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NAME OF TALE A Gullet, Made of the Flesh of a Swan

Two years earlier.
They dragged him from the cell, and pulled him along dark corridors. He was too weak to stand. He hadn't eaten or drunk anything in months; he'd be dead many times over if the world was still mortal. He was barely capable of perceiving anything.
Lights flashed overhead, white things that bored into his skull. He moaned. He wanted to yell, scream, tell them what his father would do, but he no longer had enough energy to keep his brain working.
And still it kept working.
They dumped him in a room. A dour nurse who smelt of cheap vinegar pushed an IV through and attached it to him. He couldn't get out without it. Smart.
He sat, and waited. He wanted to check his wristwatch but he didn't have one. He couldn't remember very much. When had they taken him? Why? Well, it didn't matter why. There were always men who'd be willing to take him.
A door opened. A woman entered.
She was in her mid-30s. Her face was sharp, stern; the face of a great diplomat, until the years wore her into a refined point of pure efficiency. Black hair was flecked with grey. She was in a wheelchair, pushing herself forward with remarkable speed. She was heavily pregnant, but her energy seemed undiminished. She was not what he had expected at all.
"Hello, Christian." She didn't look at him. She opened a file and placed it on the desk between them. He hadn't noticed the desk before, but there it was.
She scanned the document. He kept breathing, more and more steadily. Whatever was in the IV was having its effect. He could see more, perceive more. How had they taken him? Where was he?
The woman finished the page, and nodded twice. "Yes," she said. "You'll do nicely."
And then he woke up, sweating in his bedroom, gasping for air under the silk sheets of Gongji.

Christian Michaels-Wu, Count of the Blue Pavilion, third son of the Duke of Gongji. He had, of course, been the Duke before; all of the Michaels-Wu and some of their associate cousins had held the post. When nobody died and no disgrace was permanent, court intrigues fell into the pattern of a complex dramatic game, where the worst that could happen to you was excruciating pain. Everyone switched around like a game of musical chairs.
But his father, and his branch, were by far the most dominant. For 69 of the 83 years of the Celestrian Empire, they had held the Duchy of Gongji for the Emperor. Of the Twelve Bright Stars that formed the core of Celestria, it was only mid-ranked; richer than the northern provinces and with plenty of tax revenue, but lacking a position on the central commerce networks that would assure it a premier place in the Emperor's attentions. But, still, a Duchy was the third highest rank of the Empire, guaranteed to a lineage that had proved its blood through corporate success in the Old Empire.
He was only 32 years old. His father had never wanted children as a mortal, but at some point in his old age he had a sudden hankering for new experiences. He married and took concubines, and created five sons and three daughters the old-fashioned way. This interest had passed after barely half a decade, but it assured him a line of loyal blood-relatives to keep the scheming cousins at bay, and to create little intrigues of their very own.
He grew up with servants and manicured fingers, light sea breezes and mandated introspection hours. He grew up learning about the Brighton Pavilion, The King and I, and the Oriental Immortals. He learnt how to run a business and profit from the unrestrained market of the New East. He learnt Marxist theory to better understand how to avoid unsustainable methods to exploit labour, and keep the people in line. He learnt, in short, how to be a Duke.
He was a model child, like all the others, their upbringings the results of precise sciences formed over millenia of experience and study. It was certain that he would never betray the family, or his father. There could be no rebellion from within, and that from without was controlled through other, subtler methods. The cycle would continue.
Once, when he was seven, he'd looked over the garden wall. He'd seen things, in the plantations on the other side. He never told the guardians. He had thought about that a lot, on the edges of his mind, between the certainties of the ducal life.
Maybe that was the meaning of his dream. The thing he wasn't meant to see. Maybe he was guilty. But as he went to sleep that night, he'd banished the thought from his mind again. It was just a dream.

He woke, again, in his cell. He was dragged, again, to the other room. The interrogation room, he supposed. The lights bore into his skull again, the IV was brought, again, the feelings were the same. He moaned and twisted.
The door opened. The pregnant woman wheeled herself to the table again. This time, there was no file. She looked at him and smiled.
"Hello again, Christian. I'm sorry to keep doing this to you."
"This is a dream," he said, uncertainly. "You're a figment of my imagination. A recurring nightmare."
"Yes, and as a result, you are free. They can take your body, they can stuff you full of chemicals and social conditioning, but they can't see your mind. Even if you were to tell them in minute detail everything you saw, they'd still not be able to know how it feels. You are forced to be free."
Christian swallowed. "How do you kn-"
"You're the Count of the Blue Pavilion. You were once, and will be again, the Duke of Gongji. You are one of the richest people in the sky, whose father is among the foremost Celestrian parasites who plagues the free nations of humanity. That is a very stupid question from someone who has had the finest education money can buy. I'll assume that you're still groggy from the transfer."
"Transfer?"
"The mind transfer. The movement of your waking mind into this place, this dreamscape my engineers have constructed. This is my party, Christian, and I'll be asking the questions. Starting with the obvious: what did you see over the garden wall?"
Christian threw up, lurching foward into consciousness. He was dripping sweat.

Every day, Christian woke, and went to work. There were speeches to make, cheering crowds to play to. There were dinners and banquets, where the great men of state would fatten themselves up on pork and wine. In shady rooms, there were numbers and accounts that had to be changed, figures to be made correct. And in darker rooms, there were more hidden pleasures.
Every night, Christian woke, and was dragged to the interrogation room. His form was static in the real world, but in this dream-place he felt things he didn't understand. Aches, pains, hunger-pangs. He was getting thin, wasting away. Food here was for eating, not just for experiencing. He needed it. He wanted it. But the guards wouldn't stop.
The woman wouldn't stop either. She would take everything he had learnt and twist it. What did it mean to be a Duke, she asked? Christian responded in the way he'd been taught: it meant nothing more than chance that must be preserved.
"Why?" she said. "How can you say that while others suffer?"
"Why shouldn't I? They're not me. If I want to keep feeling as I do, I must continue to stamp on them,honing them into so much labour power. It's nothing personal; I want to keep my position, and my family's position, and someone must suffer for us."
She cocked her head at that one. "Do you feel nothing for them?"
"No", he lied. "I understand perfectly well what they're going through, but it means nothing to me. Why should fairness matter?"
"Because there's another world out there, Christian. You could be more, do more, exist in ways you cannot conceive of. By cutting off your humanity, you cut off all you could be, every pathway to new knowledge, new sensation. Why do you want to diminish yourself, Christian?"
He didn't have an answer, but he came up with a comeback anyway. Anything so that she wouldn't bring him back to the garden wall.

The guards were getting used to him now. They didn't drag him any more; they just frogmarched him. Slowly, surely, he was getting stronger. He woke up more naturally, fell asleep more peacefully. It would sometimes be hours before she needed him, so he'd eat paltry meals in his cell and do exercise. He felt each night like he'd been there for years, yearning for any stimulation. His body changed, and his mind with it. All those old synapses reawakened by an effort he'd never needed before.
She was twirling a pencil today. "Have you considered," she said, "that the game you play is a false one?"
"What game?"
"Your life. Why do you need to be on top? What's so special about the heights of luxury?"
"All my needs are catered for. I am free to attend to my spiritual and psychological needs, free to impose myself on the world and gain-"
"Rot. You don't attend to any needs; you spend too much time focusing on the minutiae of preservation. Imposing yourself on the world? You're a pawn in your father's plans, whether or not you're the Duke or he is. He calls the shots. You're just a piece of moss, floating on the water."
He bristled. "If you're so concerned with self-actualisation, do some yourself. Get out of my dreams. Go back to wherever you came from. Look to your own life"
Her smile widened. Her teeth were like a swan's beak. "I spent a very long time with nothing to do but contemplate my existence, snatched thoughts between moments of forgotten pain. I know exactly who I am. 'I must study politics and war, that our sons may have liberty to study mathematics and philosophy.' Do you know who said that?"
He nodded, but as he opened his mouth she interrupted. "It doesn't matter. Knowing who said what famous quote is just another meaningless way to pretend you're a man of culture. You're like all your kind, in some ways. That's what I'm trying to tell you, Christian. What you do is bad for you, too. You could do so much more.
And Christian began to understand.

The wall had been low. He'd been enjoying one of his mandated play times, lying on the grass and thinking about the butterfly dream in the garden. An ancient Taoist had come up with it: if you go to sleep and dream about being a butterfly, and then awake again as a person, how do you know if the person or the butterfly is dreaming?
He'd been staring at the clouds when he'd heard the moan. He looked at the wall. There was a second groan, and a giggle. But it was forbidden to stare too long at the wall, so he looked up at the clouds again. There was one that looked like a vase.
There were no more moans. He swallowed. He heard a sob. He pointedly ignored it.
The cloud had gone.
Slowly, surely, he eased himself up, and stared over the wall. There was a woman there. Her dress was ripped, her eyes were staring. She was dead. Two figures were moving away, too fast to make them out. One of them was holding something, but he couldn't see what. The other was laughing, a distant, tinkling thing.
He looked at the woman. Flies were gathering around her. A dog barked, and ran up to her, whining and pawing. The woman didn't move.
He cocked his head on one side. He shouldn't be seeing this. It was forbidden. It was *impossible*. Nobody ever died. He shouldn't be seeing this.

