa, dot, dot dodaaaa, a rapatat tat! Ha woogie boogie, ha waggo baggo, ha reebo, ha rahbo, a rapatat tat, ha BOOOOOHHHHH daaaaae mioooonnn, a bapa dabbo, la pappa pappa pappa pappa dabbo, roh? Roh! Roh? Roh miiiOOOOONNNN, daaaa, dot, dot dodaaaa, dot dot da rabba, bo babba, bo rabba babba tat a rap tat daaaa, da rabba, bo babba, bo rabba babba tat a rap tat, a schcooby dooby, a schooby dooby, reeeeeeeeeeezzzzziduuuuuuue, miiion, BOH mion, BOH dae mion! BOH —
Someone laughed.
"Boh… buh… wh-who's there?!"
The feminine, youthful laughing grew only higher.
"I'm sorry, I thought I was alone, uh, I'll shut up… stupid…"
"No," snrk, "no it's fine," tss tss tss.
"…Pepper?"
Brainy, now looking more closely, could make out a faint blue glow from beneath a cloth covering.
"Yeah it's me, you dingus. What were you doing?"
Brainy blushed, but it's not like Pepper could see it. "Singing! It's called singing, for your information, and I don't much appreciate being eavesdropped!"
"What? It's not like I could help it, I'm stuck back here same as you."
"Well why didn't you tell me?"
Pepper shrugged, but it's not like Brainy could see it. "I don't usually like talking, especially not with people I don't really know."
"…Oh. Well, I'll shush then. Sorry for singing…"
"No! No, it's fine, okay? You can sing. And, you know, you may have been a bit, heheh, silly, but you do have a nice voice."
Brainy blushed only more. "Th-uh, thank you."
"No problem, dork."
Another ten minutes passed in silence, and Pepper's glow subsided. The room was once again dark, except for the crack, and silent, except for the rumble of the engine. "Well," Brainy said, "it's going to be another… many hours, you know?"
No response.
"And I know I may be a stranger, but everyone starts as strangers, so that's not such a solid criteria for not talking to someone. I know I'm going to be bored to death if I don't have something to do, and you're here, so… well, would you like to talk?"
The room remained silent. Brainy sighed, and tried to lay back down.
"I'd like that." The glow came back.
"Oh! Good!" A pause. "Well, uh, what do you have to talk about."
"Get me out from under this cloth, first. I can't really look at you, or apparate, from under here."
"Oh, of course!" Brainy got up and nearly split his head open on something hard and sharp. After several crashing noises, and oodles of tripping over the unseen obstacles in the pitch black rough terrain, Brainy made his way over to Pepper's faint blue glow.
"Man, don't kill yourself over me, jeez."
"No, it's fine, it's fine!"
Brainy, after struggling with the cloth snagging on nearly everything, removed the sheet and saw the gleam of Pepper's recently cleaned mirror. Staring back at him was an inquisitive, judgy looking teenage girl. "Here we are…" Brainy began to lift the rather heavy mirror up and out, but slipped and let it drop.
"Holy shit, man! I don't know what happens if you shatter my mirror! Jesus!"
"Sorry, sorry sorry sorry, it's just so dark in here…"
"Oh my god, maybe this is a bad idea —"
"No, no there is a way to do this. Look, you glow, right? Now that the cloth is off of you, come out of the mirror, and you can be my guiding light for me to prop this thing up."
"Alright, don't lose your footing…"
Pepper climbed out of her mirror like someone getting out of a pool, and illuminated the space with a dim blue light. Suddenly endowed with the ability to see and find footholds, Brainy heaved the mirror up and out of its recess in the luggage and propped it against a large sign that read "Baker Bailey's Breadilicious Bouncing Baklava!". Afterwards, at Pepper's request, Brainy helped maintain the mirror's stability by piling other heavy bags beside and in front of it.
"There we are!" Brainy sighed with satisfaction, and laid back on several metal pipes used for the scaffolding of the big top.
"Well, okay, here I am."
Brainy clapped.
"Thank you, thank you. Okay, so, here's a question that's been bugging me. Why are you back here?"
"Well, why are you back here? You've got just about all the same rights as I do, you should be up front somewhere."
"Hard to fit a mirror in a car seat, you know."
"Not that hard to fit a mirror in one of those passenger cabins they have."
"Well… that's true."
"I just don't see why you're back here. And without much protection, either! You're in a mirror, that could just, break! That seems so unsafe! Unruly! Disrespectful!"
"Well, I'm just… I'm not friends with many people, they think of me as more of a prop than anything."
"Well that's just rude."
"It's okay."
"Mean."
"Maybe."
"Mean and rude and I don't like it."
"Heehee, tss."
"What? What did I say?"
"You just have a funny way of talking."
"O-oh. Do I?"
"Yeah, you really do. It must be some Wonder World thing."
"Tee emm."
"Hmm?"
"Wonder World, tee emm. You missed the trademark. And if I was really a stickler, you didn't really emphasize it correctly either. It's supposed to be Wonder World! Tee emm."
"Wonder World."
"No, Wonder World!"
"Wonder World!"
"Yeah! Tee emm. Wonder World! Tee emm."
"That's so weird."
"No it's not! It's enthusiastic. Wonder World! Tee emm is a happy place, and we represent it with the name too."
"It's also trademarked."
"In a market as big as the multiverse, you want any and all intellectual properties to be copyrighted. Copycats and thieves are everywhere."
"But you're not even selling it."
Brainy looked confused. "What does that have to do with it?"
"I…" Pepper paused. "Well I'm not sure. I don't know business practice very well. But it seems nonsensical to copyright something you're making no money off of. It's a city, for cripes sakes."
"Harumph. Foreigners just don't get it. Ask any local and they'll help you understand."
"You're a local, and you're not helping me understand."
Brainy only rolled his eyes. "I don't feel like it."
"Okay, fine. Anyways, you didn't tell me."
"What?"
"You didn't tell me why you're back here."
"Oh! Uh, well… nobody really invited me up front."
"Yeah, they wouldn't have to, you can just go and find a seat."
"Mmm, well… nobody really wanted me up front…"
"Nonsense."
"No, it's true. I was having trouble finding people who didn't look all… scary at me. Even Tinkles looked a little hostile. I didn't know what to do, so I uh… I bunked back here. Figured I'd get out of everyone's hair that way."
"Aww."
"Hmm?"
"That's sad."
"Not much sadder than you, they don't even treat you like a person."
"Well, the people who know me do."
"Like who?"
"Well, Zoltan sets up across from me, and we talk sometimes. Lolly's made it a point to visit me every location we're at, at least twice. Usually at night, because she says my glow and 'ghostly appearance' are cooler then."
"Makes sense."
"It's not an excuse to not visit a friend in the day, though."
"Aww."
"Hmm?"
"Well that's a little sad."
"Eh, whatever. I get by."
Pepper reclined into a seated position, parts of her dress and arms phasing through scrap metal and rope.
"Uhh…" Brainy inspected her. "Can you feel that?"
"Huh?"
"You're passing through things."
"Yeah, I can do that."
"So why sit down? Does it feel better?"
Pepper shrugged. "No, not really. It's just something people do, and I've kept most of my habits from when I was alive. Like breathing, and talking at a normal pace. Sighing. Walking instead of drifting. Maintaining an appearance at all. I don't have to do any of it, but, it makes me feel more human than if I didn't."
