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“And last but certainly not least on your VIP tour is the Kaleidoscope!” Lolly announced as she led Victor and Iris into the final tent. “Designed by Herman Fuller himself sometime in the late 19th century, handcrafted from Ravelwoods' lumber and beryllium-bronze clockwork salvaged from the ruins of a Colossus slain during the First Occult War -”
“You mean Fuller didn't kill it himself, with a butter knife and one hand tied behind his back?” Iris asked dryly, having had well past her fill of the Circus's penchant for hyperbole.
“Please hold all questions until the end of the presentation,” Lolly replied with an uncharacteristic tinge of irritation. She cleared her throat and looked back down at her cue card. “As I was saying, the Kaleidoscope has been an essential fixture of The Circus of the Disquieting since our inception. The wood is both magic and immortal, and so produces EVE, which is amplified into aspect radiation, which is then channelled into clockwork casting circles of near-infinite configurability, allowing us to open Ways to any unprotected door we choose and even apportate the whole Circus if we have too. I love the word apportate; it makes me think of Harry Potter.
“And that concludes our tour. Questions?”
“Can we go through it now?” Iris asked impatiently.
“Oh no, we have to wait for Icky. I'm not supposed to dial the Kaleidoscope by myself,” Lolly replied. “There…may have been an incident or two.”
“Well, the Wandsman is expecting us. Would you please find The Ringmaster and tell her we're ready to depart.”
“No worries. I'm here, I'm here,” Icky said as she ran into the tent. “Sorry, I was planning on being here first but Eugene, one of our Clowns, something triggered his PTSD and long story short if those kids weren't scared of Clowns before they are now. Victor, great to see you again, and…Iris, we've met before, right? I've lost count of how many private shows we've done for Emcee D but you were there for at least one of them, weren't you?”
“I've seen you before, yes, though I don't believe we were ever formally introduced,” Iris said, extending her right hand out in greeting. Instead of shaking it, Icky took off her top hat, bowed, and kissed Iris's hand.
“Mmm. You are a marked improvement over Darke's last proxy," Icky told her. "I'm loving the turtleneck by the way; you're really rocking the sexy little nerd look.”
“Let go of my hand,” Iris ordered through her teeth. With a reluctant groan, Icky obliged. Victor handed Iris a wet-one for her to wipe the Clown saliva off her hand.
“I'm sorry about that. Icky can be a bit ‘presidential' sometimes,” Lolly apologized.
“I'm just being friendly, darling. She's practically family after all. Iris, did Darke ever tell you he thought the Fuller might have been a descendant of his?”
“He…may have mentioned it, yes,” she replied as she handed Victor the used wet wipe. She sniffed her hand and muttered that it still smelt strangely sweet.
“Really? I don't see the resemblance,” Lolly remarked.
“Oh, I've noticed a few similarities between Fuller and the Darks over the years,” Icky said. “But I'm sure Iris doesn't want to hear about that. Lolly gave you a tour, right? She loves giving tours. See anything that tickled your fancy?”
“She spent twenty minutes looking at Gary's phonebox of all things,” Lolly replied. “She asked him all sorts of questions about it, and took some pictures with this half smartphone, half tricorder thing.”
“I found it interesting,” Iris shrugged.
“Percy mentioned you were a whiz with paratech in his letter,” Icky said. “Seems to run in the family. I hope he's been telling you equally flattering things about us.”
“Don't call him Percy. I don't even call him that,” Iris objected. “But you'll be pleased to know he does retain a fondness for your little travelling show. He told me to give his regards to the Man with the Upside-Down Face, but oddly enough I couldn't see him anywhere.”
The two Clowns' faces went sour at her tone.
“Manny's off-site today, scouting for talent,” Icky said briskly.
“How unfortunate,” Iris said, unable to suppress a smug little smile. “Hopefully we get a chance to meet soon. Grandsire was quite eager to see how he and I got along.”
“I'll bet,” Icky murmured. “Well, I'm sorry to have kept you waiting. Just give me a minute to spin up the Kaleidoscope and you'll be on your way.”
As Icky dialled in the coordinates for Kul-Manas, Lolly was literally jumping up and down with excitement.
“This is so amazing. We're going to meet bird people!”
“Please try to conduct yourself with some restraint. It would be unwise to offend our hosts -”
“You mean ruffle their feathers?”
“…Yes. I don't know this for a fact, but I doubt they'll appreciate bird puns.”
“You mean they'd find them unpheasant?”
“Oh, this is going to work out great,” Iris sighed. One of the Doors to the Kaleidoscope opened before them, revealing its smoky white portal. “Victor, you have the merchandise, correct?”
“Yes Ms. Dark,” Victor nodded, holding up his carrying case.
“Good. Do not set it down until we've received payment.”
“There you are, a one-way Way to the city of Kul-Manas,” Icky announced. “Lolly, sweetie, I'm still a little gun-shy after what happened at the Bazaar, so be extra careful. I want you to come back home at the first sign of trouble. If you lose your keys make for the Library -”
“When do I ever lose my keys?”
“You don't, I know, I just…”
“I'll be fine. I know how to take care of myself. I promise I'll be back as soon as we're done.” Lollipop leaned in and kissed Icky goodbye. “Love you Icky.”
“I love you too Little Lollipop,” Icky smiled. “Dark, I'm holding you responsible if anything happens to her.”
“Good luck with that,” Iris replied flippantly. “Victor, Lolly, stay behind me at all times and do not speak unless spoken to.”
“Yeah, good luck with that!” Lolly snorted. Rolling her eyes, Iris marched through the Door with her two escorts.