He woke up in his cell and stood up, the whole of him moving as a single machine. His muscles rippled under his thin shirt, rags that seemed tawdy in comparison. Outside, he was lean, cultivated and precise. In here, he was vast.
There were no guards. He knew why. He pushed open the door to his cell. Now, at last, he didn't want to run. He started walking to the interview room.
The woman was inside already. She was sitting at the desk, staring at him. He took his seat. The final act was all prepared.
"First, you must know who you are," she said. "Then, you must know what to do. Finally, you must have the wherewithall to do it."
"And what is it I must do?"
"Keep the wheel of history turning. Human existence is all heading towards that single point. But you're not there yet, and neither are they. I have a task for you, Christian, but you're not quite there. You need to not merely understand, but see. Feel. Understand what you are and what you do."

Friday was a busy day. Lord Overkot was coming from Shanyang to review the yearly hydrabane tax, some 3000 shipments promised in feudal tribute to the Emperor. Christian was on hand to greet him, gripping the clammy coldness in his hands. He loathed this man. The woman had put things in his mind; strange, unnerving things. This man seemed like nothing but a conduit, a figure who had surrendered himself to his position without any other purpose. No ideal, no nothing.
The Duke took Overkot on a tour of the plantation. Christian stayed behind; the Duke knew what he was doing. While they were out, he sneaked into his father's study. He had to know.
It wasn't long before he found the file. It didn't take him long to read it, and if he was honest, the specificity didn't matter. What happened to her was recorded as if it was rote. Three other cases were recorded on the page, each just as bad or worse, if less permanent. The only difference was that he'd happened to see it. A bad coincidence on an unlucky day.
There had been an impossible permanency perpetrated on his father's plantation, and the man had barely even cared.
He thought about all he'd done. He thought about all he'd seen. He thought about how many worlds stood dying in a deathless sky.

He woke up in a feather bed. His own bed. Across the room, the woman sat, a cane in her left hand. No wheelchair, but the same old pregnancy bump. It had been a whole year since she first brought him to her house, and she was exactly the same.
"I see now," he said. "I see where the rot lies. I see that I have not been a human, only a conduit who has surrendered himself to his position without any other purpose."
"Good." The woman sighed, and stood up. "I'm sorry for doing this to you, Christian. You were probably happy, weren't you?"
Christian shrugged. "I don't think I knew what happiness was. I don't think I would have understood the concept."
The woman nodded. She didn't seem to mind or notice the bulge. She moved towards him and pointed her cane at the man's face.
"Men like you stuffed me in a room and tortured me because they didn't understand that you cannot just delay the inevitable. You have to fight it." The swan-beak grin returned. "But now I own those men. Now they are my conduits. My functionaries. And now so are you."
She pondered the figure in front of her. It had been cruel, she thought, but cruelty was just a matter of where you draw the line. Christian was better, now. So there was some good to her actions, amid all the shades.
"Celestria must be destroyed," she whispered. Christian nodded.
"Celestria's elites must be destroyed. That which allowed them to gain power must be destroyed. The systems of inequality that the empires run upon must be destroyed." Christian nodded again, more vehemently. She pushed her cane underneath the man's chin, admiring his form. They engineered such perfection these days.
"And when the time comes," she said, "the human race must hunger for its death." And Christian nodded again.
The Administrator stepped back. "Then listen closely. In one year's time, an unknowing agent of mine named Hisakawa Tsukiko will enter your palace. I need you to help her, Christian. I need you to help her enter your Vault…"

The Celestrian Empire

End of Death

The Vault of Lost Children


Within the city of Eventide, rumors of a secret cabal controlling the whole city have spread. These, however, are not rumors, for there is such a group: the Bavarian Illuminati.
As a member of the GOC's Council of 108, the Bavarian Illuminati is allowed free rein in Eventide under the term that the city's anomalous nature is contained. As such, the Illuminati, under the guise of the city's government, has forbidden other groups specialising in the anomalous from entering the city, including the Foundation.
- Dr. Philip Verhoten, The Crossroads: A Study of Urban Anomalous Nexuses in the United States.

31st October
Eventide, Oregon
Lieutenant William Stoker watched with indifference as the police struggled to subdue the man who had boils erupting all over him.
There goes Halloween, he thought as the video ended and his superior, Leah Cribari, closed the tab.
"Happy Halloween, ladies and gentlemen," she looked around at the members of Squad 5, MTF Sigma-29. "This is Eventide currently. Started about three days ago, and the numbers have been piling up since. Effects include mutations, aversion to certain elements, and generally looking and feeling like shit." She paused, until she found what she wanted. "Intel shows that the drugs circulating Eventide came from a factory owned by the Eventide Group."
Susan Smith, the resident psychologist (and psychopath), chipped in, "AKA the fucking Illuminati. Can I please kick their asses? I've been waiting for a whole year, and now these fuckers mess up Halloween!"
Leah stared her down, hands on her hips. "As much as I appreciate your 'enthusiasm', I don't need the city to initiate lockdown because of a 2015 repeat. The rest of you: you've got an hour to prep, then we meet up in the garage. Stoker, it's your turn to pick up the boosters. Get me the Blitzkrieg loadout." She packed up her laptop and took her leave.
"What happened in 2015?" Stoker asked Kathryn, as they left the room.
"Ask Sue," was the only response he got.

An unmarked white van left Site-51, bearing right onto 7th towards the industrial district. Stoker distributed auto-injectors to his squad. Wexley, resident lycanthrope, was handed a blue-colored needle labeled "Man's Bane" as he chewed down on his wolfsbane medication. Susan Smith, former intelligence officer turned con-woman turned Foundation agent was given a white injector filled with a red liquid, the word 'Burst' scrawled over the proper label for chemical components, allergen warnings, and addiction rating. Kathryn Kramer, tinkering with her cybernetic eye, almost dropped it as Stoker lobbed a brown injector labeled 'Dragonproof' at her face. Leah Cribari, vampiress and occasional undercover agent in Eventide's police, scowled at the name 'Woman's Scorn' on her yellow pen, muttering something about 'chauvinists in the labs'. That left Stoker, the friendly neighborhood warlock with his favorite— 'The Juice'.
"Anything else we need to know before going in, Leah?" asked Jacob from the driver's seat.
"Small detail of guards, but that's about it. Don't get cocky though; you know what'll happen if you get caught."
Stoker shivered, recalling the stories about Eventide's prison: mold everywhere, with cells occasionally flooding with filth.
"We'll be entering from the rear of the factory. Get in, flush the drugs, get out." Leah and her team pulled on their balaclavas, save their driver, Jacob. The van turned right into an alley and stopped next to a brick wall. The squad exited the van, mounted the wall using their tactical ladder, before silently making their way towards the compound, wary of any nearby security.
"Remember, low profile; we don't need the whole city on our ass tonight." Leah and her team stacked up on both sides of the backdoor. Using a lock gun, Leah nudged the door open, with the team filing in and sealing their entrance behind them.
The back room was a small one, with several rusty lockers and a doorway to the right. A song about lighting up the night could be heard playing in the background, amidst distant sounds of chatter.
"Company," said Jacob from the rear of the formation, pointing out the clothes and tumblers on the benches.
"Kat, take point." Leah tapped her earpiece. "Command, this is Alpha Squad, we've entered the building, proceeding further inside."
"Roger that, proceed with caution."
Kathryn pushed the door open and saw a room with several stirring machines inside. Steel vats lined the walls, and three workers could be seen emptying the contents of several barrels into one of the stirrers. At that moment, a worker entered the room and saw the squad coming out of the back room.
"Who the fuck are you guys?" he asked, reaching for the radio clipped to his belt.
"Shoot 'em!"
Leah fired twice. The bastard went down swiftly.
More workers began to pour into the room as the group scrambled for cover. Susan began blind firing while Leah, cursing, stabbed the auto-injector into her neck.
Immediately she rose, unleashing an ear-shattering scream that crippled all the workers. Once she stopped, the squad moved quickly taking out the workers.
"Congrats, you've won the Eventide's Got Talent! Here's your prize, miss." Stoker scoffed at Leah, only to receive the butt of her rifle thrust into his gut. As he bent over wheezing, her earpiece sprang to life.
"Alpha, be advised, your mission parameters have changed. Code Sparagmos has been issued. You are to locate a shipment of gold apples. Confirm."
"New mission parameters confirmed. Sigma out." "Fffucckkkk," she exclaimed, once the radio was off.
"What the hell's Code Spagarmos?" asked Kathryn, checking her magazine.
"Sparagmos. Means all the Nexuses are experiencing really bad days."
"Define 'really bad'." Kathryn raised her brow as she slotted in her magazine
"Imagine being stuck on an oil refinery with an angry dragon. Oh, and the sea's aflame too. Nexuses the world over are being flipped on their heads and shoved into firepits." Leah groaned. "Come on, let's find these goddamn apples."