Brainy twiddled his fingers and looked down and to the left. He also bumped his leg up and down to some unheard beat. "Uhh," Brainy began, "I have a question."
"Shoot."
"I don't want to be rude, I bet you get this a lot —"
"How'd I die?"
Brainy nodded shamefully. "Well, how'd you get stuck in a mirror, more like…"
"Ugh, well, I caught pneumonia. Died. My parents couldn't bare to part with me at such a young age. They bound my soul to this mirror so they could talk to me. It was pretty nice, all things considered, but then they died, and I was stuck here, and I've been treated like an object since. Maybe 'cause I am one, in a way."
"Well, your parents sounded nice."
"If they were so great they would have thought this out and not trapped me in a mirror!" Pepper sighed. "But they were nice, yes. Only the best intentions, you know. All that crap." The two sat in silence for a couple of minutes. Brainy couldn't figure out what to say. "Well how about you?"
"What? What about me?"
"How'd you end up here?"
"I already told you, no one wanted me up —"
"No no no, not here in the back of an extradimensional truck, here in Herman Fuller's Circus of the Disquieting. Ex-Wondertainment, too. How's that work?"
"Well… wait, who told you I was Wondertainment?"
"You did?"
"When?"
"You were mumbling to yourself in that first hour. I caught a couple things, Wondertainment being one."
"Oh… oh, I'm sorry, I do that. I talk to myself a lot. Helps me think."
"I get it."
"Yeah."
Pepper raised her eyebrows at him.
"Oh, right right, okay, why I'm here. Uhh… well, okay, so, I wasn't always Wondertainment. I'm… not a Wondertainment local, really. I'm a foreigner."
"Oh really?"
"Yeah, really. I was born outside of Wonder World, tee emm, and that's why I've got no Wondrous properties."
"Wondrous?"
"Yeah, when you grow up in Wonder World tee emm you get Wondrous. Weird. Wonderful. Magical. I never got that. That's why I'm just… a normal person. It's made me feel a little weird, but I met someone like me. Thomas Timothy Thompson, but we called him 3T. He wasn't Wondrous either, but he was local. Sometimes that just happens, and it's terrible for someone. We always try and make them feel welcome and accepted, but it does things to someone's self esteem when they're different like that. And there's always the people who don't help, which is always in poor taste. Meanies, they are. There are meanies wherever you go. You get nicknames for your Wondrous traits, but 3T, poor 3T, he didn't have any, but he had a really nice name, so we just named him 3T. That's why I was named Smarty, too. Because I was smart. Am. I'm smart. So everyone's always told me, anyways."
"You seem smart."
"Thank you. But, my dad was Wondertainment, and he was Wondrous. On a business trip he met my mom, and they had me, but dad went back to Wonder World tee emm, and he didn't take my mom with him. He was a Candy Catalyst, and I never met him. Wish I did." Brainy sniffled a bit.
"You okay?"
"Yes! I am, I'm sorry, I've just been stuffed up lately, don't pay attention to it. Anyways, uh, where was I… oh, right. So, I was an only child, and my mom was a single mom, so she had it real hard, but she did really well. One day, when I was really little, she left to get groceries, and…" Brainy sniffled again, "and I don't know what happened. But, it was night, and she never made it back. And then it was morning, and she still wasn't there. It took me another day to decide that I had to go look for her, but I'd never explored the city, and… and I just ended up wandering forever."
"Oh, Smarty…"
"So, I, uh, I did what I did best, and that was make things. With legos, and cardboard, and whatever I could find. I made them and I sold them to people to make money, which I would use to buy food, and that's how my days went. I was… I was in a bad place, when Wondertainment found me again. Said they'd been trying to find me, said they wanted to offer me a job. I thought it was a dream, you know? I never believed in Santa Clause, I never believed in the tooth fairy, and I never really believed in my mom's tall tales about my dad. At some point I figured it was easier to say he was magic than tell me that she'd slept with someone some night and didn't know him, or, or something like that. That he was off making other children's lives better, and that's why he couldn't stick around. But it was real." Pause. "It was real. And Wondertainment found me, and housed me. I wasn't really raised by any set of parents, but I had my own house and all my neighbors helped me out until I was old enough to have a job. Several babysitters would come to my house to check up on me, and sometimes stay the night with me. It was nice. It felt like a dream. Like I had dreamed forever. Like I'm still dreaming and never woke up."
…
"I mean, think about it. Stress does unimaginable things to a person. It's more likely that I'm laying in an alley somewhere, either drugged up or just plain crazy, lost in my own hallucinations, but… but it's just been going on too long for me to really think that anymore. It's taken a long time, but I'm ready to believe magic is real. That this isn't all some kid's fantasy. I'm pretty sure it's not." Brainy took a deep, shuddering breath. "But that's, that's my story, heh. Circus hired me to make rides after that, but I'm a janitor until I can think one up. That's it."
"I mean, I'm sorry to hear that."
"It's okay, I'm okay now."
"I know, but still."
"Right…"
"But you didn't really answer my question."
"Huh?"
"How'd you get here?"
"Oh!"
"Yeah."
"Oh I'm so sorry!"
"Don't be, it's okay."
"I get sidetracked so easily, I'm sorry."
"Just get on with it already you doof."
"Okay, okay, umm…" Brainy looked dumbfounded. "I…" He waggled his jaw. "Hey, I'm so sorry, but, that's something I'm not ready to talk about."
"Okay."
"I'm sorry."
"No that's alright. We don't know each other too well."
"Yeah."
"So it can wait."
"Yeah…"
The tension was tangible.
"Well… look at us, eh? Two people who ended up in the Circus probably by complete accident."
"Heheh, sorta."
"Fallen from grace, us two!"
"Mmm, yeah."
"Hobos on the road with the Circus, yeah. Sorry I can't hug you, I'm sorta, you know, intangible." Brainy frowned. "Oh, and sorry I called you old, and thought you were hitting on me." Brainy's brow furrowed even further. "Uh… and thank you, you know, for saying I was pretty. I appreciate it." Brainy tapped his feet and looked toward the floor. "Uh… Smarty?"
"Hobos."
"What? Yes, hobos. What of it?"
Brainy shot up and began to pace as best he could on the uneven ground. "Homeless!"
"Yes, hobos, homeless, same thing."
"You, you don't have a home."
"I don't."
"And you, you're a ghost! You haunt things!"
"Hardy hardy har, sure thing, buddy. I sure do haunt things."
"And you want to be treated like more than an object, you want more than just sideshow, you want people to notice you, even though you push people away."
"Heyy, stop it with that. You're not my therapist. Shut up with that."
Brainy clapped his hands together and danced for a hot second. "Pepper!"
"What? What is it?"
"Pepper Pepper Pepper Pepper!! I have it! I have one!"
"One what?"
"A ride idea — Pepper, Pepper, how would you like a home? Not this mirror, not your own stall, but Pepper, a house."
"Don't tell me this is going where I think it's going."
"Oh, oh but it's gonna be great."
"Don't."
"Pepper! How would you like a haunted house?"