The Door, the Wanderers emerged from, was but one of countless others, built into the bark of a colossal tree that stretched hundreds of meters across and up into the sky seemingly without end. Before them was the city of Kul-Manas, comprised of wicker buildings that superficially resembled enormous and ostentatious bird's nests. The sky was a deep violet, and instead of a sun or moon, it was lit by many shining silver orbs which the Wanderer's initially mistook as stars until they saw they were gently falling below the horizon like snowflakes.
Standing before them was a humanoid crow or raven, all jet black and covered in feathers. He was clad in a hooded cloak of crimson and gold and held a great bronze staff in his scaly, clawed talons.
“Most auspicious greetings, fellow Wanderers,” he said with a bow. “I am Ickis the Wayward, Wandsman of Kul-Manas; Sailor of the Celestial Sea, Walker of the Astral Plane, Spelunker of the Dimensional -”
“Oh my god, you're a bird person!” Lolly screamed, jumping in front of him. “I'm Lolly! Can you fly? Is your poop all white and runny? Do you celebrate your birthday when your egg was laid or when it hatched?”
The Wandsman stared at her in stunned silenced for a moment.
“No I cannot fly, that's not your concern, and both events are marked as sacred occasions. Laying an egg is considered an accomplishment of the mother, while hatching is the accomplishment of the hatchling,” he replied.
“That's so fascinating, plus you basically get double birthdays, though the first one kind of sounds more like Mother's Day. Oh, do your people hate cats, because I love puss -”
“Lolly, behind me now!” Iris ordered. “Your Waywardness, I apologize for the impertinence of my associate.”
“It is quite all right. She is not the first Bozomorph to cross my path. Her people are well known for their exuberance.”
“I'd say that's racist, but everything I've said to you was racist so I guess we're cool,” Lolly said.
Iris shot her an ominous glance, demanding her silence.
“Great Wandsman, I have come to you on behalf of the Deathless Merchant of London so that we might exchange our equally priceless wares for our mutual benefit.”
“On his behalf?” the Wandsman asked with a curious tilt of his head. “I can see your True Name in your aura. You are Dark.”
“I am Iris Dark; proxy, apprentice, descendant and heir of Percival Darke.”
“But Dark is his True Name, a True Name bound to him and him alone through unspeakable black magic, anchoring his essence to the Mortal Plane and affording him untold occult powers. How could there be another with the True Name Dark?”
“He spells it with an ‘e'. I don't,” she replied nonchalantly. The Wandsman squinted at her, seemingly unconvinced.
“I am…pleased to learn that there is another such as Darke,” he said, though the cawing sound he made sounded like it was a sign of distress. “And who is this mere mortal so brave or so foolish to enter the City of Kul-Manas?”
“Victor Chan, pleased to make your acquaintance,” Victor said, shaking his hand. “I'm just here to carry stuff and fill out the paperwork.”
“Now that we are formally introduced, may we please be shown to the Guildhall of Gorok?” Iris asked.
“Of course. I am happy and eager to serve as your guide during your visit. Please, follow me,” the Wandsman bowed, extending his hand towards a rickshaw. The driver, a shorter being with the head of a sparrow, opened the door and gestured for them to board. Once they were inside, the Sparrow lifted the rickshaw up by its hand-grips and hauled it through the twisting and winding streets of the ancient city.
A city peopled by anthropomorphic birds was a curious sight, even to Lolly who had travelled extensively across worlds. Most of the common folk they saw bustling about were songbirds; sparrows, finches, warblers and the like, but there was the occasional more exotic avian. They spied a sensuous swan, a flamboyant flamingo, and even a preening peacock all proudly displaying their plumage as they strutted down the street. The lack of any obvious self-segregating among the many different species suggested that they viewed each other as a single kin. The sighting of a meadowlark and an oriole courting each other prompted the question of interspecies breeding, but that hardly seemed like an appropriate subject of conversation.
“So how do your people have se -”
“Hey, where exactly is Kul-Manas anyway?” Victor asked, cutting Lolly off.
“As with all such Nexuses, we are everywhere and nowhere,” the Wandsman replied. “We are outside the continuum of time and space, and thus untethered by its laws. Wanderers from opposite ends of Creation could travel here with a single stride."
"That enormous tree we came out of was quite extraordinary. What is it?" Iris asked.
"It it nothing less than the World Tree itself," the Wandsman answered. "It was made incarnate here long ago by the spellcraft of our ancestors, and we have benefited greatly from its presence. Around its trunk we made our city, crafting our homes from the detritus it let fall. We drank its sacred sap and were granted both clairvoyance and gnosis. We carved Janus Doors into its bark, and with only the most basic of tools and methodologies we set out to explore the multiverse, just as the Pacific peoples of your world once sailed the vast ocean with only Stone Age technology."
“Wow, you're a much better tour guide than I am. I need cue cards to stop from going off on tangents,” Lolly said. “Anyway, do you guys have penises, and if they do are they like those crazy corkscrew duck penises or do -”
Lolly was quickly muffled by Iris's cold, metallic left hand covering her mouth.
“Lolly, that is not an appropriate question. When I take my hand away you are going to apologize to the Wandsman for your vulgarity. Is that understood?” she asked. Lolly nodded, and Iris lowered her hand.
“Oh my god, you have a robot hand!” Lolly squeed, examining it with glee. Iris squinted her eyes at her incredulously.
“Did you seriously just now notice that?”
“Uh-huh. My attention is kind of all over the place most of the time.”
“So I've observed.”
“It is an interesting prosthetic, if I may say so,” the Wandsman chirped. “Where did you acquire it?”
“It's custom made,” she replied, her expression making it clear she wasn't taking any follow-up questions.
The Wandsman cleared his throat and awkwardly ruffled his feathers.
“Ah, we're here: The Great Gilded Guildhall of Gorok, headquarters of the Merchant's Guild of Kul-Manas,” he said as they rolled in front a squat spire, woven from branches that had been gilded in 24 carat gold leaf. Strange runes (that could both insultingly and accurately be described as chicken scratch) encircled the structure, and by the entrance was a marble fountain depicting a humanoid seagull regurgitating food into the mouths of its chicks, which was presumably meant to be symbolic of prosperity…or something.
There was a gentle thud as the driver set the rickshaw down and hurried around to open the door for them.
“Guildmaster Vixis and his council patiently await your arrival, Ms. Dark.”
“Kindly lead the way,” Iris said. “Victor, by my side. Lolly, behind me and quiet. I mean it.”
Lolly nodded and mimed zipping her mouth shut and tossing away the key, unaware that a passerby passerine would later recover the imaginary item and use it to unlock a Way leading to a plane comprised solely of thought-forms.
The Wandsman led the way into the hall, followed by Iris, Victor and Lolly. The interior of the hall was also gilded, as well as being decorated with velvet rugs, jade statues and enormous portraits. Lighting came from the same smokeless spectral flames the Percival Darke used in his sanctum.
The Guildmaster and his council sat on a dais that elevated them a full fathom off the ground and forced whoever was before them into the submissive position of staring up at them. The Guildmaster himself looked to be a kingfisher of some kind, with the other councillors consisting of an ibis, a blue heron, a white crane, a cassowary, a barn owl, and a kiwi.
“Ickis, you honour us with your presence yet again,” the Guildmaster declared, his deep voice resonating throughout the hall. “And once again you delight us by bringing more Wanderers with you to trade. The Deathless Merchant of London said his proxy was one who bore his name, and yet even now I hesitate to believe my own eyes. Nonetheless, we are happy to receive you, Dark, as well as your guests. I'd introduce the council but if you are anything like your namesake I assume you wish to get straight to business.”
“You would be correct Guildmaster,” Iris nodded. She snapped at Victor to open the carrying case and take out her merchandise. “As discussed in your correspondence with Esquire Darke, I present to you three-dimensional wards, designed by both Esquire Darke and myself. Using common holography, we have created talismans inscribed with wards drawn in three dimensions, allowing them to be six times more complex than traditional wards without taking up any additional space. There are seven talismans, one for each of you, and each talisman contains two wards, one on each side.”
Victor stepped up to the dais and handed a talisman to each councillor so that they could inspect them.
“If you are satisfied with the quality of those samples, we are willing to sell you more at a price of 1 kg of Morgana Silver per talisman. Those fourteen wards are the only ones designed at the moment, however, we are willing to take custom orders for double the price. All payment must be upfront, no refunds, and before we go any further I will require proof that you actually possess Morgana Silver so that I know you're not wasting my time.”
The ibis nodded and tossed her a coin purse. She poured the contents into her hands, revealing bright silver coins depicting a fairy queen on one side and a seven-pointed star encircled by runes on the other.
“What are those?” Lolly asked, before quickly re-zipping her mouth and pocketing the key (much to the council's disappointment).
“It's yttrium silver from the Fey city of Fata Morgana,” Iris replied. She squeezed them in her right palm and smiled as she felt the EVE flow through them. “For all intents and purposes, it's mithril. It's thaumically conductive, and if we can get a steady supply of it we can use it in all kinds of paratech.
“Gentlemen and/or Ladies, I am satisfied with the quality of your product as I hope you are satisfied with mine. Shall we discuss bulk discounts?”
The Guildmaster chuckled cruelly, and would have sneered if he had lips.
“I have a better idea,” he snapped his talons and metal grates clamped down on every exit.
“Vixis, what in the name of Xitheus are you doing?” the Wandsman demanded, the rest of the council squawking in agreement.
“I'm stopping us from being robbed blind is what I'm doing,” the Guildmaster replied. “I was none too pleased when I received a letter from the Deathless Merchant of London, making us an offer we couldn't refuse. A kilo of the most valuable thaumic alloy in the known worlds in exchange for these crackerjack toys!”
He threw his talisman straight at Iris, only for her to catch it effortlessly.
“I found the Merchant's tone to be less than respectful, how he took it for granted that I would not dare to refuse his offer. Well, I dare. In fact, I've decided it's time to let the Merchant know exactly where we stand. Darke may be top chicken in his backwater reality, but he has no power over us! We are the Ascendant Avians of Kul-Manas! The blood of Dinosaurs flows through our veins. Dinosaurs I tell you! The Merchant was a fool to send you Dark, and you were a fool to come. A partner of the most powerful anomalous firm on your Earth, their chief paratechnologist, and Darke's own blood no less? To say you were worth a King's ransom would be a monstrous understatement.
“The Clown and the salesman are free to go, just be sure you deliver my message to Darke; Kul-Manas is an unassailable fortress, he cannot touch us here! If he ever wants this little tinkerer of his back I will accept nothing less than majority control of his fancy little flea market. Until then Dark, you will have the privilege of being my prisoner.”
The Guildmaster glared down mockingly at her, expecting the young woman to be trembling in fear.
Instead, she just looked annoyed.
“Alright then. I wasn't planning on adding ‘killed a giant kookaburra' to my CV, but why the hell not?” she asked rhetorically.
Taking a deep breath and sharpening her will, she focused the Mekhane part of her being into her metal hand while channelling the Yaldabaoth portions into her flesh hand. She raised each hand up and then dragged them downwards, producing two twin serpents as she did so; one of quicksilver ichor, the other of jaundiced miasma. The two Dragons immediately attacked each other, twisting around one another in a double helix, each consuming the other's tail in a type of Ouroboros. Each Serpent feeding off the other, the Ouroboros grew in size and rose to the ceiling of the Guildhall, creating a vortex that pinned the council to the floor, unable to escape as it slowly descended towards them.
The Wandsman squawked in horror and leapt to the dais. He held up his great staff and began shouting incantations at the abomination. It held it back, but only just, and it was still growing stronger.
“Well, we got some Morgana Silver, so this wasn't a complete bust,” Iris said as she casually pocketed the coin purse. “If we're lucky we could figure out how to transmute it from other metals. Lolly, would you be so kind as to open a Door back to your Circus please?”
Lolly didn't respond immediately, being transfixed by the sight of a bird wizard battling self-cannibalizing ethereal snakes.
“Iris, you can't kill them,” she objected vehemently.
“I beg your pardon? I'm in charge here, little lollipop, and I don't much care for someone trying to take me hostage. Now make a Door out of here before those two Dragons get so big they devour the whole guildhall.”
Lolly furrowed her brow resolutely and leapt up onto the dais.
“Lolly! What the hell are you doing?”
She grabbed hold of the Wandsman staff and channelled her own magic into it, strengthening his counterspell and pushing the Serpents back ever so slightly.
“Lolly get down here this instant!”
“Undo this!”
“I will leave you to die if you do not immediately come back here!”
“If I die, Icky will never let you use the Kaleidoscope again!”
Iris's face contorted in rage. Knowing Lolly was right, she climbed up onto the dais and snatched the staff away from them. Pointing it at her creation, she screamed something in the Chaos Tongue. Two bolts of lightning, one silver and one yellow, shot forth from the staff and struck the opposite coloured Dragon, reducing each of them to mist in a spectacular but ultimately harmless explosion.
“Thank you,” the Wandsman whispered to Lolly. Iris pulled Lolly off the ground and slammed her up against the wall.
“Never again, do you hear me? You are a goddamn circus act! You do not command me, you do not undermine me, you do not disobey me! You pull a stunt like this again I swear I will conjure a beast that will make that Ouroboros look like a garden snake, do you understand me?”
A short chuckle escaped from Lolly's lips.
“You know, I see it now.”
“See what?”
“The resemblance to Fuller.”
After having managed to recover, five of the councillors rose to their feet and gathered around the Guildmaster, who was still cowering on the floor.
“Guildmaster Vixis, not only have you once again acted unilaterally and broken our laws by threatening a foreign emissary, but you endangered this council and possibly all of Kul-Manas by committing an act of war against no one less than the Deathless Merchant of London!” the barn owl screeched at him, the outrage in her voice barely contained. “For these unforgivable crimes, the council condemns you to death.”
The other four councillors savagely and repeatedly impaled the Guildmaster with their long beaks, tearing off flesh and organs as he screamed for mercy.
Lolly covered her eyes and turned away, while Iris just curiously arched an eyebrow.
“No trial or due process? Efficient,” she commented. The ibis councillor approached her, his head bowed in humility.
“Dark, I beg you to believe me when I tell you that none of us knew what Vixis was planning,” he said, his voice heavy with fear and contrition. “If you could bring yourself to overlook his treachery, Kul-Manas will gladly still do business with you. As a show of good faith, we will purchase your entire current stock of three-dimensional wards and happily pay double, triple -”
“Tenfold, plus some of that sacred sap I heard mentioned earlier,” she replied.
“Yes, yes of course. Anything.”
“Well that's good, isn't it Iris?” Lolly asked hopefully. “It's a heck of a lot better than one little coin purse. You're not still mad at me, are you?”