If someone had told Kathryn Kramer that she would have to fight a man machine-gunning pus from his arms while smelling of puke, she would have punched the person. Now, she could only laugh impotently.
They had managed to clear most of the factory, encountering workers suffering from the side effects of the drugs. Kathryn was particularly pissed off, as Stoker had vomited on her upon catching sight of a man with warty green ears growing all over his body. As they reached the storage room, a large man, with nasty green boils erupting all over his body, had blocked them and began slinging pus from his boils.
Kathryn reloaded her rifle. "Jake! Get in there!"
"What? No! It'll take forever to-"
"Wexley! Get in there, or so help me God I'll shove my rifle so far up your ass that you'll have to avoid the bayonet when you eat breakfast tomorrow!" Susan screamed at him, blind firing as the pus-slinger advanced.
Jacob fumed as he pulled out his Man's Bane and stuck it in his arm. Instantly, he vomited out his wolfsbane medication, transforming into a hulking werewolf. He tackled the worker, smashing the man's head onto the floor and knocking him out cold.
"Jake, get the-."
Leah Cribari went silent as the feral member of her squad punched the blast doors of the storage unit off its hinges. Crates filled the room, with exotic smells emanating from each one. After about a minute of searching, the squad came upon a crate of caramel-coloured apples.
"Command, Alpha here, we've located the package, awaiting orders." The radio remained silent for a few seconds, before the staticky reply came through. "Bag a sample, then torch the room. What's your squad's status?"
"Wexley's a wolf, the rest of us are standing by." Leah began passing out minor demolition charges to the her squad, who began setting them down on the crates.
"Search and destroy. Find the origin of the shipment and head to that location. Command out."
"Are they fucking serious? Where the hell do we need to go to now?" Kathryn rubbed her face, sighing heavily. Leah examined the tag stuck onto the crate. "Eventide Port. Lot 29. Well, fuck it. At least we won't have to detox for a while. Back to the van, people. Jacob, sorry but" she paused, looking at him from head to toe, "no offense, you're a 9 foot werewolf, who can't fit in the van. Send the apple to the dead drop, then meet us at the port."
"Stoker, give me your vest," growled Kathryn as she pulled Stoker towards her.
"Wait, why the hell would I-"
"You. Puked. On my. Fucking. Vest. If you don't give yours to me in five seconds, I'm not going to be the only member of the squad with a cybernetic eye. Five…"

"My Excellency. They await you in the Hidden Hall."
"Then I shall not keep them waiting."
The Mind entered the vast hall and took his seat. The room's only light source caused the figures in the room to cast long, eerie shadows, casting terrifying apparitions which flickered across the walls betwixt the dusk lighting. Around it, nine other members sat, cloaked in bone-white robes that hid their visage.
"There is another group in Eventide. One that seeks to wrest control from us." Behind him, footage of oddly masked individuals storming a bank, followed by that of a firefight in a different location played.
"Are these the only incidents?" asked the man known only as the Hand.
"There have been more. And each time, they have dealt us a severe blow. Our operations have been suspended for the time being and we've lost the 'apples'." Murmurs could be heard all around the table.
"That's why we must act! We know that there is someone else in this city, someone who is threatening us!" the Arm slammed his fist on the table, as everyone began whispering to each other.
"We don't know who they are. If anything, I would advise caution. It's clear this group has the resources to strike quickly and cripple us. An ill-informed assault would be pointless." The Eye spoke in a calm voice, hoping to assuage the Hand. He was mistaken.
"So what? Let them trample all over us us? We are the Illuminati, we are the Law!" The Arm stood up, and beneath his cloak, one could see his entire body tensed.
The Hand spoke, "Assaulting an unknown enemy is a bad decision, much less a well-armed opponent." He stood up, pressing his hands on the table. "I urge everyone to not blindly act, but to understand who it is we're fighting."
The Arm burst out, " You seriously think that we're safe? Our position is threatened, and we. Are. Not. Acting!" He pointed his finger at the Nail. " And you, you stinking co-"
A loud crash rang through the room.
The Arm slumped down on the floor, with the man next to him splattered with blood. The Hand looked in shock.
All eyes turned to the only man standing in the room. The man simply returned the gun to the holster he wore over an ugly tropical shirt.
"Who are you, and did you even get in here? Guards!" he shouted at the entrance, to no avail.
"They're fast asleep, so don't bother. As for who I am, doesn't matter. I'm no one special."
The Mind rose from his seat. "I've met those like you before. They don't kill. And they certainly don't act this openly."
"Well, I'm not like them." He plopped himself in the dead man's chair, taking off his grey fedora to brush through the unruly red hair beneath it. "And I thought I was doing you guys a favour. Wasn't he being annoying and getting in the way of things? So if anybody has anything to say, now would be a good time."
Nobody spoke.
"Good, so if the point of me being here isn't clear enough, let me make it obvious: Don't sweat it. Sure, they burned my gift to you, but who cares? I mean, come on, it's just apples man. Or men. Eh, whatever. Point is, let it go. I think you're all smart enough to know what happens if say, one of you goes against me? So yeah, relax a bit. Enjoy the rain. Happy Halloween, folks." He then walked out of the room, leaving the rest silent.

"Goddammit Stoker, you smell like a horse's ass that hasn't been washed for 5 years." Leah pinched her nose, gagging slightly.
"Come on boss. That shit was so nasty, anyone spill their guts seeing that." He gagged at the mere thought of it.
"At least it's not as bad as 2015," chimed Kathryn.
"Wait, what happened then?"
Susan burst into the laughter, while the others were silent. Stoker had no clue about what was so funny, Kathryn let out a soft sigh as she focused on driving. Leah simply crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. Kathryn took pity on Stoker.
"You remember the 'Acid Spit'? The one Gelix made that got banned?“
" I… think so? Not really sure. Is he the guy who's always banging on about how God will someday part the clouds and burn all the junkies of Eventide alive?
“First part's correct, though he wishes God would only burn the Illuminati. He's a junkie too. Anyway, we were extracting a skip from the primary school, and someone had messed up the drugs."
"Primary school? Eventide doesn't have a primary school." Stoker scratched his head.
"It used to," said Susan.
"Wait, what do you- oh no." The colour was from Stoker's already pale face drained completely.
"Somebody in the labs messed up and gave Susan a double dose of 'Acid Spit', mixed with 'Burst'. Made the spit super corrosive, and turned her into a cross between the Spitter and the Tank from Left For Dead 2. It was chaos."
"We had to run out of a collapsing building, not to mention evade the entire Eventide Police Department which had shown up to reports of a melting school," interjected Leah.
Susan spoke through her laughter." Didn't stop there. I was so juiced up, I went running around the whole city. The only reason I wasn't caught was because I kept melting all the cop cars!" Susan keeled over in laughter.
Leah's hand met her face. "This is why you don't fuck around with your drugs. You might find it fucking funny, but the city initiated lock down and nearly found out about Site-51 because of that fucking stunt, you idiot. Just because we're addicted to them, don't go using them for your own fucking fun." Susan slowly stopped laughing.
"You have to admit, it was pretty fucking funny."
Both Leah and Stoker groaned.
"We're here boss. Lot 29." Kathryn brought the van to a halt. Susan and Stoker exited from the rear of the vehicle, while Leah and Kathryn started walking towards the maze of containers.
"Keep it tight and expect anything." Leah raised her rifle and began walking forward, her team moving in sync. They stopped at a parting between the containers on their left. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a flicker of movement from on top the containers.
"Ambush, top right. Will, Sue, circle around and get on top of those containers." They nodded, immediately running back the way they came. "Kat, get ready with yours." She tapped her earpiece, "Alpha here. We've encountered possible ambush, prepping counter."
"Understood. Be careful."
"Roger that. Alpha out." She switched channels on her radio. "Will, sitrep."
"One more level to climb. Cover's intact. Ready on your command."
"Light 'em up."