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w/ Wondertainment Theme

w/o Wondertainment Theme


… It's you.
I should be less surprised. We knew you would return, didn't we? The one who returns. That's you.
You'll always come back for them, won't you? For the stories. Have you heard the tale of the fairy in a bottle? I'm sure you have, once upon a time. Or maybe the myth of the moon who cried - ah! What about the twins, those twins who saw light and shadow?
You're a funny one, my friend. A strange breed… you with your infinite hunger for the story. Like a voracious beast, you devastate every page, every line, every letter - until there is nothing left. A proper, regal force of nature, an uncompromising glutton of the fable, satisfied only until you again yearn for the next tale to be told. And it will be told. Nothing else will do. You cannot live without them, can you?
And I'm not so sure they can live without you.
… Mm. We wish you a happy birthday, Gears. Until the next one.

Little Brothers are Scared of Things In the Dark, by Dexanote

Happy Birthday. And more to come.

When I was younger, my family lived in an older, wartime house in one of the older suburbs. It was a nice house, kinda small but we made do.
I mean, not that my brother or I would know. He's a few years younger than me and used to be stuck to me like glue. We got along really well, I mean, I was kinda a crappy older brother sometimes, but I never beat him up or yelled.
I remember when he was little he used to have nightmares all the time. Maybe like four, five times a week for months he would come into my room and beg to sleep in my bed. He was maybe three or four- No, three, he was probably four, and I was eight or nine? Whatever. Just I remember he would come in, and be all gentle and tell me he had a really bad dream and wanted to ‘be in my room for safety'.
I was really annoyed for a while, but I gave up and yielded after the… I don't know, four months? I remember just him walking in and he was nearly in tears. He laid down and curled up and I just… It was hard. He was so scared. He was trembling. I never saw anything like that before. I don't think I've ever seen anybody that scared before…
I'm sorry, it's hard to remember that. It stuck with me, you know? So I started staying up later and waiting for him to come in. It was always around 1 in the morning. Four or five days a week. Mom and Dad thought it was just night terrors - mom had them when she was little, she grew out of them. I didn't really believe that, I was nine.
Once we were watching cartoons and I asked him what his bad dreams were about. He only said “the crawly thing is there”, and refused to… explain anything more. He was a little kid, but I was frustrated, I wanted my little brother to stop being scared at night.
I remember it vividly. That night I snuck out and went to sleep in his bed. He was sound asleep in mine, I just went to his and laid down under the covers. Maybe I would have bad dreams if I was here? He never had them in my room, or at grandma's house, or-
I'm sorry I'm just remembering. I just remember… I heard some kind of scratching noise. It was like this soft scratching- not like it was gentle, but scratching something soft against the wall? I looked around in the dark for it and-
It was just in the dark, it was on the ceiling. I just saw this… white face, just this little round thing on the ceiling, with these big black eyes. They were so watery looking, just these gross black circles reflecting the street lights.
I turned on the light and it just twisted and went away. Like it was gone. I left the bedroom and went back to my bed and tried to forget about it.
… I was a good brother, I think. He's a good kid, he's a little bit of a pain in the butt but he's a good kid. He gets in trouble all the time. Grounded a bunch of times when we were little - oh, no, just little stuff. He'll forget a birthday or run a curb or walk over a neighbour's garden but it's all harmless stuff now. Even when he was younger he just got grounded all the time.
Me? I just got grounded once. Dad found me trying to bury stuff next to a burned up patch of the back lawn. I was… well. I was nine. Our new cat found a… big mouse, and brought it to me as a present. I was just trying to bury it, and I thought I should give it a funeral pyre. Swear that's all it was.
She's a good cat. Always liked sleeping in my brother's room. Hey, do you have a cat? Let's talk about my cat instead.

Stargazing, by Captain Kirby

Happy Birthday!

“Hey, hey! Look! Over there!”
“Skylar, I'm driving I can't look.”
“No just take a peak. The clouds finally parted over there!”
After four hours of driving up and down the Rocky Mountains, we finally found the stars. Which was a relief because I was certain this star gazing trip was going to flop.
“Oh shit you're right.”
“No you need to take a left.”
“That's not what I— oh never mind.”
“You mind if I roll the windows down?”
“Nah, go ahead.”
Cool midsummer air rushed over my face. It woke me up a little, which was nice. Don't want to crash the car in the middle of the mountains at half-past midnight. I took the left, and then a right.
“How much you bet the clouds are going to close up the moment we get there?”
“Oh don't even say that.”
“You know that's this night has been going.”
I scowled. Skylar laughed a little.
“You know I'm just giving you a hard time.”
“I know, I know.”
“Besides, it's more about the company than the stars.”
“True but… it's been so long for me. Too much light pollution back at school for me to do this during the semester.”
I took another turn subconsciously. I navigate winding mountain roads mostly by muscle memory. They all work the same where it takes a bend followed by another bend. At some point there weren't guard rails anymore, but it didn't quite register for me. I was too deep in conversation. I used to say that stargazing is just an elaborate excuse to talk to someone for a few hours.
“Wait! Pull off here!”
I don't remember when we entered a bowl, but we had. I pulled off the dirt road and stopped the car.
“We made it,” Skylar said. She pointed up, where the clouds had parted just enough for the Milky Way to shine through. We jumped out of the car and climbed up on the roof. It was wonderful. Hundreds and hundreds of little lights twinkled overhead. I hadn't looked at a star map beforehand, so I couldn't recognize any of the constellations. But that didn't matter.
“Hey, pretty solid find tonight,” I said.
“You even know where we are?”
“No, but the car has GPS.”
It'd been so long since I'd seen stars. The clouds parted further, and the view began to engulf me. I felt small.
“I miss this.”
“Same.”
“It's a shame we won't get to do this for another three months.”
“Shame.”
The stars looked brighter as the view came closer. It molded over me, like a blanket.
“Thanks, Sky.”
And then clouds closed in. The view was gone, and with it the stars.
I drove home alone.

Corner of the Game Room, by UraniumEmpire

Happy birthday, Gears. Here's to 90 fucking more, G-d willing.

This isn't supposed to be a scary story. Just stuff I grew up with.
I mostly slept in the game room. Lars had his bedroom (oldest brothers typically did), Sam had her bedroom (and sisters rarely shared), and the littlest kid got to sleep on a futon in the game room we never quite got around to making part of the home.
Well, I guess it was technically part of the house. Just not really the home, if that makes any sense. You could chill in the living room, sure; I liked to, at least before my parents got home. Kitchen was nice, at least when you're making things for your friends. Sometimes I'd even explore the crawl space under the stairs, back when dad got too old to stomp. My home was pretty nice, I liked to think.
The game room was just creepy, really. Not even in the fun kinda creepy, like when we told stories about the bandaged man. Just sort of off-putting, in the kind of way photos on craigslist might be. Nobody really used it but me (parents didn't like guests and all that), so it was pretty sparse. No real "games", unless you counted my DS (which was taken out of the room often) or the broken ping pong table.
I don't know why, but we kept a lot of weird paintings up there, in the corner. Not really hung up or anything, no, just sitting around. I guess it's stuff my parents bought but never really got around to putting up, though I guess I question their taste. I mean, I didn't even really recognize them, style-wise. Lots of weird shapes and weird people, some doing weird things but most just staring.
I've often wondered what it is with weird paintings. I mean, I suppose they weren't any different from the things we draw, but the frame somehow makes them more…there. Like a testament to some weirdo's personality. More…human-like, I guess is one way of putting it. You sorta feel like there's some sort of action they're taking by existing. Maybe just that when you look at the painting, it looks back.
Maybe they were haunted? Who knows. I mean, I feel like everyone's seen that one weird painting they thought blinked back. Heck, a few of the game room ones did (some more than others). But does that mean they're special, or that humans just think they're special?
Of course, again, I sorta had to sleep in the game room, with a bed on the opposite wall of those weird paintings. Made it pretty hard to fall asleep.
Looking back, though, I think I was a bit more concerned with the choices I had. If I wanted to lay on my left side, for instance, I had to face the paintings. It's…pretty hard, knowing the weird faces are making eye contact with you. But then if I went to sleep on my right side, I had to deal with them staring at the back of my head. Mostly I just slept face down.
Tried moving them to face the wall, one time. Touching them felt weird, like there was some sort of imaginary television static, but nothing ever jumped out to kill me, at least. Just like them that they'd eventually be turned back to face my bed. It wasn't even all at once, either: over the course of a few days, one or two would just be back to facing me and my bed.
It was probably mom.
Eventually, I just decided to make an impromptu blanket fort and sleep in that. It was pretty awesome, I had to say. I mean, blanket forts are usually awesome, but it felt nice to be quote-unquote "protected" from the paintings.
Coming out each morning, though, I was still face to face with the weirdo paintings.
I don't think my siblings liked them much, either. I mean, I guess Lars shouldn't be expected to; Bro was jumpier than a beaten dog. Sam was better about hiding it, I think. She used to joke that I had an older older brother, Mark, who was fed to the paintings for being naughty. She was probably joking, but I didn't really find it funny.
Mom and dad didn't talk about the paintings much. I mean, I tried not to listen to dad, which is probably how I survived this long, but mom was mum on the issue. The few times I thought about asking her, I thought better…actually, I think I did ask her, one time. I don't remember her answer, but I remember it failing to stop my curiosity.
You know, come to think of it, I never really noticed either of them bringing a painting home. I mean, I don't know if the paintings ever changed; I think they did, at least. But it was always when I wasn't home, if it happened. Maybe I just wasn't looking hard enough.
Few years ago, bro left for college, and I got his room. I missed Lars, sure, but I was kinda glad not to have to look at those paintings anymore.
Not much else happens in this story. Three years later, and I'm off, too.
I don't really miss home. Having my own room is cool. I don't gotta deal with dad (though apparently mom's kicked the old sod out since then). Most of all, I'm just sorta happy I don't have to sleep in that room, again.

Snap, by fieldstone

Happy birthday!