“She threw herself in mortal danger against my direct orders, threatening to strand us in a hostile city and permanently ruin relations between our two businesses while ordering me to stop my own Ouroboros spell!”
In the Ringmaster's tent, Lolly once again sat on Icky's lap while they sat across from a partner of Marshall, Carter & Dark lividly accusing them of gross misconduct.
“And before that, she was asking the Wandsman about his penis and his feces and how his people reproduce!”
“The Wandsman liked me! He said I could come back anytime and learn all about Kul-Manas!” Lolly countered, sticking her tongue out at her. Icky gently pulled her back and calmly addressed Iris.
“Dark, I understand that Lolly's behavior may have been less than professional, but given that you attempted to murder an entire council of people -”
“Bird people,” Iris interjected.
“Racist!”
“I hardly think you have any right to accuse her of improper conduct,” Icky said. “You got your business deal, nobody innocent got hurt, can't we agree to just let this go?”
“Listen, her crass behavior jeopardized the success of this deal from the minute we stepped through the Door, and she actively subverted my authority by forcing me to destroy the Ouroboros,” Iris replied. “That is unacceptable and it cannot happen on future expeditions. I am going to have to insist that she be disciplined for this.”
“Oh, you can watch Icky spank me if you want. That's always fun.”
Icky snickered, but gestured for her to remain silent.
“Iris, I understand and I agree. I'll be sure to write her up for this.”
“You'll write her up?”
“Yes, that's what I said.”
“I…I guess that will do. I can't deal with any more bullocks today. Come on Victor, let's get back to London.”
With only a polite wave goodbye from Victor, he and Dark left the Ringmaster's tent. Once they were gone, Icky reached into her desk and pulled out a document which, unbeknownst to her, was not dissimilar to a document kept by the SCP Foundation.

The Things Lollipop Is Not Allowed To Do At The Circus Of The Disquieting

Please note: This list is not a joke. Each entry is something Lollipop either did, attempted to do, or at the very least expressed an interest in doing.

Attempt to break her record of drinking 5 7 8 pints of Clown's Milk in one sitting.
Attempt to break her record of producing 3 1/2 5 1/2 6 1/2 pints of Clown's Milk in one sitting.
Call a Circus wide emergency conference to decide whether Quincy's butterflies pollinating Yume's flowers counts as sex.
Debate customers on the validity of the Fifthist Church's teachings.
Stretch Meaty the Meat Worm into a Mobius strip.
Attempt to guess Manny's actual name.
Change the gravity in the bounce house from 'Moon' to 'Sun'.
Order any Wondertainment product that is living, explosive, radioactive, poisonous, autonomous, expensive or requires adult supervision without Icky's permission.
Create anatomically correct, animate balloon animals. (not even for educational purposes)
Challenge Motormouth to a pie eating contest.
Crawl inside Motormouth's stomach while he's sleeping in order to retrieve said pies.
Ask the Amazing Zoltan if he knows why kids love the great taste of Cinnamon Toast Crunch, how many licks to the center of a Tootsie Pop, etc.
Consult the Amazing Zoltan on anything other than Alchemy.
Cite the Scarlet King mythos as a 'patriarchal yet functional' example of polyamory.
Attempt to harvest silk from Library Pages.
Attempt to hack the Essie P database to change every 'good freak's' special containment procedures to "set them free you assholes".
Claim she is the first openly LGBT individual to literally ride a rainbow. (It's part of the midway. I've ridden it, and I'm sure lots of other LGBT+s have too)
Incorporate Miles the Bonecat into her Pussy Lovers routine. (the boner pun was hilarious though)
Re-purpose Dicksy's old reprogenetic equipment into a DIY bio-lab. (It doesn't matter how easy Professor Abnormal made it look, self-replicating cotton candy is a disaster waiting to happen)
Arrange play-dates for Ragamuffin with other possessed dolls.
Ask Ed & Al if they stock Tartarean Brimstone. (I do not want Ragamuffin summoning play-dates for herself either)
Place Eliza inside of a custom made hamster ball.
Ask any of our Sur-prizers to create extropic bouncy balls. We're lucky that thing bounced off into space before it killed anyone.
Ask any of our Carnival Confectionarians to create extropic jumping jelly beans. Please see above.
Ride the Ferris Wheel on top of, outside of, or underneath the cars. (I know she's not in any danger, but it sets a bad example for the younger guests)
Use Cotton Candy and Calliope music recreationally during work hours.
Ride the go-carts while under the influence of the above.
Introduce wooden ponies from the Carousel to real ponies from the Petting Zoo. The experience is existentially horrifying for both of them.
Utter the phrase 'Circus Time Procedures' within earshot of Eugene.
Tell the children of guests that running away from home can turn out great.
Claim that her self-appointed position as the Circus's Princess entitles her to an adult-sized play castle. (In all fairness this turned out be a great attraction for the midway, but it still isn't hers)
Complain to The Masked Lords, The Ambassador, The Hanged King or that guy selling olive oil that Alagadda isn't colourful enough.
Attempt to weaponize Waldorf's old cannon as a defense against Essie P raids.
Ask the Shark Punching Center if they've ever fought a Sharknado.
Ride her unicyle at supersonic speeds.
Commission Anderson Robotics to create "Five Nights at Freddy's" knock off animatronics.
Attempt to spay and/or neuter any of the attractions in the Menagerie of Mayhem.
Claim that napping during work hours are 'business calls to the Oneiroi Collective'. (I don't care if she actually is talking with it, there's no reason she can't do it at night)
Make any sort of marking on an Inkling note.
Use the Kaleidoscope to harvest helium from Jupiter. (Yes, I know it's a dwindling resource. Let Elon Musk expose his ass to that much radiation to get it)
Ask any members of the Cogwork Orthodoxy how the constant ticking doesn't drive them insane.
Conduct 'sensitivity workshops'. (I know she meant well, but it ended up being far more offensive than the inciting incident)
Ask Gary to help her make crank calls to any reality's President Trump, President Clinton, President Sanders, President Ryan, President-for-life Obama, you know what, just revoke her use of Gary's phone box altogether.
Take Victor any VIP guest on a tour of the Funhouse without any accompanying children.
Order a second Obama Llama to see if they'll bite each other's testicles off.
Direct guests looking for the restrooms to the Milking tent.
Let Quincy anyone drive our Porsche!
Let any of Ripley's sea-monsters out of the Fun-house because 'they needed some fresh-air'.
Offer Clown's Milk to non-clowns she doesn't like as a covert attempt at assassination.
Secretly administer Antabuse any medication to Bubblegum anyone.
Tell Nixie that she is not allowed in her tank within an hour after eating.
Attempt to locate the City of Adytum on Google Maps.
Play 'Bloody Mary' with Pepper's mirror.
Hide all the Clown Impulse Suppressant because 'Clowns are supposed to be impulsive'.
Troll GAW chat rooms by claiming to be a gamer unironically opposed to marijuana.
Bring a 'dune worm' through the Kaleidoscope.
Ask Sandstorm to make a giant desert terrarium for said dune worm.
Call Iris Dark for tech support.
Call Percival Darke for tech support. (He doesn't have a phone, I don't know how she actually did this)
Upload nightcore remixes of Virtuoso's arias on Youtube.