Jacob Wexley was scampering through back alleys hoping to reach the docks in time. A great thing about Eventide's anomaly was that it provided cover for anything, including werewolves running at 25mph.
"Mr. Wexley!"
Jacob's head spun around as he heard his name, and barreled into a group of trash cans. Sweeping of the filth and gunk scattered over him, he saw someone emerge from the shadows. For the most part she blended into the exterior of Eventide: grey trench coat, grey fedora, grey shoes. She would only be noticed because of the purple scarf she wore, with a gold thread lining near the edge.
She pulled out a gun from within her coat and shot him.

Stoker blasted 5 men into a container, while imprisoning the rest in an extreme gravity field. After 4 seconds, he dropped to his knees, coughing up blood. A 4-second dose could be lethal if he didn't focus properly. Susan picked up the slack by shooting the downed men. Below them, Kathryn and Leah traded fire with more people.
As she scanned her surroundings, she saw a man eat a pill. She fired at him, but the bullet bounced off harmlessly. He smiled wickedly as he took a running leap to cross the gap that separated them. Susan stuck her auto-injector in her neck, and dropped her rifle. She smiled maniacally as he charged at her. "Come to mama!"

Kathryn looked up just in time to see deliver a roundhouse to a beefed-up man, followed by a solid grab at the leg and flinging him into the crowd below. Leah looked on in disbelief, as 3 men were knocked down. "Fucking hell Su! Don't kill us!" She continued firing at the remaining enemies, when a hail of bullets emerged from her right. A beast of a man advanced on them, wielding a LMG. One hit Leah in the leg, causing her to collapse in pain.
"Jesus Christ! Kat, help me!"
Kathryn stuck her auto-injector in her neck, then began running into the hail of bullets. The rush she felt was incomparable to anything she felt before, a freedom that motivated to run through lead and rain with sheer unadulterated joy. Her body armor was being shredded up, yet she had not a single scratch on her, nor did she feel pain. She reached the shooter, jumping up to deliver a Superman punch worthy of the Man Of Steel. The last thing the poor bastard saw was her blissful grin and her fist descending on him.
In the alley, Susan and Stoker moped up the rest of the opposition. Kathryn returned to Leah, who had been compressing her wound. As she began to patch her up, she suddenly realised something was off.
"Where's Jacob?"

"Who the hell are you?" Jacob Wexley got up with his vision swimming, while the woman kept the gun back in her jacket. "And what did you do just do to me?"
She held out a bag of clothes to his face, while turning her head away.
"Wha- Oh." he quickly took the bag and put on some clothes.
Once he was dressed, he turned to face the woman who was now smoking. "Who are you, and what do you want?"
She threw her cigarette to the ground and crushed it with her boot. "I want you to deliver a message to your superiors, Mr. Wexley" She pulled out a manila folder wrapped in a plastic bag.
"My superiors? I'm not sure wh-"
"Don't insult my intelligence, Mr. Wexley. Or do you want me me to tell everyone about your little tower?"
Jacob tensed up, backing away slightly from her. "What do you want?" he asked, softly.
The woman simply smiled as she handed him the folder, then walked away, pausing once to look back at him. "By the way, I wouldn't advise you to be outside for so long. People are getting sick. Happy Halloween, Mr. Wexley." She walked off, leaving Jacob shivering, but not because of the rain.

I hope you enjoyed my Halloween surprise. I certainly did. Your reactions were priceless.
I'm preparing for an even bigger surprise next year. Get ready for it, or you might get blown away!
Happy Halloween.

"What the hell does this mean?" asked Leah, as she fidgeted in her chair. "Why go to all these lengths just to give us this? Makes no sense whatsoever."
"She's mocking us. We may have destroyed all the apples, but we still did a shit job of it."
"You mean with all the other Nexuses? Wait, you're saying that she started all this?" Leah looked at the director, as he looked over the message for the hundredth time.
"She's warning us. Something's coming next year." he paused, putting down the letter. "Like it or not, things have changed. The Illuminati is aware of us now. The Nexuses were burnt. The Foundation failed. And next year is going to get even worse."
"So what now, Sir?" Leah stood up.
"Forward this to Site-87 and the rest of the Nexuses. Tell them to prepare." Director Raman Druid stood up. "Halloween's coming."


« Side Story | Maim the Sky, Slay the Sun | Side Story »

"What's the password?"
The phrase wasn't one oft-uttered by Samson J. Marchand IV ("Sam" when he wasn't trapped with overbearing relatives). The Septangle Growery's back door was tucked deep within an abandoned branch of New York's more mundane subway system, protected by broken lights, geysers of steam, and packs of ravenous rats. Such obstacles miraculously vanished during regular pickups, naturally, but none of those were currently scheduled, and the woman standing at the other side of the three-inch metal door wasn't a normal courier regardless.
Feathers of mud-brown hair stuck out from beneath her baseball cap at odd angles, some plastered flat to tanned skin with sweat, others drifting in the tunnel's wind. The cap cast deep shadows over the upper half of her face, though not so deep as to obscure equally muddy eyes that lacked any particular spark of intellect or interest. In fact, she was uninteresting in sum, including one cheek puffy, a threadbare sweatshirt with half-rolled sleeves, and a pair of untied shoes.
"Password, password… like, uh, 'bite the most oppressive thumb,' right? I think?" She scratched her neck and smiled awkwardly at the door's slot. "I'm here for my boss?"
"Is that a question?" said Samson. He sniffed the air a few times and found none of magic's telltale odors. Not the indescribable ones that came with its aptitude, nor that practical traces of chalk, herbs, and viscera. An unlikely sort of agent in their circles.
"I'm definitely here instead of my boss?"
"Who's that then?"
"Ms. Hasegawa? Like, the big boss of the DWS? I'm supposed to meet with your boss about a thing?"
"What kind of thing?" he asked. The woman shrugged in response. A frequent gesture, especially with how unsure of everything she appeared. Samson had no patience for people who assumed undeserved airs, but it was hard to muster respect for those who wallowed in shamelessness. "I can't let you in if you don't even know what you're here for."
"I'm here to give a thing to a guy, who is your boss, and then I take a thing from the guy to bring to my boss. It's not complicated."
"Well, he isn't here. You should've called ahead. Feel free to wait."
"Aw, come on. Don't make me stay out here. I'm gonna, like, melt. I'll melt all over this doorstep and you're gonna have to deal with it. Come on…" That last syllable dragged out to intolerable proportions, soldering on toward some distant battlefield. It persisted, at least until Samson's patience was crushed beneath those marching boots.
"Fine, fine, fine. Fine!" he snapped. The grown woman finally stopped whining like some petulant child. "Did anyone bother explaining the rules to you?"
"Yup!" She smiled widely, winced, and rubbed her swollen cheek. None of it looked right, but that was to be expected after dental surgery. "Uh, no electronics was the big one, right? I left my phone behind. No electronics and nothing, like, fiery? Flammable. Inflammable?"
"Yes, yeah, all that. The plants are sensitive, and they're worth more than your life."
"Hey, I don't need to go anywhere near them. Just stick me in the AC and I'm all good. Actually, do you have a walk-in freezer or something? I must've sweated all my water out just getting down here. It's awful."
"Well, you're trying to come in through the back, there's–"
"What, really?"
"Yeah, if you–"
"Why didn't anyone tell me?"
Samson shook his head and slid the door's observation slat shut with a loud clack. What a pain in the ass. What an absolute wound on her organization's pride. Any group with their salt in the Backdoor's backdoor should be able to find someone better. Still, Mr. Sun would be irked if he offended a potential customer, and irking Mr. Sun felt worse than disappointing his parents ever had. Samson spun the wheel that held the heavy door shut. It groaned as he pulled it open, first discontentedly, then with something near rapture. She had better appreciate his effort.
"Thanks!" The woman hopped over the tall step and clumsily pantomimed a curtsy, if it could even be called that. Standards.
"Take everything out of your pockets," he said. "I do mean everything too, not just electronics. I've got a bin here somewhere for it all. Then you can try the wards, and if those let you through, I can set you up in the break room."
"Sure, sure," she said flippantly while digging through an array of pockets. Keys came out, then a Swiss Army knife, then a handful of scuzzy lint. A rolled-up paperback. An old revolver with no bullets. A packet of dehydrated seaweed. Samson dutifully patted down her pockets, found nothing else of importance, and turned toward the wall of shelving. Certainly, there was supposed to be a holding tray. If it lay buried in the cleaning supplies, power tools, and cans of old paint, that was a different matter entirely.
Something hammered into the back of his knee mid-step. Samson stumbled forward, flailing for stability, and two hands grabbed hold of his head. They smashed it into the tiled wall, then down against metal flooring. His nose crunched loudly, then his orbitals. Before he could so much as groan, a heavy stomp connected with the back of his skull. Once, twice, and another time still. A final crunch echoed through his bones, and even groaning was impossible after that.
"You did your best," said the woman from above his prone form. "Probably bit the wrong thumb though."