"We got to brush those teethies, Kara. Come on, brush-brush-brush, it'll be quick." The infant ignored Tim's pleading and continued to squirm, crying in protest, until he finally wrestled her head upright and jammed the brush in her mouth.
"Good girl! Okay, quick now, brush brush brush." Sometimes she'd hold still once the toothbrush went in, but not tonight. She kept struggling and finally caught her tiny foot against his chest, pushing herself away from him. He nearly dropped her and tightened his grip, startled.
That was when he heard the noise.
It was like the dry crack of a tree branch, loud enough to echo in their tiny bathroom.
So loud it took him a moment to realize Kara had stopped crying.
He lifted her up, unbelieving. The baby's neck and back had snapped completely. He could hear the small bones in her spine crumbling against each other as her beautiful head drooped over his hand, limp as a rag.
No. How? No. No, no, no, oh baby, baby, baby—
"Marlene!" he sobbed, running for the living room. He hugged his daughter to his chest as gently as he could, but still he could hear her bones crackling against each other, a bag of twigs. "Fuck! No! Marlene!"
"Honey, what?" She started to stand as he rushed around the corner, but when she pushed herself off the couch her arm snapped at the wrist with a sickening crunch. She didn't have time to scream; her cheek struck the coffee table on the way down, crumpling her face like a rotten pumpkin. She lay still.
He had no words left - just a wail of anguish as he started across the room to her. He took one step, and then another, and then his shin snapped underneath him, pointed bone shredding through his calf.
The last sound he heard was shattering, like porcelain, as his skull hit the floor.

Her, by weizhong

Happy birthday Gears.

You've never seen her like this before.
In all the years that you've known her, you've never seen her like this before.
It's a shock, then, to see her so clearly distraught. To see the fat tears rolling down her cheeks, her ruby red lips quivering in despair, and great, racking shudders overcoming her shoulders. What could have possibly happened to make her feel this way?
You've known her since she was a little girl, barely big enough to walk on her own. Even then, she was beautiful in your eyes. It was the first moment that you laid eyes on her that she changed your life. So happy, so innocent, and so full of life; she wasn't like anyone that you had ever seen before. It was at that moment that you decided that she was perfect.
Which is why it was so shocking when you saw her like this.
Ah, well. In the end, you suppose she wasn't any different from the rest. It's a shame, you mused, as you finished climbing through her window, knife in hand.
Better luck next time.

Surreal Tableaus of The Warping Flesh, by LordStonefish

Gears, I adore you and wish all the best of luck with everything you set your heart on.

65 million years ago, the Chicxulub meteor killed the dinosaurs.
Five years ago, Cornell University published a neurological study saying that horror movies fundamentally alter the actual structure of our brain as we watch them.
In 2017, Youtuber and nature documentarian Austin Prilbitski was found brutally murdered outside Scranton, Pennsylvania. His skull was split like a flower, and the head below was almost liquid. There was a large hole missing from what was left of the torso.
One year later, rapper The Aggravate released his directorial debut to theaters, Seieki. Kenneth Turan of the Los Angeles Times called it "the sickest, grossest, vilest, most horrifying, most disgusting film ever made. Every frame is designed to confront you with the horrors of the most unthinkable kind. " Glenn Kenny, writing for rogerebert.com, hailed it as "the scariest horror film ever made." Peter Travers, of Rolling Stone magazine, awarded it five stars.
Yesterday, I woke up to find my family had left the house. The entire place was a mess, like someone had ransacked it. Books and food and furniture lay strewn everywhere. One of our cars was gone. I took the other one to get gas. There was no one in the streets. Papers blew in the wind, stores lay empty. The road by the multiplex was impassable as spillover parking for the theatre blocked the way. Through the maze of hastily parked vehicles a small girl in a pillowy white dress wandered, crying for her mother to come back. She was clutching a SpongeBob plush. It was stained with something pink and foul-smelling.
Tomorrow was

Fish Eyes, by Zyn

Hi Gears! Happy Birthday!

I knew when I bought the first fish that they didn't have eyelids. It's a natural fish thing. They sleep with their eyes open and while kind of weird (sometimes sleeping fish look dead) it didn't bother me until my fish started looking at me.
Not the kind of vague, barely interested look that they used to give me when I fed them, no. It was a full stare, the fish completely unmoving as it watched me cook dinner or lay on the couch. Sometimes I would move to another side of the room to avoid that stare. And the fish would swim over to the other side of the tank, and keep looking at me.
I don't know why I kept it.
I eventually was so creeped out that I tried to forget I had a fish. It had been kind of a spontaneous decision borne of a sort of loneliness, anyway. It was easy to just cut that part out of my daily routine. But the tank smell got so bad that I was forced to clean it, and I discovered that the fish had died. So I cleaned out the tank, flushed the fish away, and went on with life.
Then I started seeing the fish when I slept.
Never the fish itself, though, but the eyes. All of the people I saw in my dreams had fish eyes. The same eyes as the pet fish I owned that would always watch me.
I took medication to gain some dreamless nights. And then I started seeing people with fish eyes when I was awake, too.
I went out and bought a dragonscale betta. They have a special scale pattern that reaches past their gills and right into their face, see. Supposed to be like a dragon. Some of these fish have a condition where the scales grow past their face and right over their eyes, rendering them blind. Maybe somehow I subconsciously thought that this would be safer.
That fish currently has seven eyes. The normal ones it had when I bought it, and three more on its forehead, and a set of two that have grown near its gills. All seven of those eyes watch me.
That fish currently refuses food I give it, and seems to be getting larger and larger every day even though I've cleaned out the tank decorations and plants and there's nothing else it could be eating.
I don't know why I still keep it.

The only Sound, by tretter

May you celebrate as many more birthdays as you can count stars in the sky

I first heard the scuttling when I was house-sitting for my boyfriend's family two cities over. It started just after the belltower chimed the half hour past midnight. The house was dead silent, and even my footsteps somehow felt muted. And the only sound… was the scuttling.
At first I thought it was just the sound of the house groaning, it was a century house after all. But the sound was continuous. And it moved. It always moved. It never stopped moving. That raspy tek tek tekking as whatever it was crawled around in the wall of the living room.
I listened for a few more moments to the scuttering in the wall. It was almost rhythmic. A mesmerizing flow of what I assumed were insects. I sent a note to my partner.
“Hey, I think there are termites in the walls.”
“Uh, ok.”
Helpful. With that taken care of, I turned the lights off, left the room, and went to where I'd been sleeping. The scuttling stayed there, in the darkness. I did my usual nighttime rituals, taking a shower, re-checking my emails for the fifth time today. And I slipped into bed.
I woke up in a cold sweat. The clock next to my bed flashed “1:32”. The power had gone out. It took me a few minutes to fully wake up, but when I did, it was there. The scuttling. The sound of millions of miniscule mandibles moving and chewing in circles. Around my bed. I could hear them. And I could feel them. The sensation of tiny vibrations shaking every aspect of my being and my bed.
Unnerved by this, I leapt from my bed and ran down the hall to the garage. I hoped against all odds that they had a bottle of Raid somewhere in that mess of post-moving boxes. Or maybe bug repellent or anything. I could hear the scuttling follow me. Only stopping short when dove through the door into the concrete-floored garage.
I desperately tried to flick the lightswitch, but to no avail. The scuttling was still by the door. It almost seemed like it was waiting.
So I leave the house and spend the rest of the night in my car. I try to sleep, but I'm pretty sure I don't get any. I see the sun crest the horizon. But I don't hear the scuttling, and so I pretend to feel safe.
I spend the next hour steeling my nerves, and at the end of it, I rush inside. I get to the front door, and sanded glass in it seems to be moving but it's not. Something behind it is. And I hear the scuttling. The tiny tekking of whatever they are moving on the door and beyond it.
I run.
I get in my car and hold my face in my hands. I left my phone and wallet inside. I was alone. And out of the corner of my ear. I can hear it.
The grass next my car is shaking ever so slightly against the wind. A path leads from the front door of the house to my car. The glass on the front door is broken, I can see the shards glint in the dawning sun.
So I drive.
I drive until my car stops.
But I can still hear it. It's followed me somehow.
So I run until exhaustion slows me.
But I can still hear it.
So I walk. I walk until my feet stop working. And I fall to my hands.
I feel the ground tremble beneath me. And I can still hear it. The scuttling.
It's the only sound. I don't even have the strength to scream.