Reaching over the standard blue pens that Manny used and grabbing her distinctive purple pen, she added a new entry.

 61. Ask the Wandsman of Kul-Manas questions about his reproductive or digestive biology while on business calls with Iris Dark.

“Sorry Icky.”
“It's alright darling. I forgive you.”

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« Missed Part 2?

Kit hummed 'Close to You' as he started to prepare a bottle of milk before Matilda had a nap. He had started to notice that, when she was getting tired, her eyelids would become heavy and she would clutch whichever rabbit toy she had close against her. When she was in the box (as she was now, playing its role as a makeshift highchair) it would rock very gently when she was sleepy, but not yet napping. Kit had to be honest and say he appreciated the help.
As he put the water on to boil, he stretched slightly before turning around to face the counter he had left the box and baby on. Out of the blue, Peaches – the cat that didn't really exist in any realm; it was a long story – decided to come out of hiding. The appearance of Matilda had probably put her a bit on-edge, even if the baby (just like everyone else) couldn't see Peaches. Gracefully, the little ginger kitten leapt onto the counter, chirping softly at Kit, who resisted the urge to copy the noise as he normally did.
She started sniffing around the box, finding a myriad of smells awaiting her there. As she came close, Matilda suddenly squealed excitedly, and let go of one of the bunny's ears in order to reach a hand out to the cat, who didn't seem the least bit surprised she was seen by the child, and gently sniffed the hand before licking it. She patiently let her head be awkwardly petted, then chirped and jumped off the counter to go explore – or disappear – somewhere else. Kit watched the entire thing with his mouth slightly agape, before going over to Matilda, bottle forgotten for the moment.
"You could see her?" Obviously, it was dumb to actually ask the baby, but he still had to say it, because he was honestly surprised. He knew the baby was different, but he thought it was simply the force protecting her, rather than Matilda herself. The baby blinked up at him then whimpered as she saw the lack of bottle, the cat providing only a momentarily distraction. Behind him, he heard the plastic bottle rattling, as if someone (or something) was shaking it to draw his attention.
"Right, right. I haven't forgotten. Sorry, Munchkin." He pressed a kiss to her forehead before going back to his task. He produced the bottle when it was full and cool enough, bringing it over to the baby and cradling her in his arms as he fed her, reflexively rocking her and humming that same song again.
Once she was satisfied, he placed her in the box for a moment and dumped the bottle to be washed up. "Naptime!" He couldn't hide the happiness in his own voice. If she was asleep, he could sleep, too. He lifted her out of the box and carried her into the bedroom, pausing to change her nappy with growing ease, and then wrapping her in the blanket cocoon, first letting her yawn and stretch her arms out with what little muscle control she had.
Once she was safely encased, he placed her in the drawer and kissed her forehead. Her eyes were already drooping, so he didn't disturb her by singing to her this time. He waited on his knees until she was fast asleep, her breathing a soft little noise, her eyelashes resting on her pale cheeks. He paused to take this image in, then slowly, quietly, got up and moved to climb into his own bed.
He was asleep in a second. And it felt like he was awoken a second later, though he did feel a tad more refreshed. Matilda was whimpering and struggling to get free of her cocoon, fed-up of sleeping. That was fair enough, but Kit was glad he had only promised a story and nothing more active.
Eventually, he would have to bring her outside of this flat, let her get some fresh air, maybe feed the ducks in the local park where he normally smoked weed – well, he guessed that was out of the window, for now. Definitely the weed, and even the trips outside, until he had a pram.
"Coming, Munchkin!" Him just calling seemed to calm her, and she struggled to turn her head to face him, grinning, chewing on the fingers of a freed hand. Kit found himself smiling too as he reached her side and carefully unbundled her. She was still dry, but probably getting a little bit hungry now.
A short while later, and they were set up on the sofa. Matilda was sat up in Kit's arms, and he was holding her bottle, rocking and humming quietly. When the bottle was mostly empty and she displayed no more interest, he cleared his throat. "A story, a story…" No picture books or fairy tales had appeared anywhere he had briefly looked, so he guessed he had to make up his own, as the stories he had been told in his childhood were sparse, and he had forgotten the most important parts of them.
"Once upon a time, there was a little boy called… Jude. Jude was a weird boy, he was like us, except he couldn't make things appear when he wanted them; he just saw things. That meant Jude didn't have many friends, 'cos a lot of the other kids teased him. So, one day, Jude was playing near the graveyard, alone. Truth be told, he was hiding from a… monster that lived in his house."
Matilda appeared to be listening, or at least soothed by Kit's voice rumbling in his chest, close to her where she rested her head. She was chewing a rusk that had appeared from no-where, but Kit had no concerns about the safety of the food. The entity protecting the baby had done nothing to hurt her so far, and seemed only to exist to make Matilda happy – much like Kit's role at that moment.
'Yeah, a monster,' the voice in his head teased Kit. 'Is it easier to pretend he's fictional? He's in you too, you know. You were just a baby, just like Matilda, and the monster is in you too – you could turn on her any time…' Kit swallowed hard and banished the voice, like he had done many times before.
Matilda blinked at him, then held up the well-sucked rusk, as if offering it. He smiled at this little gesture (intended or not) and instead guided it back to her mouth. "It's yours, Munchkin. I'm sure your… friend would share with me if it wanted to." That distant laughter happened again, and Kit was suddenly aware he may have another listener to his story.
"So, he was playing there because it was quiet, and he liked reading the names on the graves and drawing the lives the people may have had. He wasn't good at drawing, but it made him happy. And then, he heard crying coming from behind one grave. He crept over to it, not wanting to scare whoever was upset. When he got close, he saw the… person who was crying didn't have a body like we have. He didn't have flesh; he had something weird shimmering around him. It was like looking at a reflection in a gently moving stream."
He shifted Matilda, who had finished her rusk, so she was sitting up a little more. That giant rabbit which smelt like peaches had come to be snuggled up against her, and her sticky little hands were holding the ears with a quiet fondness. When Kit fell silent, just watching her, Matilda – who had been looking across the room at nothing that Kit could see – looked up and babbled at him, as if complaining about his silence. She may not have understood the story, but something about the flow of words was curious and calming to her in the same breath.
"Okay, okay. Sorry Munchkin. I was just thinking." He jiggled her a little on his knee, making her giggle and cuddle her bunny closer. "Where were we…" He mused, as if he had been looking at a book and had lost his place.
"Oh, yeah. Okay, so, he didn't have skin. He was just sort of an idea of a person, the shape of a person with an uneven form. He was about as big as Jude was at the time. Jude should have been scared really, 'cos he had never seen such a thing, but he was more sad that the other boy was sad. Eventually, he reached out, and his hand landed on the shimmery arm as if it was there, but it was so, so cold."
Matilda grasped at her bunny, leaving an ear free. Absently, Kit took it, the soft feeling under his fingers unfamiliar. He wondered if ever had toys like this growing up – did he have an over-large teddy bear watching over him in his own drawer-crib? Maybe his own upbringing would have been different if he had a childish force providing the soft comfort of cuddly toys and banishing the empty feeling of hunger he remembered from, well, his earliest memory.
"The person, Jude thought maybe it was a boy like him, turned to him. He had these eyes that looked so sad, but stared at Jude because he was surprised Jude could see him. But Jude had always been able to see weird things, and that was okay. The shimmery boy asked why he was here, and Jude told him about the monster at home. How it had paws like a lion, a face like a rat's, and teeth as sharp as daggers."
'Yes,' his brain hissed, dangerously low. 'Dehumanise him. That will make everything he did go away. How long have you been calling him a monster, now? Almost as long as you've seen real monsters, but they never did what he did, did they? Who are you trying to fool; humans are the true monsters.'
Kit held the rabbit ear tighter, and found himself speaking faster, wanting to finish the story, feed the baby, and get them both to bed. The voice in his head spoke of nightmares, but he had someone else to care about now, so maybe it would be kind and leave him restless, but dream-free.
"Jude asked why the other boy was so sad. The boy said he had died, and no-one loved him. That's very sad when that happens, huh Munchkin?"
Matilda blinked naively up at him, then reached up with a wavering hand and touched Kit's cheek. He was suddenly aware of the tear rolling down his cheek, and her hand connected with it, smearing it away. On the belly of the large rabbit toy, a handkerchief suddenly appeared, with his initials in dark purple thread in one corner, as if it belonged to him. Kit smiled sadly at the small gesture, and wiped away his tear, rocking Matilda a little to reassure her everything was okay.
"So, Jude thought and thought, and he remembered what made him feel loved. He moved closer to the ghost of the boy, and wrapped his arms around him, even though he was as cold as ice. He felt arms wrap around him, too. And Ki- Jude realised, just then, that love is fantastic, and love is what makes the world go around, and love is what everyone needs. Maybe the other boy thought that too, but Jude didn't get a chance to ask. When he pulled away, the boy was gone, and the graveyard was quiet again. Jude found himself a lot less sad, and, when he went home, seeing the monster wasn't so bad – he was brave and stood up to it, and the monster shrank in size against the force of love."
'That isn't true,' his brain teased. 'You went home to your own monster, love in your heart, and tried to tell him. Your monster called you a weirdo and a queer, and he clawed your face so hard that you were off school two days to hide the marks. But give her your soppy fairy-tale ending if you want. We both know the truth.'
"So," Kit concluded, speaking louder, as if he could block out the mocking voice. "Jude realised that it was all okay as long as you had love. And, Munchkin, you have my love, so you'll be able to face any monsters in your life, and I'll face them with you. Sound good?" He asked the baby, managing a smile that wasn't forced, because Matilda was watching him with such rapt attention, chewing on her fingers and clutching the bunny.
He scooped the baby closer, then stood, holding her up in the air again, letting her experience that feeling of flying whilst safe in someone's arms. Matilda giggled and kicked her little legs out, the bunny hanging down from one hand – safe in her own grip. "Right, Munchkin. A little dinner for you, then bedtime. And my bedtime too, I think." He brought the baby down from her little flying trip and carried her into the kitchen.
In the cupboard, a little jar of some sort of casserole meal had appeared. Kit silently thanked whoever was looking after Matilda, because he didn't think a second serving of that gross porridge would be very nice. He read the instructions and heated the food, then brought it over to the baby, who was sat up in her box, chewing on a new teething ring. Kit really had to get to the library (amongst everywhere else he needed to go) to get a book about babies, as he guessed he knew nothing about what happened when teeth started to appear.
He fed her without incident, the baby seeming to enjoy the food. Kit wondered if the spirit had always been with Matilda, and if it knew she had favourites. As before, when the baby was full, Kit tried a spoonful of the food. It wasn't as bad, but Matilda was watching him, anticipating a reaction, and he obediently pulled a face, causing her to giggle and clap her hands.
"Munchkin, you have me wrapped around your little finger," he told the baby, as he lifted her from the box. She giggled again, and started that terrible tugging of his hair again, which he bared without swearing until he was able to put her down on the bed and free her hands. "Hm, we're going to have to get you out of that habit, because I refuse to cut my hair." He murmured, absently.
Before they had both had a nap, he had thrown her onesie in the washer/dryer, and he dashed from the bedroom and back into the kitchen to retrieve the dry article of clothing, which smelt of lavender – Kit was someone who trusted in essential oils to impact his mood, and lavender was very calming. He came back into the bedroom to find that the force had moved a pillow from the head of his bed to being propped up next to Matilda, providing a barrier between her and a potential fall from the bed.
"Oops," he murmured, not able to help but to grin. "Uh, thanks." This time, he thought he heard disappointed tutting rather than laughter. He moved the pillow back so he could kneel in front of Matilda and change her nappy, getting in a bit of a flap at some point and waving his hand around with the clean nappy attached to him, making Matilda laugh. It was accidental, but it was always pleasant to hear her make that sound.
Eventually he managed to get the nappy on, then tried to get her dressed in the little purple onesie, dismissing the makeshift clothing that he had put on her after the bath. Matilda enjoyed wiggling and trying to get her limbs free, chuckling at the game they ended up playing, and tiring herself out, too. Kit gently wrestled the clothing on her, making sure she was all done up and warm.
Matilda yawned, making Kit yawn too as he scooped her up. "I had a nice day with you, Munchkin." He murmured, finding himself honestly happy. "Tomorrow, I promise to try and find a way to take you outside. There's some ducks in the park that I think would love to be fed by you." He already had a half-formed idea for a makeshift sling until he could get hold of a pram of some description. They both needed some fresh air and some entertainment outside of these four walls.
He gently lay her in the drawer, stroking a hand across her forehead as he wrapped her up securely. She looked drowsy, but not yet falling asleep, so Kit quietly sang to her, the alphabet song that he found himself divided by – loving it and hating it at the same time; absently nostalgic for it. Her eyes slowly closed, and Kit pressed a kiss to her forehead. He knew she would be awake in a scant couple of hours for her milk, but he was prepared, and that made it some much more manageable.
As he stood, Peaches appeared from no-where, and jumped into the drawer, curling up near Matilda's feet, protectively, purring very softly. "Good girl," Kit absently praised, stretching so his back clicked satisfyingly.
He threw on some clean clothes from his locker, and then crawled into bed, thoughts going around his head about what he needed, and how much this would all cost. But Matilda was worth it – in a short time they had bonded and he felt like he could do this for as long as she needed, that he wanted to do this. As he was dropping off to sleep, he was absently promising himself that she would never go wanting for anything, and would have a childhood far removed from his own.