"Thank you for meeting me here."
The phrase was one oft-uttered by Mr. Sun, who had gone by many long-discarded names throughout many long-discarded lives. For now, he managed a growery that specialized in an ancient strain of Achillea millefolium that was once favored by legendary figures across the ancient world for its healing potential and other exotic properties. Now, it was largely used by students in local thaumaturgic colleges, but they were better customers anyway. Less likely to die in duels. More eager to refer their friends. It was a marvelously profitable business, diminished only by persistent political headaches. If nothing else, at least those allowed for meetings at the countless cafes dotting the Backdoor like a persistent flea infestation.
The Foundation's representative at this particular meeting was a dark-skinned woman whose black hair remained untouched by the wind whistling between impossibly tall skyscrapers. She was similarly unperturbed by the immobile sun's blinding rays, though they shone directly on the small patio, and clearly could not care less that she was the most hated thing in a seventeen-block radius.
"Naturally." She paused to sip from a small porcelain cup with blue floral patterns that blew back and forth. "I was already in the neighborhood."
"Regardless, thank you. I've always hated to disturb a perfectly good schedule."
"Our organization is nothing if not accommodating." No smile crossed her lips, though that was surely the funniest thing Mr. Sun had heard in weeks. He did it instead, smiling with all the warmth of someone with centuries of practice.
"Of course, of course. Now, if we could… Oh, I'm sorry. I don't seem to have gotten your name?"
"Such things are hardly appropriate when I speak for more than myself. Consider me the Foundation's mouthpiece, if you will. I imagine you have called us plenty of names in the past. By all means, make use of them again."
"It would hardly be polite. I would really prefer something more personal, Ms…?"
"Certainly, it would be terribly impolite." That did earn a small smile from her, blooming and dying as she twisted one of the many simple rings weighing down her left hand. "Our previous representatives have been more than accommodating with their politeness and negotiations."
Mr. Sun slowly sipped from his own porcelain cup and considered his opponent. She surely wanted the same things that the rest had demanded. Exclusive rights to purchase his product, since they had never managed to grow it themselves. Guarantees that it wouldn't be sold to the more militant factions of the Serpent's Hand, let alone other aggressive organizations. Countless other concessions he would never provide. Past negotiators had been brushed off more easily with a bit of magic, but some individuals were simply blessed with natural resistances. Nothing that couldn't be overcome with proper application.
"Of course, I've been accommodating too," he said, unspooling an arsenal of extrinsic forces from within the aether.
"No, you haven't."
"I've cooperated for years."
"Not as such, no."
Mr. Sun frowned just as slightly as she had smiled and probed for gaps in the woman's ontological barriers. An introduction often offered surest access to the inner crevices of identity, but there were other ways. A mind without vulnerabilities was a mind that had never learned. The Foundation's representative sipped coffee again his worms failed to find fertile ground. She hiccuped slightly as his eels vainly pressed against spiderweb crevices. Mr. Sun had never seen a person so profoundly lacking in personhood before, not in his longest centuries.
"My time is limited," she said. "Will you accept the offer you were given or not?"
"No. I don't know who you've spoken to, but I have a personal understanding with your leaders."
"That's not my concern. Will you adopt the changes?"
"Why would I now?"
"Circumstances do tend to change at the worst times."

Egret reached into her cheek with two fingers, pried out a piece of cotton soaked with spit and blood, and flicked it to the floor. One damp piece landed next to the fallen doorman's head. One landed on it. Blood still oozed out around her dental implants, all sprouting back where normal teeth had grown before she met the Overseer, but those wouldn't intrude for much longer.
She wrenched the fangs from her mouth. Long, dark, and twisting, none had any business growing from a living creature. One by one, they squelched loudly when freed from relieved flesh. One by one, Egret slotted them into the six chambers of the Overseer's loaned revolver. None should have fit as snugly as they did by any right.
She snapped the pistol's cylinder back into place, stepped over her victim's prone body, and pushed open the room's only other door. Beyond it lay a corridor lined with thick pipes and bright lights. Bunches of herbs hung along the ceiling, each bound in black twine. Smoke drifted from their smoldering ends to pool in hazy clouds. Egret snorted and batted a free hand against the open air. It sunk through like mud, slow but otherwise unharmed, at least until scraps of skin started peeling away to bare pink flesh. Nearly half her hand stung fiercely by the time she wrenched free.
Magic. Magic, always getting in the way of work. Not the Overseer's magic, naturally, but the invocation of some two-bit tuxedo-mage thinking this would keep her out. No, dedication trumped anything they could possibly muster. Fervent determination trumped desperate ingenuity. Violence trumped everything. Egret cocked her pistol, tongue still probing bleeding sockets in that moment, and fired through the smoky air.
Flowers bloomed in the calcified bullet's wake. With each inch, ten roses. After each foot, a hundred daisies. The corridor sprouted a floral kaleidoscope, sweet smells instantly overpowering that of burnt offerings. Egret stuck her finger over the invisible threshold again, then her hand, and smiled to herself. One foot crushed a bunch of irises as she stepped into the once-fortified hallway. The other kicked a patch of lilies into the air. Keeping track of flower language had always been beyond her, but Egret was certain the corridor could be translated into a hideous scream.
She banged her hand against the locked door at the hallway's other end. Again and again, louder and louder, until someone finally yelled back. Louder still, until they jostled the metal locks holding it shut. Impatience and annoyance could always be counted on to overwhelm caution. The door opened a scant inch. Egret kicked it forward another, driving the metal slab right into a skinny woman wearing an absurd robe. She screamed and tumbled to the ground, settling just as a tall man with more mohawk than common sense rounded one of the large room's many corridors. His hand was already reaching for a twig of pale wood hanging at his belt.
Drawing his weapon should have come before running in, and before screaming like an idiot too. Egret fired her second tooth at his head. It scattered into petals, pollen, and long cerebral stalks that wavered as he collapsed. Egret glanced around the large room as the figure at her feet struggled up, pausing only to kick her down again. An old control room of some kind. Long-dead consoles overshadowed a set of stone slabs that flickered with odd light, showing the sketchy scene of her invasion among others. Egret kicked the arms out from under the robed woman again. Plenty of tables and couches around, but no one to fill them. No one running to do so either. Not yet, at least.
She bit Egret's calf. Too hard for a human jaw, and too hard to easily shake free. They had an odd sort of dance, one writhing away from furious stomps, the other twisting along to keep her leg intact. Though keenly balanced, Egret couldn't help but be dragged downward. They struggled on the concrete, hands seeking weakness, teeth meeting flesh. The writhing lasted nearly a minute, lasting until Egret jammed her free foot into her opponent's neck and pushed away at an angle. A bit of flesh tore free, but not enough to matter. Not when it opened enough space between the two of them. She fired her third tooth.
Otherworldly flowers bloomed in the prone woman's torso, draped in translucent veils and trailing shimmering tendrils. Each smelled like fresh gasoline. Egret pushed up to her knees, then her feet, wincing at her own weight all the while. Expecting any victory to come without a cost was foolish, but it annoyed her terribly all the same. Not the wound, but the thinking behind it. Trying to preserve every bit of ammunition simply because it had been bestowed by the Overseer was foolish. She tongued her bleeding sockets again, looked around, and nudged the door shut. Each lock clacked anew. Each latch bore a sense of finality.
She still had a garden to deal with, and only three teeth remained.