Someday, by Rigen

Seems like your clock's still ticking, Gears. For now, and forevermore.

You've been using the word "someday" far too often, you know?
Can we go to the beach? Someday. Can we ride a train? Someday. Can we go in a haunted house? Someday. Can we go to the mountain? Someday.
And when I fulfilled all those wishes on my own, you just stood there, grinning and clapping your hands as if it's my first step all over again. Can't you understand? Can't you see why I kept pestering you about them? Can't you see why I didn't laugh the same way you do? Why can't you see? It's all meaningless if it's not with you!
When is this someday you promised? A smile was all you gave me when I asked. You kept smiling and laughing and grinning and turning your back away. When is this someday?
When would you realize that a cold smile isn't an answer, dad?

Television Man, by MaliceAforethought

Happy birthday, Gears. Thanks for sticking around.

You love it, ooh how you love it. The cameras, the lights, the plush sofas and relentless chitchat with people you barely know. You love that strangers see you in the street and stare, nudge each-other and murmur. Lurch and trip as you catch them off-guard. You can imagine what they must be saying. "Is that him? Is that really him?" It always is, and occasionally you risk a glance. A quick, knowing look over the top of your trademark sunglasses. Watching their eyes widen and their hearts beat faster. Once a month, you permit yourself a wink.
Today is a recording day, as all the best days are. You walk through the open doorway of the studio, basking in the awed silence that fills the room. Past the front desk (with a slight smile to the girl on reception), through the double glass doors at the back that lead to the rest of the building, stop to pick up your coffee from the lounge where it's waiting just as it always is. You nod respectfully to the interns, slumped over their monitors in endless research and fact-checking, beam a wide grin to the guest as you shake their hand warmly. "Oh yes, so good to have you here, can't wait to talk to you, can't wait at all, no sense in dallying of course, schedules and all that, can't wait, simply can't wait." They mutter something indistinct in response, and your smile, already bordering on rictus, widens further. "Great honour to have you hear, such a great honour. Can't wait, really."
You stride onto the set as the lights flare on and the click-click-click of the cameras starts filling the room. You take a deep breath, inhaling the scent that permeates the area — a potent mix of dust and mud, as home to you as anywhere else on earth. A coy nod to the lead technician, and you're away, the sheer power of the moment filling your veins. You slide into your seat, fix the camera with a stony, serious look, and begin as you always do.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, remain in your homes. Do not go outside, I repeat, do not go outside. It is no longer safe." You pause for dramatic effect. Just in front of you, the cameraman falls limply from his equipment. A voice at the back of your head reminds you that you'll have to get some more twine on the way home. Stupid stuff rots through in no time. Still, nothing to be done for the moment. "This is an emergency broadcast."
The studio lights begin to fizzle out around the second half of the segment, but it doesn't worry you. Your guest is as charming as ever, swaying slightly as their eyes stare at something nobody else can see.
All around the country, as your voice crackles across the speakers, television screens flicker to life. Just as they always do. And in front of you, the camera keeps rolling, rolling, rolling along in the dark. Just as it always does.

Cheese, by DrCaroll

Happy birthday!

The embodiment of total darkness filled the room following a loud crash created by lightning, rain, and God's fury.
My first reaction, of course, was to go to my brother's room. We were the only people in the house who would gladly stay up until the ungodly hours of the night, and therefore, we just about only had each other.
Just more than a week ago, we heard a strange knocking on our window. Not to say that the knocking in particular was in a strange manner, but its source was clearly unknown. At first, my brother and I just thought it to be a branch of some sort. That's when we realized that we don't have bushes near our window, and that the knocking came in a chronological order rather than at the same time.
Unfortunately, our scared little minds got the best of us as we jumped to conclusions and assumed that there was an intruder in the backyard. Even though that was the scariest thought, it was definitely the most likely, as we didn't have any bushes or plants or anything like that that could've caused a noise naturally. And what do scared teens do when they think there's someone in the backyard? They got their father. At least that's what we did.
I wasn't too scared at this point, but seeing my dad open up his fingerprint safe to retrieve his Glock wasn't the most bit comforting. But, at the same time, it kind of was. My thoughts went something like this: the fact that he has to get his gun scared me, but the fact that he did get his gun provides me with a sense of security.
Needless to say, when he went out there, there was nothing there. And so he unloaded his firearm and we all went to bed.
The next night, the same thing happened, but Dad didn't bother to grab his gun. He just went out there with a flashlight.
(Again,) needless to say, when he went out there, there was nothing there.
And so we didn't hear the knocking again until last night, at which point the raging storm outside struck its wrath into the Earth in the form of completely stripping the town of its power. This was the middle of the night, and so being in pitch darkness after hearing the knock again really unsettled my brother and I. I used my laptop and he used his phone to shed some light into the abyss that was now our house, but we eventually just crashed in his room for the time being with a plan to wait until the power came back on.
Having the door open the whole time was a mistake.
My brother's door leads directly into our hallway with a slight curve right near the door so it almost acts as a J with a rougher turn.
Standing in the doorway, I saw a very tall and slender figure. It was most definitely humanoid, buy it was so tall that its head was being blocked by the door frame. It was unrealistically tall, because for it to stand straight like it was, our roof must've been at least another foot and a half. But it wasn't.
It's almost like it was staring at me, but, again, I couldn't tell because of its head not being able to be seen. But the way its torso was pointing and how its neck remained seemingly straight (and how the way the sight of it sent chivers down my spine), it felt like it was staring me dead on. I wanted to tell my brother, but I just couldn't, almost as if I was physically restricted. As soon as I regain the power to speak again, the figure steps out of the doorway and back into my hall.
For some reason, I still couldn't tell my brother. I felt physically unable to warn him of what may or may not be there.
We went out into the living room because, at this point, my entire family was up. The living room is at the end of our hallway, and I had no sight of whoever (or whatever) was originally there. I managed to calm myself down and take a seat, laptop in hand, with my parents talking as I saw him again. He was standing in the hall, just like he had did with the doorframe. But this time, his head wasn't obscured, and I could faintly make out huge, black eyes matching a sly, toothless grin.
I felt this force grab my face and force it into a similar grin as I practically entered shock, unable to believe that something like this was happening. My face muscles eventually came to a forced rest in the position of a smile like his, and we continued to lock eyes, unblinking.
During this entire time, my family looked at the exact same spot I looked at and saw nothing. It was like I was the only one who could see him.
He held up his hands in a manner similar to that of holding a camera or some other photography tech as his smile grew wider. Mine, of course, only managed to follow his in width until the point where I could feel the skin on the edge of my lips begin to tear. I heard a whisper in my ear as his grip tightened on Satan's camera.
"Cheese."
As I heard the voice which I could only presume is his, he pressed the capture button and a blinding flash of lightning filled the room. At the same time, an unbearable pain went through both of my cheeks as my smile grew to an inhuman width.
When I could see again, I was in the bathroom, staring at the mirror. I saw a smile as wide as a watermelon stretched across my face created purely of dark, maroon-hued blood and torn flesh. He was standing right behind me as I attempted to scream, but all I could do was laugh.
In the mirror, I saw him click his camera once more but no flash came out. Following this, a child-like laugh came from the hall.
The man knocked twice on the wall exactly how the thing outside did it and promptly faded away as I was left to stare at my bloody, stretched smile.