Onwards, to the Finale »

Hub


I asked them where I was. Who they were.
They told me they were the Foundation. That where I was didn't matter.
Shards. Shards inside my skin, shards inside my head. Everything was broken, breaking. They were breaking me apart.
They said they were trying to understand me.
But I didn't understand them.
Should I have known? What should I have been thinking? What thoughts did they want me to think, to stop them from turning me to shreds of myself.
I asked them where their humanity went.
They told me humanity doesn't hear about this.
I tried to think, I tried to bring something to the surface they'd listen to, something to stop the knives.
I told them my name is Juliet.
They told me my name is H497.
But that's not a name, is it? Did I dream of having a name? I couldn't remember how long I've been here, or who I was before. I saw flashes of colour when I close my eyes, but when I open them I saw the grey walls and static.
I told them I want to go home.
They told me I don't have a home.
But I remembered a home. I was warm then. I forgot what that warmth feels like, but I longed for it. That's something I did remember. They refused it, refused the one memory I knew wasn't a dream.
They told me I was diseased, that I was missing the thoughts in my brain. They have to inspect me.
I told them they took parts of my skin, asked them if they're the disease.

They didn't like that.
I didn't like them
so I think we're even.

But they're right. I don't remember what my hands used to look like, and I don't remember this static. I don't mind it though, it helps. They had cut into me, trying to remove the parts that are still there. The static clings to me anyways, insulating me from the pain. I don't feel what's missing anymore. At first, I felt the knives, now I don't. I still don't like them, but they come anyways. I woke up, once, being prodded in a dim room.
They said that they wanted to remove the static, so they removed parts of me.
I said that I don't mind, the static took the place of what went missing.
Sparkling like fireworks of black and white. It kept me safe from the pain. Kept me numb.
I used to tell them I was human, that I deserved to be treated like one.
They would tell me I'm barely alive, that I'm not worth the effort.
It gets dim, the lights. The light is reaching me less and less now. But I don't mind, the static keeps me safe.
I wanted to lay my head down, for now. For a while. To try to think of words to say that would make them release me.
Now, I can lay my head down anyways. There's no point to the thoughts, the static takes their place, warms my brain. I feel its warmth, is this what… what home felt like?
I asked the static if it was my home.
That warmth, the tingling was its answer.
The numbness that felt so welcoming.
I can hear voices, they feel so far away. Were they getting their knives? It didn't matter, really I didn't care.
They call me a failure.
A new voice among them calls me a victim.
I can't see them. The static hides the world from me. It protects me, and I don't mind.
Their voices get louder, fighting each other. then they fall, hushed and fading to static.
The tingling begins to go away. The warmth, gets hotter.
I try to open my mouth, to speak, to breathe, but my throat is filled with static. I don't mind, it's keeping me safe.

I feel like I'm floating away.

Far, far away.

Is the static taking me home?

I want to go home.


"In another moment down went Alice after it, never once considering how in the world she was to get out again."