Mr. Sun calmly placed a small stone tablet down on the table and sipped the last dregs from his cup. The flowers on it had long ago wilted, all urging him to return to the cafe for a refill, but there was little chance of that now. Bad news took precedence. His employees were dead and dying. Worse still, his business and very core were in great danger, all at a time when returning would be impossible. Mr. Sun's hand shook as he placed it back in the saucer, but only slightly. History's weight crushed a great many worries.
"My colleagues won't take lightly to this," he said, slowly loosening his tie from its feldspar clip. "Reneging on a treaty is terrible form, especially for your sort. The Overseer Council promised neutrality as long as we did our part to keep the peace. This won't end easily."
"Your colleagues have never felt kindly towards us," said the Foundation's representative, whose range of identities was swiftly narrowing. "Or would you cast the Serpent's Hand in a different light?"
"I negotiated peacefully! Longer than we should have, it seems."
"You created a useful facade of decentralization. 'Ah, no, those kidnappings were the work of radical factions,' your representatives said. 'No, no, those explosions simply weren't our doing. We can't control them.' Did you expect this to end another way?"
"If you know so much, you should know I never played a role in anything aggressive. I only ever offered assistance to those seeking their own path through the world."
"I'm not unaware," she said softly, twisting one of her many rings.
"And?" he asked softer, pulling his tie free entirely.
"Trimming the tree has become necessary."
"New branches will sprout even if you succeed. You can't crush our movement, not truly. You never have. You never will. We will return the moment you look away, and no one will push for peace next time."
"You would be shocked how many times I've heard the same exact same thing."
"So you deny the futility of it? You'll deny the cycle despite every scrap of evidence?"
"I deny nothing."
"And?"
"I'll simply break that cycle too."
That was it, then. There had already been no easy retreat available, but there would be no peaceful break in their interests either. The world around each representative vanished as they revealed their truest selves. A battle between petty mages was not unlike a common war, replete with weapons of every sort. Were they weaker, they might have scouted, and ambushed, and marshaled their forces for penetrating assaults. But no, arms and tactics were beyond them. This conflict was of a different sort, each combatant unveiling the extent to which their might exceeded any possible proportion.
In that exchange, Mr. Sun was no longer a petty thing of flesh and blood. He was the first fire bound and unbound both. He was the ever-burning temple flame and the profaned embers. He was the bountiful light shining across the world, nurturing lush fields, and consuming them in fickle blazes. He was momentary and enduring both, transient and eternal. In that dichotomy lay an endless font of power.
In that exchange, the Foundation's representative was stripped of shape and form. Her thaumatic mass persisted upon the cafe's iron chair, but it could never be called her true throne. That was built on old stones and older bone, towering high above the graveyards of kingdoms and the mausoleums of whales. Its weight was borne by the world's spine and its people's brows. Its back cast a cold shadow across their free births and shackled deaths. In that oppression lay an endless font of power.
No more attention could be spared for worrying over her identity. None could be wasted worrying over his employees' fates, nor his garden's. Worry distracted. Thoughts diverted. The only path to victory lay in matching his font against her own. Time was the only weapon that mattered when the slightest vulnerability in their iron-clad senses of self would mean defeat. Seconds for something to distract. Minutes for wills to weaken. Time and doubts, those would decide their bout as it stretched on under the static sun, and a good thing too. Mr. Sun unquestionably had more experience living through both.

Tomoe Yamane had been many things in her life. A warrior, once, and what a senseless affair that had been. A poet once, though never in the warrior-poet sense. Her self-published tome had never sold more than a hundred copies. She had been a fry cook, a construction worker, a botanist, and a freedom fighter. Hurting people and helping them came in equal measure, as with so many things in life. Few ever freed themselves from the world's ambiguities no matter their toil.
Now, as she neared her fiftieth year of almsgiving and ailmenting, Tomoe spent her days surrounded by a garden of flowers growing far beneath the city streets. Sinewy stalks and white flowers swayed in the breeze atop their stone planters. Imitation suns glowed from their places along the arched ceiling. A calming sight, if not for the muffled gunshots ringing through the bunker. Unusual sounds, but their nature was plain. One could tell from the gaps between noises. From the dull thumps, racing footsteps, and slamming doors.
It was unfortunate for those doing the running, and at another time in her life, Tomoe would have burst forth from Mr. Sun's garden and done battle with whatever forces had stormed the facility. Wounded by wards as they must be, confused by the subterranean maze, one person could make all the difference. Certainly, victory had been snatched from tighter jaws before. She had her place though. She had her charge. Protect the garden. Protect her benefactor's profits, pride, and permanence.
Tomoe's breaths slowed as the distant noises dimmed. Eyes closed, fingers slowly flexing, she eased her third eye open. Penetrating metaphors came easily to her. The poet's influence, Mr. Sun would have said, but he always did pick the most pleasant explanation. Battlefield instincts, more like. The lasting stain of violence on her psyche. She wasn't above making use of it regardless.
In that state, her mind pieced shreds of information into a revealing tapestry. Three-hundred paces and a left turn down the hallway outside: A body toppled down a rickety stairwell. Each limb banged against grated metal like hammers against a gong. Each drop of blood rang like rain against a wind chime. Rubber soles padded down after it. One-hundred and seventy-two paces away (and one left turn), sunfire raked at concrete walls with shining claws. A gunshot sent perfumed gusts of air rushing down the hallway, carrying along a hummed song. Each note heralded doom in the manner of an artillery barrage. Forty-four paces away, another spell seared the air, burning it black. Tomoe breathed so slowly as to stop entirely as screams followed. They were final, but not in a happy way.
Though terribly harmful to her psyche, she opened her mundane eyes too. Physical and immaterial worlds overlapped in a jumble of substructure and superstructure. The room's door remained a door. The room's door also symbolized the yawning hellmouth. It represented her life's narrowing decisions and swore it could never contain the tides beyond. The steel portal was a well, and a bridge, and a hole in the sky.
Before it opened, it opened. Before its hinges creaked, it swung inward. Thick fingers of immaterial sludge wrapped around its rim and pushed. A head of the same muck poured through, shape indeterminate. Reptilian, canine, and avian in turn, it stared at Tomoe with eyes unburdened by fermenting emotions. A child might have looked at her the same way. A pet might have, so long as it chewed with 155 mm shells and breathed Agent Orange. A pet of that sort, and one who had only ever learned a single, simple trick.
The physical door creaked open. Tomoe brought up her pistol with practiced grace and fired as the leading edge of a body moved through. Her first bullet clipped straight across their forehead. The second drilled through their temple. They kept moving, but not by any conscious intention. A shadow slithered in behind the fleshy shield, its path slick with mucus, grease, and falling feathers. It raised its hand, clutching a gun that was a gun that was a gun on every perceived level of meaning and symbol. It shot once, even as she ducked behind a stone planter, and the world filled with flowers.
Her eyes watered as dust, pollen, and fluttering petals filled the air. The cloud was blinding in every way, but she tracked the assassin's smear all the same. Tomoe fired twice more as they dived behind another planter, then twice more into its surface. Stone splintered with each impact. The yarrow plants screamed with each broken stalk. Mr. Sun wouldn't be happy about that, but he must have been waylaid already. Off behind the shelter, mechanical clicks bore the same disappointment as an empty cookie jar's lid being replaced.
"Hey!" shouted the sludge-made-flesh. "You're Tomoe, right?" The mechanical clicks continued, each hungrier than the last, each less satisfied.
"I am," she said back, slowly moving out from behind cover. Petals rained all around, becoming a dense fog, and crunched underfoot once fallen. The living sore remained in place. Out of ammunition, perhaps, or out of something else.
"I saw you work in Belgrade! Back when they tried to sign the Armistice."
"Lots of people were in Belgrade."
Her faceless foe tittered loudly. Tomoe fired twice, but the better angle offered no more success. Each shot opened windows through the floral veil though, wide enough for her to glimpse a tanned woman with hurtful eyes and a bleeding mouth scramble away. Then the holes closed again.
"Sure, lots of people. I remember you were guarding someone at the big table, standing right behind her the whole time." She tittered again, interrupted only by a squelching sound. Prying a bullet free from flesh, maybe? Tomoe squinted and sniffed the air. Floral, of course, but undercut by warm iron. She edged closer.
"I don't remember you though."
"They didn't let me in the meeting room. I watched through my rifle long enough though. Almost put a bullet in you too, when your bunch were shooting their way out of the city. When you ran away."
In another life, that would have been infuriating. The barb would have set her gut to a boil and loosed steam from her ears. Tomoe was beyond that though. She fired again and again, pinning the woman in place, reloaded calmly, and fired more. A few errant bullets clipped yarrow stalks, but there was nothing to be done about it. Mr. Sun would have to endure the loss, lest he lose even more to this beast.
Her senses sketched a picture of the planter's far side as she neared. Her foe pressed back against it, heart racing. A pistol was clutched in one hand, metal scraping as she steadied it. Not to any end though. Not when it had clicked so impotently before. Hair brushed again stone, softer, but not imperceptible. The woman's head turned one way, then the other. She strained, waiting for the next sound that would give away Tomoe's path. Left or right? Which side should she lunge and snap at, and which could be ignored? Right, the shade so clearly decided. Definitely the right.
"You missed that shot though," said Tomoe. She stepped to the right and crunched loudly on a pile of fallen petals. "And now you've put so much effort into getting a bullet returned." She pivoted to the left, feet nearly silent compared to the soft rustling all around them. Her mind's manic storytelling retreated, along with every distraction it posed. No strange floaters crowded her vision. No distant sounds begged for attention. The next bullet would reach flesh, not the ghastly aura clinging to her foe. It would puncture more than metaphor.
The smell of blood grew as she neared, even with duller senses. The breathing became heavier. Soon, the woman would just be one more body added to Tomoe's towering heap, but it would not be so heavy a burden as the rest. Not after what she had done to Mr. Sun's burgeoning coven. Not with how her plans would harm him. No, not so heavy at all.
Tomoe reached around the corner without looking and shot the wounded monster. At least three bullets found their marks. Maybe more, with how loudly she howled. It wasn't anything so poetic as a curse. A bird's squawk would have borne more pride, or even a mutt's yelp. Tomoe shot once more and glanced around the corner.
She looked down the stubby barrel of a revolver in that moment. The runes carved into its interior glowed ominously. She stared at the woman's gap-toothed smile too. It looked all the worse for its missing canine. Tomoe fired again, just before the revolver's hammer cracked like fracturing enamel.
She didn't fire any more after that.