The villain, who shall remain nameless, stalked and skulked about Site 109. He didn't know where the cameras saw, but it made no difference, he avoided them nonetheless. His timing, though accidental, was impeccable, and he snuck by each guard as their duties took them elsewhere. Still, no, yes, he knew that he must take the parcel he had been given to the right room, that, he recalled, had been talked about very loudly and for a long time in his presence. It must be, therefore, of utmost medical impotence, he deduced, with something resembling logic.
His creeping feet brought him to the end of the corridor, and he saw it: research cell 109-B. He also saw, to his annoyance, the two armed guards standing outside. He hrrrmed and hawwwed for an idea, seeming utterly oblivious to the fact that the two guards were approaching him, rifles level with his head, fingers not far from the triggers. He began to sweat, profusely. They asked him some questions about breaching containment and surrender, but he found the joke about his nationality in poor taste, and so directed their attention behind them.
"Uh. Um. Er… Look. In that room. Pestilence."
It wasn't the warning of pestilence that turned their heads and twisted their faces into horrified masks. Rather, it was the sound of SCP-914's chamber door sliding open.
Quickly, they lunged to grab the black-robed individual, but found he was already most of the way through the rapidly-closing cell door. They arrived at the door just in time to beat their fists furiously against the unyielding steel blast door, and panic that the control panel rejected all input.
The intruder found himself alone in a room with a great machine. He wasn't sure if the machine was eyeing him, but just to be on the safe side, he eyed it back. It was a big machine, though, upon closer inspection, it appeared to be made up of smaller pieces of machine, which added up. He studied it with the care and diligence he applied to all of his work, and promptly got distracted by a shoe he discovered in his hands.
He decided at length that the machine was not, in fact, the pestilence, and dropped the shoe to search his robe pockets for something. Producing a small metallic toy with a deceptive grin, he held it aloft with one hand, cackling villainously. His laughter was interrupted by the object in its hand, which squirmed and commanded, "Unhand me, birdbrain! I spell your doom!"

The Site Security Director's meaty fist slammed against his wooden table in frustration. Before him stood the robed and masked figure of SCP-049, and Dr. Spanko perched on the good doctor's shoulder.
"Damn it, 049! What the hell? Why did you enter 914's chamber today? Crosstesting is banned, you hear me? Banned! I don't care if you and your corncrake parrot there saved Site-19, that doesn't mean you have permission to go do whatever you want!"
Both doctors exchanged a quick glance at each other before the plague expert looked down at the fuming, rotund man glaring up at him from his chair.
"My esteemed gentleman, I do believe you may have the incorrect person. How could I be in 914's chamber if I am standing before you?" His soft, yet cold voice reasoned at the beet-red Chief, who only seemed to become more sanguine upon hearing the doctor's reasoning.
"… Well. I suppose you're right. But this means there either two of you, or an imposter! I'm putting you two on the case. Now get the hell out of my office before I have to hear that thing g-"
He was interrupted by the small bird sucking in air, gasping. "It me!" Dr. Spanko extrapulated, performing a celebratory hop off of the plague doctor's shoulder and onto the table. "Speeker England of Herr Doktor Spankoflex, Cack, Eye half an deal oaf whomst've bees knees snickering roly! Sum Juan reel fishy!"
The Chief covered his ears, reeling in pain as the corncrake spoke. 049 nodded at his companion. "Of course, Doctor. Let's depart at once and investigate the suspect." Dr. Spanko fluttered back onto his companion's shoulder and the two hastily absconded towards the humanoid containment chambers.

The small corncrake flapped about, pecking at Mr. Fish's face while shouting at him. "Cack! Count Fish! Cack!" He repeated, assaulting the piscine-headed Little Mister as the former desperately struggled to defend himself with a top hat. The plague doctor looked on, arms folded as the two struggled for a moment.
Mr. Fish turned to face 049, begging for help. "Don't just stand there, do something! I don't even know what this lunatic is saying!" He managed to grab Spanko by his left leg, and hold him a distance away, all the while the aggressive avian continued to Cack and issue threats. "What the hell is the matter with you? You come into my room and this guy starts pecking at me?" If his fish features would allow him to frown, scowl, or even grimace, he would, but alas Mr. Fish could merely stare at his assailants with fish eyes.
The plague doctor stared back at the Wondertainment abomination and approached before answering. "You're a suspicious character, Mr. Fish. A fishy one, if you will. Did you enter 914's containment chamber posing as me this morning? I do not take kindly to imitators, for I am a doctor, and doctors have standards." He spoke somberly, but the Little Mister did not flinch.
"What? No. Jesus, I play Dungeons and Dragons with the D-Class and some of the other Misters ONCE and suddenly everyone thinks I'm into cosplay and LARPing? Fuck's sake. You guys are insane. You're just as annoying as my old roommate. Hell, you even look like him too." Mr. Fish let go of Dr. Spanko, who quickly fluttered over towards the bed in the opposite side of the room. He hopped about the bed before stopping, beak agape.
"Pester lance!"
The Doctor's arms fell to his side in surprise before approaching the bed, leaving Mr. Fish to tend to his roughed up top hat. He fell to his knees beside Spanko and inhaled deeply, then looked to his companion and nodded. "The Pestilence… And… sweat." A small hint of disgust was detectable in his voice.
Mr Fish put on his hat and turned towards his guests, hoping they would leave soon. "Yes. Let me tell you that guy stank really bad. I don't think he ever showered, smelled like rotten fish and sweat all the time. He always swung that stupid stick around too and kept stealing my shoes. Fuck that guy. I'm glad he got moved to stricter containment." He mused, dusting himself off and moving towards ushering the unwelcome doctors out of his containment cell. "Anything else you… I hesitate to say it, but, anything you gents need?"
049 rose, with Dr. Spanko on his fingers. "That will be all, thank you. I must find this pestilence… I… I've never felt it so strongly before." With that, they left Mr. Fish to his devices, who folded his arms and grumbled as he readied to water his cactus.

The intruder stood, chin in hand, in quiet contemplation of the controls before him. The dial was set to "1:1", and no amount of activating the machine did anything to halt the amount and vehemence of the complaints and threats from the small metal man within. Sure, it changed the voice around, and even the language a couple times, but this didn't seem to be getting him anywhere.
A voice, thin and tinny, rang out from within the machine's closed doors. "¡Cesa estas transmogrificaciones, malparido come mierda! ¡Libérame de esta jaula de una vez para que OMEGABOT pueda continuar la destrucción de este mundo débil y desamparado!"
"I'm pretty sure that when a machine makes these noises…" the interloper said between hrrms and haaas, "that the machine is still sick." He nodded in agreement with himself. Perhaps, just perhaps, he could try doing something…else? His mind wrestled with the concept of novelty like a dog with a sealed jar of peanut butter. He was beginning to suspect that he shouldn't have put the shoe inside the machine as well.
The sound of electron torches cutting through the steel vault door stole the sneak's attention for just long enough that a single clever idea survived the no-man's land and wound up in the vacuous mind. "Aha!" exclaimed the black-robed villain, twisting the dial. "Coarseness is indeed called for. To put the pestilence off guard, of course." His eyes continued reading. "No, No, rough it up." The knob twisted a click to the right. "Show the disease what for." He considered the panel for a few moments, idly tapping the slightly damp tip of his mask's beak.
His eyes continued their journey over the controls. "A very fine idea indeed. I'm glad we agree on this." His hand twisted the knob into the most agreeable position, to the far right, until the knob snapped off in his hand. Sweat began forming on his brow, eyes darting to and fro, ensuring that no witnesses had shown up, before stowing the knob in his sleeve. In his panicked fumbling, his elbow came into swift contact with the activation button.
A curtain of searing, white light shone out from the thin crack between the machine's compartment doors. A heavenly choir sang. The anomalous fool was flung clear of the machine, arm shielding his eyes weakly as its compartment door slid open, a blinding wash of brilliance filling the room.
The small robot levitated slowly down to the ground, optical sensors taking in the newfound articulation in its newfound fingers. As the tips of its now-sleek feet touched down on the ground, the robot's automatic threat removal routines activated, sending out an intense burst of energy at a quantum level, sufficient to pop the guards attempting to cut down the door like overripe fruit.
The robot, unfamiliar with these new functionalities, merely wondered what had caused such an intense energy draw from its… generator? How long had it had one of those? The longer it spent scanning its own new functions, the more curious it got. Optical sensors took in the room, analyzing the component materials, and judging this place unsuitable for gathering the raw materials it was beginning to realize it would need. As an afterthought, they scanned the sweating figure in the corner, trembling hard enough to send a deluge of plague doctor masks tumbling to the floor.
"I have detected that your physical capabilities are insufficient to damage my new, perfect form. I offer you one chance to explain; why should I not destroy you?"
The doctor oozed sweat and forged medical degrees. "I, uh, well, you see… um…" His pupils narrowed, eyes darting frantically around the room as the light faded. His arm shot out, finger pointing at the large machine which stood, still open, on the far side of the room. "That machine, there. It is um… Sick? With the pestilence? And I…" he gulped nervously, making for the home stretch "still need to cure it?" Sweat poured from him. He was so dead.
"I see. I calculate you can be of sufficient usefulness to me, your new robot overlord. You will accompany me and assist as I construct a form for myself suitable to bring smite to this insignificant world."
"O…h?"
"S.H.I.V.A.B.O.T. Activating heavenly realms transportalponder." The robot's chest plate slid open, revealing a miniaturized star within its core, which it was rapidly compressing into a singularity. "If you bear attachment to the arrangement of particles that currently form your body, I recommend shedding that now."
"So… this is happening then, is it?" The plague fellow gulped, clutching blindly for something to comfort him in this trying time. His hand closed around something and he pulled it in close to himself, perspiring and trembling.
The singularity collapsed in on itself at greater-than-light speeds, which against all logic did not cause the planet to implode. This is because logic was, in fact, also locked out of the room.
And truly, no one was more surprised than the robot when it worked.