Detective Jason Fritz took a final puff from his cigarette before tossing it into the river before him, watching as it vanished beneath the crashing tides. The irritation in his lungs kept him alert and focused on nights like these, where the hours seemed to compound and shifts dragged into the morning hours. There were many other, much more private reasons he continued to smoke even after the diagnosis, but he had managed to convince himself being alert made everything worth it.
"Really gotta quit that shit, man."
The voice of that 20 year old fucker chief had stuck with him - Roger, he thought his name was - forced its way into his ears like a knife. Jason rose to his feet and about-faced, coming within feet of his partner.
"Thanks, doc."
The boy scoffed. "Just looking out for you, old timer."
"You know I'm 35, right?"
"Yeah, what's your point?"
Jason rifled through his pockets in search of another cigarette. "Nevermind." He turned sharply, gazing at a blue tarp gently flapping in the wind. "What's your theory?"
"My theory?" The boy shook his head. "Seems like a pretty cut and dry suicide to me."
"Why here, though?"
"What do you mean?"
"Why do it here?"
The boy shrugged. "Maybe it was convenient. Maybe he didn't have a gun. I dunno. Point is, we don't have anything suggesting foul play." A finger rose towards the bridge. "Part of the railing is out. Probably forced his way through it on the way down."
"Forced his way through it?" Jason gestured towards the body. "Guy's a chubby egghead. Worked for some pharmaceutical company a couple miles from here. Don't you think it's a little strange that he somehow pushed through solid metal?"
"Stranger things have happened, detective."
"Yeah." Jason exhaled a cloud of tobacco smoke before inserting his hand into the dead man's coat pocket. He fished around aimlessly for several seconds before finding a solid object - plastic, maybe. Removing his hand, Jason gazed upon an identification card, still slightly bent from being printed.
"Antonio Rodriguez." He mumbled, putting on a slight Latino accent. "Started working there three days ago. I looked him up on Facebook. Tony here married his childhood sweetheart only a few weeks back."
The boy inhaled in irritation. "What are you suggesting, detective?"
"What I'm suggesting is that you're wrong." He looked up at the bridge, broken pieces of metal still swaying in the wind. "Why would a guy happily in love with a brand new job do this?"
The boy began to speak, but Jason silenced him.
"It's rhetorical." Jason glared at him. "Let's take a look around. See if there's anything worth our time."
The two men joined each other and began walking into the night, a cold breeze jolting their ties.
"You believe in ghosts, kid?"
He sneered. "Not really, why?"
His eyes darted away from the boy and fell to what remained of his smoke. "No reason. Don't worry about it."
Jason flicked the cigarette to his side and watched as it slowly burned out, leaving nothing but a dry, cracked husk of paper and ash next to the body of Antonio Rodriguez.

The person you are trying to reach is not able to take your call at this time. At the tone, please record your message. When you are finished recording, hang up or use the keypad to select more options.
Lisa, it's me. I don't have a lot of time to talk, so I need you to listen carefully and call me back as soon as you can. I am so sorry for what is happening. I never meant for any of this to happen. All I wanted was to keep you safe. I just wanted a second chance. They're not going to leave me alone. I just called Mark and told him to give you the stuff inside of my safe. One of those things is a note. Do not read it. Keep it in a safe place and do not tell anyone that you have it. If you ever open it, they will find and come for you. Please, for God's sake, don't open it.
I love you so much that words cannot begin to describe it. I am so sorry for what is about to happen. I'm so sorry. I love you.

"See? I told you. Cut and dry."
The boy motioned towards the broken railing, blood still glistening in the summer moonlight. Jason reached for his smokes and grimaced in frustration when he realized they were finally gone.
"Still sticking to that theory, yeah?"
"What other explanations are there?" He chuckled. "You think he charged through it like a fucking linebacker?"
"Show some goddamn respect." Jason's voice was firm, yet not hostile. The boy's smile gradually receded into a submissive scowl while his superior analyzed the area, looking for any evidence of Rodriguez. He ultimately found some dangling from a piece of metal nearly 200 feet off the ground.
"You see that?"
"Yeah. Looks like ash."
"Because it is." The detective gritted his teeth. "I can smell it, too."
"Smell what?"
Jason rose to his feet. "He didn't charge through this at all. Somebody burned through it with thermite." An air of discomfort washed over the men. "If this was a suicide, he planned for it very well."
"You saying he was murdered?"
"No, not necessarily. It's just unusual." He exhaled and fell to a knee, leaning closer to the ash. "Reminds me of something. You ever heard of something called the Chaos Insurgency?"
"Can't say I have."
"Don't blame you. If it weren't for bits and pieces I've picked up over the years, I wouldn't either. Hearing about them is already difficult, and finding them is even harder." Jason let out a wheezy exhale. "Back when I was a beat cop in New York, we got a two-eleven. Nothing unusual about that of course, so I walked over to the bank. I was close to it at the time, so I actually beat the patrol guys."
The boy listened intently, crossing his arms and falling into a relaxed stance.
"Three guys, all of them armed with AK's. They were using thermite to cut into the vault. You could smell it from blocks away. Smelled like a goddamn warzone."
"Did you get them?"
"That's the thing." Jason turned away and stared intently at the ash. "Before any of our guys moved in, they were already dead. Nobody else was in the bank at the time, and they had shot out of all the cameras. Nobody had any clue what happened until they did the autopsies. All we knew was what the security cameras captured - a few conversations about some doctor at a research facility and an insurgency."
The boy crossed his arms in confusion. "So how'd they die?"
Without turning towards him, Jason replied, "Self inflicted gunshot wounds to the temple."
And, in a moment, Jason felt his pace quicken as his mind finally put the pieces together.

Yeah, hello?
Hey, Mark.
Tony?
Yeah.
Christ, man. Do you know what fucking time it is?
Sorry, I just - you know, I just needed to talk to someone.
At three o'clock in the goddamn morning?
You know I wouldn't call you if it wasn't serious.
Yeah, right. What is it?
I'm going to die, Mark.
What? What the fuck are you talking about?
I'm on the bridge right now. I just thought you should know.
Are you fucking serious right now?
The code to my safe is 5515. There should be a note, a key to my safety deposit box, and a few thousand dollars inside.
Hold up, man. Hold up. I'm getting in the car right now. Just stay on the phone, okay?
I need you to make sure Lisa gets the money and the note. I didn't have time to write up anything official, so I'm just asking you to do me a favor as my friend.
Nothing's happening to you. I'm in the car. Where are you?
You're not going to get here in time, Mark.
Listen. Listen to me, Tony. You need to calm down. I know a lot of shit is going on with you right now, but just calm down and listen to me.
This isn't a debate.
For fuck's sake, Tony. Don't do this. I'm begging you, man. I am begging you.
I'm sorry, Mark. Goodbye.
Tony? Tony, you still there?
Tony?

In the desolate parking lot of a McDonald's at 3:00 AM, Jason once again flicked his lighter and began puffing from the fourth cigarette of the night. Unlike before, he was acutely aware of the pain in his lungs, searing through his chest like a raging wildfire. He coughed sporadically, phlegm rocketing from his mouth and exploding in a splash of gray and red on the pavement, as a blue pickup truck made the turn into the lot and shut its headlights off.
"This him?" The boy, barely fighting off the tantalizing beckon of sleep, lifted himself out of the back of the patrol car. Crumbs from a burger rolled off his uniform and onto the passenger's side mat. Jason rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck before beginning his steady march towards the truck, watching as a tall figure in a hoodie fell from the driver's seat.
"Let's be brief. I don't have a lot of time before they trace me." The figure, a man in his 40's by Jason's estimates, quickly approached the detective and held out a yellow envelope stained with coffee. "As promised, the note. I'll take my payment now."
"Hang on, just hang on." Jason moved his right hand to the top of the envelope and began to lift the flap up when a hand stopped him.
"Not part of the deal, man." The figure was clearly agitated, seemingly in fear of something nobody could see. "Look, I can just take it back and leave, if that's what you want."
"Just relax." The detective turned to his colleague, folder still in hand. "Get the briefcase out of the trunk, please. And for god's sake, clean yourself up."
After ensuring his uniform was clean of food, the boy shimmied to the trunk of the patrol car and lifted it open, his fingers wrapping around the handle of a brown leather briefcase. Jason watched as droplets of sweat streamed down from his hairline, coating the handle in a slick, clear film, and shifted his weight to face away from the hooded man in a subtle display of trust. Jason's eyes met the boy's and flashed an expression of reassurance and calm, though it seemed to be in vain, his face twitching subtly and his right hand rapping against the side of his leg. By the time it occurred to Jason that the man was seconds away from fleeing in an anxiety induced panic, he felt warm leather touch the tips of his fingers.
"$200,000. Untraceable, as promised." He opened the briefcase for the man and watched as the moon lit several stacks of flawless green cash. The man craned his neck to look inside before closing it and abruptly leaving, quickly walking to his truck. Jason gritted his teeth and inhaled sharply.
"One more thing."
The figure stopped, snapping his head to the right.
"I don't know who you are, and frankly, I'd like to keep it that way. You got the note as you promised, and as far as I can tell, nobody knows about it. But you should know I work for people that don't take kindly to leaks. If I find out anyone besides the three of us knows about what happened here tonight, well…frankly, there will be consequences." He paused. "Might not be tomorrow, might not be for a while. But it will happen, and that I can guarantee you."
The figure remained motionless for several moments before marching to the driver's side of the pickup truck. He stepped inside and fumbled for his keys before roaring the engine to life and driving out of the parking lot into the New Mexico fog. With a certain grace, the detective dropped the briefcase and removed a silenced pistol from his belt, firing three rounds into the windshield in an explosion of glass and crimson. Jason heard the labored breathing of the boy behind him.
"What the fuck, man?!" His voice shook, the anxiety palpable. "The hell is going on?! We could be fired! We could be arrested, man! For fuck's sake!"
Jason said nothing, keenly aware of the boy's eyes darting back and forth across the envelope as he opened it and removed a single sheet of paper. He held it up next to his face and stared intently at it.
"From the second I saw Antonio's body, none of this made sense." He grinned. "Couldn't be sure it was them. Even if it was, this isn't their MO. And then, it clicked for me."
His gaze once again fell to the boy.
"Get the fuck out of here, and never tell anyone about this. Only gonna warn you once."
The two men left the parking lot moments later, and the boy never saw Detective Jason Fritz ever again.