Overseer-6 quietly sipped coffee from a cup decorated with blooming tulips. A man sat in front of her, or something shaped like a man, but he was slumped and diminished in his seat. Diminished before her, and diminished beneath the skypiercers rising around them. One of several satellite phones on her person rang, sounding only once before she answered it. The voice on the other side was pleasant, faint, and fading.
"Report," she said curtly. Egret's response would have been unintelligible to anyone else, feverish as it was. "Excellent, and you took samples? How many bullets? How many times? Well, drag yourself out of there. I'll deal with the rest. Don't 'yes, ma'am' me. Go."
Ahamdi sighed, snapped her phone closed, looked down dispassionately at her cooling coffee. The cup's floral pattern slowly withered. Well, good. Other branches would be easier to snip after chopping at the trunk. They would have to be, at least if she was to ever threaten the snake itself with garden shears.

« Side Story | Maim the Sky, Slay the Sun | Side Story »


Oh so long ago,
When I first took shape,
I was alone in a sea of heat and chaos.
But I was warm.
I was safe.
Blank, shifting orange.
But no shape took form.
In those times, I knew not what I was.
but I felt curiosity in that comforting warmth,
So I wandered the orange.
For a long.
Long.
Time.
It was then that I noticed another.
A figure much like I.
But also.
Not.
Her name was Sauelsuesor.
And she was my sister.
Unlike me, she had opened her eyes
And for all the time I had been walking,
She had been watching.
And she showed me what she saw.
There were dead rocks and rings of dust.
Empty stars glowing distantly.
She said that there had been others.
Others like us.
The twinkling lights so far away…
She said that for a long time, she would talk with them.
That she would just pick a voice in the sea of many.
But she said that the voices began to grow quiet.
And that eventually, they were gone.
She says that now, all we see,
Are empty stars glowing distantly.
Long dead explosions slamming themselves against us.
From a destruction just beyond our twinkling skies.
But there was hope.
She said that she had protected us.
That she had protected them.
The worlds in front of us held defensively in her cupped hands.
I looked out and saw nothing but empty rocks
And a hopeless night.
That's when she showed me you.
A silent jewel of blue and green,
Life among the bleak stillbirth.
It was then when I laid eyes on you.
It was then that I was given purpose.
Now that I had awoken,
my sister left.
She descended, to watch over you.
To talk to you and give you hope.
She told me of all you did.
Some things good,
Some things bad.
But always, always beautiful.
Our single child,
Clasped firmly in our loving arms.

Trouble has finally washed upon our hidden shores.

And now.
I am reminded of all that.
Of your beauty.
Of all that you have done.
All you could have done.
I don't know everything.
But I know what I was meant to do.
What we were meant to do.
We are the last.
And fade quietly into that inky void, we shall not.
I am a Star of the Night Sky.
So watch me shine one final time.


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Info

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Title: La Charte
Date Published: 15/05/2017
Translator: Dr Lekter
Special Thanks: Avelon21 and Dr Lake for proofreading

Common Charter of the
Union of Djinns, Genies and Associated Wish-Granters

As established by mutual agreement between the Union of Djinns, Genies and Associated Wish-Granters (representatives: Mr. Amn-Guerifah Maloud Shinka Edh Gifeh, Ms. Edora Sylphe) and the Anomalous Individuals Monitoring Bureau (representatives: Ms. Catherine Stern, Mr. Armand Stern) from the SCP Foundation (under O5 Council supervision) on the 9th of August 2014.

Section of the SCP Foundation

Given that:
I) The Reality Bending entities deemed "Submissive" (Djinns, Genies and others Wish-Granters) are listed to more than 531 entitates notae all over the world, and thus are difficult to manage.
II) The Reality Bending entities deemed "Submissive" (Djinns, Genies and others Wish-Granters) are usually bound to objects (oil lamps, carpets, mobile telephones…) or places (waterways, wells, paths…) sometimes difficult to contain.
III) The Reality Bending entities deemed "Submissive" (Djinns, Genies and other Wish-Granters) are sapient anomalous entities endowed with feelings, and thus must be treated as such following Ethics Committee Memorandum #35.9.
IV) The Reality Bending entities deemed "Submissive" (Djinns, Genies and other Wish-Granters) are anomalous entities, forced by nature to bend reality regardless of their will by following human requests, and thus must be supervised.
V) The Reality Bending entities deemed "Submissive" (Djinns, Genies and other Wish-Granters) occasionally alter reality to a very large degree.
VI) The Reality Bending entities deemed "Submissive" (Djinns, Genies and other Wish-Granters) are hunted and persecuted by several international organizations such as the Global Occult Coalition and the Horizon Initiative.
VII) The Reality Bending entities deemed "Submissive" (Djinns, Genies and other Wish-Granters) have shown willingness to kindly comply to the SCP Foundation's decisions.
The SCP Foundation agrees to to give free rein to the activities of the Djinns, Genies and other Wish-Granters providing that they organize themselves in a structured union, regulated and self-managed, under the supervision of the Anomalous Individuals Monitoring Bureau.

Section of the Union of Djinns, Genies and Associated Wish-Granters

Given that:
I) We, Wish-Granters, exist to carry out the duty that falls to us, namely satisfying human requests that are expressed by a Customer having contacted us beforehand according to the Customs, and thus we have to defend our freedom to do so, according to the Customs.
II) We, Wish-Granters, are able to hold a link and a communication between Wish-Granters, are able to organize ourselves and able to create Rules and Limits between ourselves that the Wish-Granters will have to respect, according to the Customs.
III) We, Wish-Granters, are able to hold a link and a communication between Wish-Granters, are able to organize ourselves and able to create Rules and Limits between ourselves that the Customers will have to respect, according to the Customs.
IV) Abuses already have been observed among the most wily Wish-Granters, especially in classical cases of "Be careful what you wish for", hurting the Customer and consequently prompting distrust among the Customer Base in general, being detrimental to our task.
V) Abuses already have been observed among the most wily Customers, especially in classical cases of "Infinite wishes" and other more subtle stratagems that have been developed since the 1134 Synod decreed the Rule of the Three.
VI) Wishes of all sorts can impinge those of other Customers, or even turn out to be paradoxical, and what is harmful for the Customers is harmful to our task.
VII) We, Wish-Granters, have a lot to win from the protection of the world-wide organization known as the SCP Foundation, given the animosity of some humans with regard to us.
We accept to organize ourselves to constitute the Union of Djinns, Genies and Associated Wish-Granters, a self-managed union whose regulation and actions will faithfully correspond to the Customs and the approval of the Anomalous Individuals Monitoring Bureau of the SCP Foundation.

Composition of the Charter

Article 1: The Djinns, Genies and Associated Wish-Granters are free to carry on their anomalous activities in contact with civilians without worrying about an intervention from the SCP Foundation, as long as they:

Tie themselves to no more than one customer at the same time, and do not take another customer before all the wishes of the previous one have been granted.
Observe the secrecy clause and do not make themselves known as anomalous individuals outside of their customer's private circle.

Article 2: The Djinns, Genies and Associated Wish-Granters are free to grant all wishes that are requested to them and that they allow themselves to grant, except for:

Every wish that radically alters the laws of physics and nature on a large scale. Individual modifications or creation of anomalous objects will exceptionally be tolerated.
Every wish that disrupts national or global sociopolitical balance at the point of endangering, weakening or disbanding the influence of the SCP Foundation. Classical success wishes such as becoming rich or president of a nation are not affected as long as they respect the current sociopolitical order and the AIMB is subsequently informed of the anomalous nature of the customer's success.
Every wish that threatens the Union's existence or its relation to the SCP Foundation.

Article 3: The Union of Djinns, Genies and Associated Wish-Granters is free to create and manage any other rule besides those previously stated.
Article 4: The SCP Foundation commits to never take action against a wish granted by a Djinn, Genie or another Wish-Granter to a customer it is still linked to. However, when the contract established between the customer and the Wish-Granted is fullfilled and when all the wishes have been used, the Foundation is free to intervene and confiscate the SCPs or anomalous locations created, and even terminate the former customer.
Article 5: The SCP Foundation commits itself to protect the Union of Djinns, Genies and Associated Wish-Granters as well as all its members from any organization or individual trying to harm them. This especially includes the Global Occult Coalition and the Horizon Initiative. This also includes dissimulation of excessively visible consequences to the fulfillment of a wish.
Article 6: In the event of a Djinn, Genie or another Wish-Granter refusing to follow the aforementioned rules, the Union has the duty to report it to the Anomalous Individuals Monitoring Bureau.