The low gravity and barren landscape of the lunar surface greeted the pair as they appeared. The doctor boggled at his surroundings, but the robot was already at work, dispensing a swarm of nanomachines to begin converting rough rock upon which they stood into the raw materials that would be necessary… and yet, elsewhere on the moon, the champion of Justice stirred.

The intrepid duo navigated the hallways back to the Security Director's office. A deerstalker perched on Spanko's head, and his companion held a magnifying glass for the bird to peer though. The trail of stench and quackery had lead to the containment chamber which was to be expected, but had then gone suddenly cold. They had, of course, interrogated everyone at the scene, but all of the guards were too busy being inside out to bother answering. Stuck up, as usual.
So they walked along, eyes peeled for an errant fingerprint or shoe mark that might lead them to their next big break. They therefore disregarded, as being of little consequence, the huge portions of the building which had collapsed in and coated portions of the floor with rubble. They walked right by the bodies of the guards that had been twisted and tossed aside like ragdolls, because they were on the other side of the hallway from the magnifying glass.
They arrived, under flickering fluorescent light, at the Security Director's office. It took them twenty minutes to discover him, dead, across his desk. Dr. Spanko gasped. "Powell slays throughput."
"Indeed it seems so. Look here." He pointed with an elegant pipe he had recovered from his bag. "See how he's snapped backwards over the desk. He has his weapon drawn. And see this?" he pulled the man's shirt apart and directed the bird's attention to a great, single contusion running the length of the corpse's chest. "He was struck once, with tremendous force. It seems our dear Security Chief got himself killed trying to stop whatever killed him from getting by."
His pipe stem shot an imaginary line to the ground that guided the eyes of both detectives along the floor as it swept gradually outward. Eventually, it pointed towards the irregularly shaped hole in the wall through which the killer had obviously entered. Then, across the room to the wall opposite, where its doppelganger provided access to the next room over. Peering through the hole, it went on like this. The two exchanged knowing looks and nodded, separating. Dr. Spanko took wing and fluttered through the wall openings large enough for a bear to navigate, while the Plague Doctor moved to flush the fresh stench of pestilence from the man's cooling body.
As the bird flew along, it saw yet more holes on the walls perpendicular to the ones through which he navigated. A passing inspection showed the broken remains of the guards present in these rooms having been hurled through the wall and into the hallway. It seemed this thing was making a straight line for its target. Finally, a wall without a hole smashed into it came into view. He was flying fast and shot into the room.
The white gloved hand snatched him out of the air so swiftly, he might as well been flying through molasses. "Ah, what have we here? A partially hydrogenated Earth cookie! What a delicacy." Moon Champion brought his hand up to store his new capture atop his helmet. He turned his attention to the tiny moth battering itself against his reflective visor.
"Yes I have sampled many fine helmets from your planet," Moon Champion responded after the moth had begun circling in front of him, "But I come here for much more pressing matters, Earth Champion. A metal demon is eating the Moon! Will you honor our ancient pact and fight alongside me to uphold Justice?!"
Dr. Spanko, still dazed from his swift repositioning, sat stunned on his new perch and watched mystified as the moth flew into the mirrored visor for several minutes.
"Then we must make haste at once. If, as you say, these science humans can create such a device, then perhaps we can convince them to give themselves to the cause of Righteousness and forge weaponry to combat this fiend!
"Butane impeach!" Spanko informed his perch, pecking at the top of the helmet. "Clever dickerydoos post-have skedaddled hillways." As though on cue, the backup generators were activated and the containment breach klaxons sounded once again through the site. This chivalrous space murderer had taken the route leading directly through the site's primary generator, because of course he had.
The bird's familiar voice rang out through the demolished facility, to where Mr. Fish had hidden under his bed as the Site had fallen to ruin around him. He had even snatched DJ and held the plant gingerly under the bed with him. However, by the time the alarms kicked back on, his arms were shaking to keep the cactus from poking him in the tight confines. His mind weaved horrors as he tried to figure out how that damned little bird was destroying the Site this time.
"Hell with it," he had decided at length. "If I'm going to die, I might as well at least do it standing up." And so he had gotten out from under the bed, dusted off his dapper hat, and bravely went off to peek at his doom from around the exit hole smashed through his room. He saw Moon Champion, and Moon Champion saw him.
"Ah, here just now is a regular human scientist. Please, the forces of Justice need your skilled mind!" the Champion of Justice called down the hall at him. Was — was this astronaut mocking him? He seemed too genuine.
"Wha, no, me? No, I'm not a scientist, and I'm not a normal human, I'm SCP-527." He didn't particularly relish using his object number to refer to himself, but he didn't want this guy getting any more interested in him. "Just a boring, old, run-of-the-mill anomaly, you know." Mr Fish could neither blush nor smile disarmingly. He settled on gawping instead.
"Ah, I can see your Earth scientists are as filled with the muskrat emotion of humility as my beloved moon citizens. I will make you a deal, Science man, and trade you this oatmeal raisin cookie for your assistance in outfitting mine ancient ally with arms to slay the metal demon that is eating the moon."
Mr. Fish blinked slowly. One of them was having a stroke. "Pardon?" was the response that staggered out of him like a college guy at a party wearing only a blush and a lampshade.
Moon Champion strode boldly forward, snatching Dr. Spanko from atop his helmet and thrusting the dazed bird at the Mister, whose confusion steadily grew.
Uh. What. Maybe if I just make a trade with it it'll leave me alone.
Mr. Fish gingerly plucked a thorn from his shockingly well-written plant and presented it to this lunatic in trade for the bird. The feathered fellow plopped into his hand as the thorn was plucked from between his fingers. He let the crake recover upright against his chest, supported by his forearm.
The moth was already bumping into the spaceman's helmet in a pattern which Mr. Fish recognized as Morse code, though he didn't actually know how to decipher it, especially when delivered by way of moth headbutts to what he increasingly hoped was a fever dream.
Several minutes passed this way, during which time Mr. Fish didn't wake up. Finally, the intruder nodded. "Indeed, your helmets would sell among moon moths, Earth Champion. I see now why this planet is so peaceful with such a wise guardian. Now, though, to show you how Justice upgrades weaponry on the Moon!" he said as he anticlimactically stuck the snapped end of the thorn into the moth salesman's helmet, such that he had a great, striking horn twice the length of his body.
True to his word, the amazing properties of his Moth Helmet allowed the salesmoth to remain aloft under the weight.
Just as it seemed this space fellow might get going, a horde of zombies approached from behind Mr. Fish. Was it Thursday? This felt like a Thursday. He turned to explain to them why his brains were not tasty but stopped when they seemed content to mill about. The surgical scars covering them were long and simple, often just great single incisions. It was obvious that even though the stitching was fine, these dozen or so shambling not-corpses had been the result of a hasty procedure.
The Plague Doctor strode to the front of the sea of his patients, splattered with blood from his rushed work. He was out of breath. He plucked his mentor from Mr. Fish's arms, and perched the fowl on his own shoulder. "Gentlemen, I bear grim news. When I finished with my most recent patient, I glanced upward through the collapsed roof, and it seems there is a gigantic metal man flying towards us from the sky."
"What luck! You have assembled a hive of Earth warriors! With their assistance and the aid of Earth Champion, we might yet emerge victorious!" Moon Champion grabbed the Plague Doctor and Mr. Fish by their arms and activated his thrusters. Onto the black-robed surgeon, his patients clung, one grabbing onto the next, resulting in a great chain of the not-dead rocketing into the sky behind this champion of justice.
The speed they reached was tremendous, and before long, the air grew thin. Mr. Fish began to worry that he would suffocate, or freeze, or depressurize violently, or perhaps just have his bones liquefied by the g-forces. That was until he noticed the tiny Champion of Earth perched upon the collar of his suit. He wasn't sure how, but he realized on a deep, instinctual level, that it was due to the awesome properties of the Moth's helmet. Mr. Fish briefly considered buying one.
Just like that, they were in microgravity, floating through a void of blackness with pinpricks of white, far below them the graceful arc of Earth. They clearly saw the oncoming, titanic machine. Even through the overwhelming silence of the vacuum, the sheer intensity of D. E. S. T. R. O. Y. O. T. R. O. N.'s hatred carried his words into their ears, into their minds, into their very souls. A thousand colossal arms splayed from behind it, all ready for battle.
"Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds!" the destroyer proclaimed. Its tiny, true body piloted from the 'head' of its destroyer form, composed of the compressed metallic components of many thousands of tons of lunar surface. Riding in a small cockpit near the chest, seeming just as terrified as any of them, was the Plague Doctor's doppelganger. He frantically pounded a pointy stick against the glass window, to no effect.
Moon Champion swung the chain of zombies around by the Plague Doctor's ankles as hard as he could, each link in the chain grabbing onto the next in the same fashion. By the time the final zombie crashed against the metal exterior of Pesterbot PRIME's armored chassis, it was traveling at an appreciable fraction of the speed of light. The resultant explosion destroyed the final few zombies on the chain outright, and tore open a sizable hole in the mecha's chest, out of which was sucked the confused plague fellow, who hurtled slowly and silently towards the planet so far below them.
Earth Champion flew from Mr. Fish's lapel to batter himself against Moon Champion's visor. Mr. Fish, for his part, hoped the universe wouldn't suddenly see him, breathing in space, and snap reality back down on him like a truck full of bricks. For the time being, reality seemed content to watch the two titans collide in low earth orbit.
APPOLYATRON unleashed a salvo of destruction from each of its thousand hands; rays of superheated plasma, beams of intense radiation, slicing blasts of antimatter, and hundreds of other exotic, destructive forces converged on Moon Champion, striking him with precise accuracy.
"Nooooooo!" cried Moon Champion as the beams struck him, the machine laughing tyrannically as it knew it had the upper hand.
Only, it hadn't.
Moon Champion's cries were for his ancient sworn ally, who used the metal titan's attacks as a distraction and flew around in the vacuum (Thanks to the powers of his Fantastic Moth HelmetTM, available from select retailers for three low payments of nineteen ninety-nine. Buy one today!) Moon Champion knew the risk in his ally's attack; the potent Earthforged helmet weapon's only weakness was its short range; Earth Champion would be tremendously vulnerable if he were to close the distance to strike. And it appeared that was just what he intended to do.
Universal constants broke down around Moon Champion as the nexus of destruction converged upon him. Time flowed backward, and protons and neutrons ripped themselves apart fleeing from one another. Spacetime, ordinarily pliant and smooth, bent and fractured roughly. The Plague Doctor flew free from the exemplar of righteousness' grasp, tumbling into the void and scattering his patients as he flailed in panic. Spotting his mentor, he grabbed the corncrake as it exclaimed in awe of the unfolding events.
Throughout all of it, Moon Champion did not yield, his body and his resolve holding firm against the onslaught. Earth Champion closed the distance, shooting like a bullet in the vacuum towards Pesterbot PRIME's exposed, small head. He smashed into it with as much force as his moth body could impart. This was the critical blow, the spike to pierce the heavens, the Infinite Spike Breaker.
The thorn snapped in half and, his momentum completely arrested, the moth floated lamely in front of the completely uninjured robot. How could this be? His ultimate attack swatted away as if it were nothing? All his years of training and selling Moth HelmetsTM, were they for nothing? Before Earth Champion could process what was happening, it was swatted like away like a moth. He was defeated.
"PATHETIC." The World-Eater smugly remarked, laughing at the pitiful attempt on its life. In his arrogance, the machine halted its attack on its lunar adversary and left himself exposed.
Rage. Undilutable, inconceivable, pure rage filled Moon Champion at the sight of his noble ally being struck down. He would have his revenge; for the Moon. For the Earth. His thrusters activated as he lunged forward. Moon Champion's hair glowed a luminous gold underneath his helmet as he surged through the void towards his target. The spacesuit's fist hit Pesterbot's head with enough force to shatter it in half, sending a fragment hurtling into Earth's atmosphere in cinders.
A second blow followed, fractions of a second later, shooting the metal scourge back with speed towards the moon. The avenging warrior's jets kept him at pace with the free-flying, battered body, and he was thrown back when the robot released an intense burst of pressure and energy, a small supernova, to buy it some space. It followed with a salvo of antimatter-tipped missiles, hundreds of the tiny apocalypse machines pouring from the 5-dimensional space inside of the robot to engulf the astronaut nuisance. "If I can't destroy you, I will destroy the universe around you!" howled the destroyer-god audibly through the vacuum of space.
Moon Champion was undeterred.
He rocketed straight towards the demon, smashing into it and laying powerful blows against in rapid succession. The momentum and intensity of their struggle shot the pair on a trajectory into deep space, quickly receding from the sight of Mr. Fish, the two desperately, and ineffectively, air-swimming plague doctors, the awe-struck corncrake, and the dazed moth. The piscine faced gentleman pondered their predicament and wondered how they were even going to get back to the planet alive.