The beaming young waitress approached Jason's table with an endearing grin, setting down a plate of eggs and bacon as she looked to the unusually content detective with slight confusion. He had been tracking her movements like a wolf ever since she had come barreling out of the kitchen, not once directing his gaze anywhere but her eyes. She removed several napkins from her apron pocket before snapping her head towards the man across from Jason, still maintaining a forced smile.
"Would you like anything else, sir?"
The man stroked his ash gray beard and flashed a smirk. "I think we're okay for now. Thank you."
She began walking away, but he abruptly raised his hand to stop her.
"What did you say your name was, sweetheart?"
Her discomfort was now obvious. "Uh…Jessica. Jessica, sir."
"Right. Jessica." The man clicked his tongue and lifted his glass of orange juice off the tablecloth. "My associate and I would like to send our compliments to whoever prepared this juice. It's quite delicious."
She chuckled. "It's just store bought orange juice, sir. We don't make it."
"My mistake. Must be jet lag." The three shifted around in awkward silence before he spoke again. "Jessica, before I let you go, could I ask a favor?"
"Sure?"
"You see, me and my associate have some business to attend to. Now, without going into details since I imagine you don't want to be here all day, it's very important we finish this business before I leave." He took a sip from the juice. "So, I politely ask that you do not come to our table again, as doing so would be quite distracting. Now, I realize that your job necessitates you speak to us."
His right arm moved off his leg slightly, revealing a silenced pistol aimed directly at her chest.
"I see you around us again before we leave and I will not hesitate to split open your pretty little face for everyone on the local news to see. Understood?"
Breaking into a sweat almost instantly, she nodded before walking away from the table as quickly as possible without running. Jason could still hear her strained hyperventilation as she opened the door to the restaurant's kitchen.
"Was that really necessary?"
Mr. Suit chuckled. "You've known me long enough to understand my theatrics."
"She's just a kid."
"You're so right. Which is why, with her bright future ahead of her, she won't talk to us again." His grin quickly faded. "Now, your report."
Jason lifted a briefcase from under the table and placed it in front of Mr. Suit.
"Everything's there. Made sure I couldn't be traced."
"How?"
"Paid some thug to break into the doc's house. Clipped him as soon as I got the briefcase."
"And the kid?"
Images of the boy flashed in front of Jason. "He won't be a problem. He's scared."
"I must say, you've certainly exceeded expectations." The smug grin returned to Mr. Suit's face, stretching to an almost unsettling extent. He removed several papers from the case, skimming over their contents before sliding them back inside. "I'll be sure your efforts are noted with my superiors. For now, stay quiet and out of sight. There will be more assignments for you in the future."
Mr. Suit stood up from the table, cleaned himself with a napkin, and left through the double doors of the diner, making prolonged eye contact with Jessica as the doors swung closed. Jason followed him, lighting a cigarette as he walked towards the setting Albuquerque sun.

Person of Interest #16619-A
Name: FRITZ, JASON G.
DOB: 8/31/1982
Threat Level: Black
Profile: PoI #16619-A, identified as Jason Fritz, is believed to be in possession of documentation relating to the termination of Doctor Antonio Rodriguez, a former Level 2 researcher at Site-882. This information details, among other sensitive pieces of information, the existence of Mobile Task Force 55-Bravo, various security protocols at Site-882, and Doctor Rodriguez's work on SCP-████. It is speculated that PoI #16619-A will attempt to utilize this information for financial gain, possibly by providing it to a hostile Group of Interest. PoI #16619-A's connections to Groups of Interest, specifically the Chaos Insurgency, remain unknown at this time. Field reports also suggest PoI #16619-A had direct involvement with Incident TAT-22, in which several individuals were neutralized during a bank heist due to potentially leaking classified information sold to them by Doctor Rodriguez.
Apprehension of PoI #16619-A is considered a top priority objective for Mobile Task Force 55-Bravo at this time. All individuals linked to PoI #16619-A, either directly or indirectly, must be detained and questioned upon being identified. Voice modification software similar to that used during Foundation cover-up operations following Doctor Rodriguez's termination is to be employed in an effort to extract information from relatives, friends, and former coworkers. The whereabouts of PoI #16619-A remain unknown, but search efforts are being focused in the New Mexico area due to his prior employment as a detective with the Albuquerque Police Department.
In light of this situation, all Foundation records of Doctor Rodriguez have been redacted and transferred to a secure information storage facility.

Mr. Suit Hub | > Phoenix


« Missed Part 1?

Kit had been having the most amazing dream. It involved him, Gabriel, and a quiet night in, before his world was torn apart. It wasn't much but a longing feeling and, as he went to his ex's side to snuggle close, there was a sudden piercing noise that broke into his dreams.
He sat bolt upright, instantly. Was it the fire alarm? Had he left the TV on? Blinking sleep from his eyes, he scanned the room, and was reminded (instantly, and loudly) of the baby he had taken in. It had seemed like such a sensible and manageable idea at the time – after all, they weren't that complicated. Just tiny humans with no control over their bodily functions and very few ways to express themselves. That couldn't possibly be hard! This piercing crying seemed like one of the ways Matilda could communicate.
He stumbled out of the bed, finding that the baby had managed to free herself somewhat from her blanket cocoon and was waving her arms and legs freely, visibly showing her distress as much as anything else. He was at her side as soon as he could get his feet to co-operate, and scooping her up.
"Shh, Munchkin. Shh, shh, shh." Less than 12 hours in his care, and Kit had already developed a nickname for her; everyone deserved one, after all. The comfort and warmth of Kit's arms seemed to calm the baby somewhat, that stupidly large rabbit still tucked next to her – she seemed rather reluctant to part with it, and he noticed that it smelt like peaches. But she was still snuffling and whimpering, keenly unhappy about something.
He carried her over to his bed and gently laid her out. Reluctantly, he slipped a hand into her nappy and found it was still dry, so it wasn't that. He remembered, vaguely, on the back of the formula tin it instructed that babies could get distressed at night, and it was okay to feed them a little warm milk to help ease them back into sleep.
Not really wanting to use the cardboard box as a makeshift safe area for the baby, but also having no choice, he placed her into it with a cushion at her back, and carried her into the kitchen. If he really wanted to keep Munchkin around, he was going to have to scour the charity shops for the things they needed. Whatever was producing things for Matilda seemed to have quite the young mind of its own, and didn't seem to think of the necessity of rocker seats and changing tables; toys and food seemed to be its priority, much like it was a child itself.
Yawning widely, Kit prepared a small amount of milk and fed the still whimpering Matilda, who seemed more contented with the food in her belly, and almost dropping off to sleep the second he placed her back in the box. Feeling tired himself, he stumbled into the bedroom, protective of his bundle, and put her back in the drawer, before climbing into bed.
"That wasn't so bad," was his final thought before sleep overcame him. "Don't know why the parents on TV always complain so much…"
The next crying session came at 2am. Her nappy was wet and a drowsy Kit nearly stuck the nappy to his face before successfully getting it on a wiggling Matilda. Okay, so maybe this was all a little bit harder than he thought, but it was still alright.
4am. Matilda was apparently just lonely, because she was dry and refused the offered bottle. Kit spent the best part of half an hour singing the few songs he knew - 'Close to You', 'I Say a Little Prayer', 'Valentine', and that damn alphabet song, at least five times. He was nearly asleep holding the baby when she finally decided to sleep herself.
6am was the next wailing time, and it was also apparently the start of their day, because Matilda refused to go back to sleep and lay staring at him with big, tearful eyes. When Kit looked away momentarily, a dummy appeared in Matilda's mouth and seemed to soothe her, somewhat, but she was no longer interested in this sleeping business.
Kit put the coffee machine on to make himself a strong cup, before transferring Matilda into the kitchen in that darn box. Really, she needed a highchair, and he could only hope that he could find a cheap one somewhere. For the meantime, a couple of cushions sat her up straight enough, and a plastic plate that had magically appeared provided somewhere to present her food, as well as allow her to bang her fists happily as he prepared the porridge and his coffee.
Banana porridge sounded quite appealing, even though Kit wasn't a breakfast person. Or a lunch person. Or a dinner person. It didn't look particularly appealing, an odd grey-yellow mush that had lumps in it no matter how much he stirred. He downed his coffee hot so he could be awake enough to actually feed the child, who was clutching an oddly orange rabbit toy by the time he looked again. She looked wide awake, and it didn't seem exactly fair that she could do that without stimulants.
He played the aeroplane game with her like he had seen on TV, though Munchkin didn't need much encouragement to eat. The food wasn't always successful at going in her mouth, of course – some of it went on her face, down her neck, and onto her onesie. This seemed like a problem for later, because stains didn't distress Matilda or Kit. Once she had her full, there was about a quarter of the bowl left, and Kit couldn't help but to be curious.
Kit tasted a spoonful of the lumpy porridge, then instantly regretted it. "This stuff is disgusting, if you don't mind me saying." He told Matilda, pulling a face that made her laugh, little hands waving up and down with a bunny ear clutched in one fist.
"It would probably be alright if it had a bit more sugar…" Kit murmured, wistfully. He remembered when he was younger – though obviously not as titchy-tiny-young as Matilda, very few have the privilege of remembering that age – and his grandmother used to give him rice pudding practically soaked in sugar. His mum used to get so cross with the little treat, but his grandmother (who had somehow gotten the nickname 'ninny') reasoned that they all had so little to look forward to in life, and she was allowed to spoil her grandchildren. He missed her, especially now, when she would know exactly what to do and wouldn't sugar-coat it if he was doing something wrong.
Now for the day's entertainment. Kit knew that this singing business wouldn't amuse Matilda for long, but he had an idea for how he could keep them both happy. He used a washcloth to blot off some of the porridge from her onesie, and then wiped her face. The baby was happily gurgling at him, making noises in a language only she understood. "It would be nice if you could translate," he muttered out loud to whoever was providing toys and essentials to the baby. Again, he thought he heard distant laughter.
He picked Matilda up, who was content in every way. However, when his long hair, swishing as they walked, caught her eye, mischief gleamed in those once innocent orbs, and she took hold of a good handful.
"Ow. OW. What the hell are you playing at?!" Kit practically squawked the words out, feeling the tugging at his scalp. "That hurts, Munchkin!" Babies, however, aren't much for understanding the words of adults, and Matilda thought this was a fun game. Kit had to deal with the sharp tugs on his scalp until he reached the sofa (sans cushions now, all placed in the box) and deposited the child, having to hang his head low to stop the intense pain. Eventually, with some coaxing and cajoling, he managed to get her hands free and rest her back onto the sofa.
"Look at this!" He pointed proudly to his Christmas tree. "And I think you should leave your mark here, it would help a ton. What do you think?" As he spoke, he bent down to open the lid on a pot of silver, glittery paint, and Matilda's eyes grew wide with intrigue. Kit placed his hand into the pot of paint, coming back with a palm covered in the stuff, then placed it on the wall, leaving a print. It was intriguing to see all the lines and marks of scars lingering on the fingers. "Maybe we can make them into stars…" He mused, absently.
Meanwhile, on the sofa, Matilda rolled onto her side. She wasn't quite at the crawling stage yet, but her wish to be off the sofa and near the sparkly paint was clear. "Oops!" Kit mumbled to himself, quickly moving over to the sofa. "We can't have you falling off, Munchkin. I've heard babies are quite breakable. Besides, I'd like you to stick around."
He picked up Matilda and held her up high, smiling as she giggling and wiggled in excitement at 'flying' whilst in the (relative) safety of Kit's hands. "Let's fly you over to the land of paint and glitter!" Kit said, tone nearly as excited as Matilda clearly was.
He placed Matilda carefully on the floor, pleased to see she could sit up on her own. "Okay, so let's…" He gently took her hand, and placed it in the (non-toxic, he was pretty sure) paint. Matilda wiggled her fingers against the odd sensation, but didn't grow upset – instead, she curiously watched as Kit removed her hand and pressed it against the wall. "Ta-da!" He crowed, happily, as her tiny hand print was revealed.
Matilda giggled and clapped her hands together, transferring paint to her other hand. Kit smiled fondly. A little paint splatter didn't matter.
"You sit there, and you watch da- Unc- …me." Kit still wasn't sure what to call himself in front of her. Daddy didn't sit right, Uncle sounded frankly creepy, and just saying his name lacked the connection he thought he was making with her. "Then maybe you can help me do more." He concluded, smiling at the baby.
Unfortunately, Kit tended to get a little absorbed when painting his rows of fake Christmas lights, incorporating their hand prints as a glittery centrepiece. When he next turned back to the baby, what he saw made him drop his paint brush onto the floor.
She was covered in paint. Literally from head to toe. There was gold paint in her hair, silver paint on her face, and purple paint just everywhere – on her onesie, and even on her feet. The smile on his face seemed to imply she knew what she had done, and had enjoyed every minute of it.
"Holy sh- Christ." Kit quickly corrected his tendency to swear. "Why did you… How did you…?" But Matilda would only chuckle and, as he came close and bent down, reach out to Kit and place a hand print on his face. "Of course." He sighed, but couldn't help but to smile. At least she was happy, and she hadn't managed to injure herself in the course of her activities.
Well, at least she had picked a week when he had hot water. "Bathtime, I guess. Then naptime. Then your naptime. Then lunch. Then… I'll tell you a story! Then bedtime." He planned out as he went along, scooping the baby up, not caring as he got paint all over a baggy t-shirt he had put on.
Matilda was still giggling happily as they entered the bathroom, but Kit was perplexed. How did he do this? She could sit up alone, sure, but what if she somehow fell like she could have done from the couch? Did she need one of those inflatable rings? This baby business was full of challenges. And what about her clothes? They needed to go in the wash, but he had nothing else to dress her in, and the entity around her didn't seem to particular care about clothing – he guessed it wasn't essential in their books.
"Hmm. This is… awkward." Kit murmured to Matilda, turning on the taps whilst still clutching her, before going into the kitchen to get that darn box again, just to have somewhere safe to put her for a moment. He placed her carefully in a corner of the bathroom, far away from the cabinets full of pills and cleaners, before dashing into the bedroom and digging around to find the smallest t-shirt he had. And the smallest thing he found happened to belong to Gabriel.
For a moment, he held it close to his face, just breathing in that scent of him – something like charcoal, something else like gunpowder, and some scent he could never identify but always made him feel slightly lightheaded. Passing this on to Matilda almost felt like something spiritual – using something old to welcome something new into his life. Kit sighed, quelled his emotions, then grabbed a nappy and headed quickly into the bathroom.
The tub was full enough – it would come up to just over her hips. He didn't want to risk any deeper, as he felt this would already be tricky enough. He undressed Matilda on an old t-shirt, the rhythm almost familiar by now, and tested the water in the bath like he had done with the milk – using his elbow rather than his hand. Finding it pleasantly lukewarm, he plonked the paint-coated baby into the bath, and gently began to clean her with a washcloth.
Matilda thought this new area was a lot of fun. Her da- Unc- …whoever was desperately trying to get her clean whilst not making her skin sore, but her hands quickly discovered the power of splashing. With a giggle and as much strength as she could muster, she brought her hands down and splashed Kit.
Kit sputtered as water went in his mouth and his eyes, and shook his head, trying to get rid of the stuff. "Munchkin!" He couldn't bring himself to tell her off, though. She was smiling, and giggling, and that was hard to tell off – it was even harder to reconcile that behaviour with the screaming creature she had been last night. So, he let himself be splashed, and obediently pulled a face every time, because that seemed to make her even happier.
It was quite the sad occasion – from the perspective of a baby – when Kit decided the washcloth and soap had gotten off as much of the paint as could be removed, and bathtime was over. He gently lifted her from the tub, dismissing the whimpering as annoyance at the end of playtime, and lay her back on the t-shirt, gently drying her with a towel. This time, the nappy went on without much difficulty – Kit proudly decided he was quickly becoming a pro at this baby lark.
The top was a bit harder – it dwarfed her, of course, but with a complicated mixture of knots, he managed to make the top fit her as much as it was going to. The t-shirt was more of a dress but he still worried about her legs getting cold, so he used a pair of socks that were more like tights on her, with a tiny knot at the top of each to stop them sliding down. She looked like a shabbily-dressed rag doll, but neither Kit nor Matilda particularly cared about fashion.
Kit glanced at the clock. It was barely noon, but he felt like he had been doing this for days already. Not all of it was horrible, of course, but he couldn't help but to be aware of the night time cries and the early start. However, there was still more of the day to come yet…

Onwards, to the Penultimate Chapter »

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