ONE WEEK LATER…

Things had gone back to normal in Site-109, with the addition of the wreckage of a re-entry vehicle adorning what was formerly the Keter wing. Most of the escaped anomalies had been contained and accounted for, with the exception of the sweatier Plague Doctor and Pesterbot. The rain of burning zombies and charred metal had ceased long ago, but cleanup was still ongoing, much like the investigation into just what the hell happened.
The Security Director, trying to get his head around his new position, stared at the report in front of him, and then looked up at Mr. Fish.
"You can't be serious." he told the Wondertainment anomaly.
"I keep telling you, that insane masked guy, uh, you know the one that looks like a plague doctor but doesn't smell like a swamp. Yeah, that one, he opened up his bag and started pulling out pieces —" Mr. Fish began.
"— of a Shenzhou 5 re-entry vehicle?!" the new Security Director finished with incredulity. "Look, I read 049's file, it has medical stuff in that bag, not…" The man waved his arm in the general direction of the crash somewhere on the other side of the wall. Still, it took him a while to start speaking again, because he had no better idea of where the re-entry craft had come from. He gave a long sigh. "Why were 049 and 2337 even assigned to investigate a containment breach? How did this end up with some lunatic fighting the Broken God? Was that even the Broken God? Fucking hell, there's so much to unpack here, and none of it makes sense." The Director reached for his pocket and produced a cigarette and lighter.
Mr. Fish shrugged. The new Security Director lit a stick and offered the entity another. "Sorry, Wondertainment products aren't allowed to smoke. It promotes a bad image to children or something."
"Alright. Then before I close this interview and try to figure out what the hell happened, do you have anything you want to add?" The Director reached for the recording device
"Yes. I fucking hate everyone in this place."

In the unforgiving heat of the Sahara desert, 3 Mekhanists came across a crater. They dismounted their camels and fell to their knees in worship around the speck of metal that remained at the impact site. They watched with eyes of wonder in reverence as it turned the sand touching it slowly to metal, and thus regenerated. They looked up at one another again in time, and all three knew; they had found the final piece of their god.
WHAT ARE YOU GONNA DO WHEN THE PLAGUE RUNS WILD ON YOU? EAT YOUR PRAYERS AND SAY YOUR VITAMINS, BROTHER!