In the event of a failure to respect the rules, the SCP Foundation reserves itself the right to directly take action against the involved customer and/or Wish-Granter, who will be incarcerated before being interrogated, studied or terminated.
In the event of a failure to respect the rules, the SCP Foundation reserves itself the right to directly take action to counter a wish and nullify its effects or capture any generated SCP objects.
In the event of a major infraction the Union will be held accountable.
In the event that the Union refuses to be held accountable, all previous agreements would then become null and void, and the SCP Foundation would not hesitate to deploy substantial means (such as contacting the GOC or the Horizon Initiative) for punitive purposes.

Article 7: Exceptionally, the Union's members are requested not to grant any wishes coming from any person presenting themselves as Dr Bright from the SCP Foundation.


🗿 FloraHertz 10/28/26 (Wed) 07:16:22 #93592018

It's that time of year again, folks, the Halloween megathread!
This years theme: folktales and local legends. Tell us about some spoopy happenings in your neck of the woods. Who knows, maybe your experiences will become part of oral history.

The_Official_O-B 10/28/26 (Wed) 08:01:33 #32927754

So not exactly a legend that's local to me, but while I was in Japan a few months ago I think I encountered a yokai.
I had been exploring a forest late in the evening because I was not at all tired, and I got the feeling somebody was watching me, but when I looked around nobody was there. Eventually I stopped to rest and that feeling got a lot stronger. When I turned around I was face to face with it. Or, just the head.
It was just a woman's head, not attached to a body, which I instantly recognized as a Rokurokubi. I was terrified in the moment, but she smiled and laughed at me. I spoke just enough halting Japanese to ask what she was doing, and though I couldn't exactly keep up with what she told me, it was clear from what I could understand that she thought she was dreaming. I was just able to speak enough to ask her to leave me in peace. She laughed but did as I ask, walking further into the woods. I immediately noped the fuck out of there, and I haven't really thought about it since.

Wiz0765 10/28/26 (Wed) 08:08:31 #92543792

I instantly recognized it as a Rokurokubi

weeb

wonder5truck 10/29/26 (Thu) 07:19:42 #19926525

Rokurokubi are yokai whose necks elongate. What you supposedly encountered was a nukekubi.

Wiz0765 10/29/26 (Thu) 08:32:55 #03682022

weeb

The_Official_O-B 10/29/26 (Thu) 10:25:47 #01629278

You're not wrong, but the rokurokubi encompasses and originally only referred to those whose heads detached, and it seems the neck stretching ones were invented purely for entertainment.

Wiz0765 10/29/26 (Thu) 12:56:10 #17028492

weebs, the lot of you

Boomingpound 10/29/26 (Thu) 09:08:22 #93677481

Oh man, local legends, have I got experience with those. Germany is a weird fucking country and I've been all over.
I'm torn which story to share, but I think I have to mention my encounter with the Erlkoenig. I was just outside Bielefeld, walking through the forest when I saw it dash between the trees. It looked like something in-between a goblin and an elf. It spooked me a bit at first, but I realized that it was probably more freaked out by me. Fairy kings don't really like humans that much but they're not all that harmful. I wish I'd gotten a better look at it, or tried speaking to it, I was just so freaked out at the time.
But that encounter did lead me to parawatch, so maybe it's better that it was vague.
Edit: Consider this a German Folklore mini thread! Feel free to ask me any questions about weird German things or post your own experiences in German in a reply to this post!

OrderedEons 10/29/26 (Thu) 11:19:41 #39277566

Did somebody say German folklore? Fine, if you insist. Let me tell you about my experience with Lorelei.
Lorelei is a rock on the Rhine and is the subject of countless legends. The most well known one involves a Siren who is also named Lorelei that combs her golden hair and lures sailors to their deaths. That's mostly just based off of writers in the 18th century messing up the lore because it made a more interesting story. The original lore involved dwarves muttering deep in the caves of Lorelei which is at least a little more interesting, but leaves something to be desired motivation wise.
The truth is far more interesting than either of those. I believe Lorelei whispers deep truths about the universe.
I've only been there once, but it's a surreal experience. You hear this constant murmuring in the background, and you can't explain it or figure out where it's coming from. But slowly, words start to take shape. Words meant to get your attention. Maybe not directly addressed to you, but words that will pique your interest. And as you try and find the source, it gets louder and louder as you approach an edge. And you start to hear fragments. "The limit of the universe…" "Human suffering is for…" "Consciousness is simply…" Fundamental truths of the universe, right there, so you can just barely hear them. You're not being enticed by them, you're simply curious. And you can know the truth, the answers behind all of the universe's biggest question. You just have to fall to the river below.
No wonder writers thought there was a siren there.

RenTasunder 10/29/26 (Thu) 12:41:04 #19277648

From the wikipedia page on Lorelei:

The murmuring is hard to hear today owing to the urbanization of the area.

But you were able to hear it perfectly murmuring, despite the urbanization and all of the scientific explanations?
Sure, Jan.

s0sp00ky 10/29/26 (Thu) 11:36:15 #27734655

Dude, what the fuck are you on about? Is the erlkonig a goblin, an elf, or a fairy? Pick one or don't bore us with your obviously fake tale, Boom.

A-Misty-Forecast 10/30/26 (Fri) 02:18:43 #11722215

I mean, you're not one to talk sp00ky, but still I had to mention:

I was just outside Bielefeld

Everyone knows Bielefeld isn't real: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bielefeld_Conspiracy

YaBoiAl 10/29/26 (Thu) 04:23:53 #91882674

Oh, I have some tales. Loads of them. An entire books worth, in fact. See, I discovered a small village, hidden away in the black forest. And a lot of strange things happen there. Mysterious deaths and disappearances, elves and other creatures, demonic possession, you name it it's happened. It's not easy to find, but once you can find and follow the bread crumbs you'll know you've gotten to a small village called Verstecktedorf.
The really weird twist? Everything that happens in this village closely mirrors one of the tales told by the Brothers Grimm. Let me know if you're interested in hearing more, I've got lots of stories from people there.

ThumbFounded 05/30/26 (Fri) 01:43:26 #93288273

Verstecktedorf literally means "hidden village" in German, dumbass. At least try to be a little more creative.
[USER WAS BANNED FOR THIS POST.]

🗿 FloraHertz 10/30/26 (Fri) 03:56:47 #59637821

I'm closing off replies to this post to prevent unnecessary escalation of aggression towards Boom and other posters. I really thought you knew better than to needlessly antagonize other members of this community. Stop acting like children before I lock this whole thread.
[THREAD LOCKED.]

ComicSands 10/30/26 (Fri) 08:04:52 #47264924

You ever heard of La Llorona? Not the movie, but the real deal?
The legend goes that a long time ago in New Mexico, there lived a beautiful widow who had two children. Though she loved her children, she hated being alone and longed to have another man to love her. One day, a handsome man came to the village, and he took a liking to her. But he refused to propose, as he did not like children. Distraught at this revelation and thinking herself clever, the woman took her children to the river and left them to drown. When she told the man what she'd done, he was horrified, and left, never to return. With the man gone, the woman quickly realized her mistake. She ran back to the river, weeping, but it was too late. They were gone. As she ran, looking for some sign of them, she tripped and hit her head on a rock, killing her. She was rejected from heaven for her sins, and made to be stuck on earth until she finds the souls of her lost children.

Where it happened

When I was like a sophomore in high school, and I was at a halloween party near the rio grande. It had gotten too loud and busy for me, so I decided to take a stroll by the riverside (I took a photo of where I was a few days ago in anticipation for this). As I walked, I heard a crying in the distance. I hadn't heard the tale of La Llorona in years, and it was Halloween, so I assumed it was somebody having halloween merriment in the distance. As I walked, the sound got louder. It was really unsettling. I started to think of everything it could be, even the supernatural explanations.
Eventually, I came upon a woman wearing a white dress and weeping by the riverside. In that moment I was certain it was La Llorona, and my heart stopped. I couldn't move, I was so scared. I wanted to get far away from there, but I was frozen to the spot. Eventually she looked up. She looked at me, and in the dark I could only just make out her face. She looked… excited? I couldn't tell. She begged for my help, and I found the strength to take a few small steps backwards. She lost her children, she continued, and was scared they'd fallen in the river, and would I be kind enough to help her look. I thought I was going to die for certain. It took all the strength I had to run away. She gave chase, but after a while I heard her fall. She screamed in pain and begged me to help her, but I kept running until I could no longer hear her. As I ran, I swear I heard children whispering and laughing. I left the riverside, deeply unsettled, and didn't sleep at all.
It wasn't until the next day I heard that a woman and her two children had gone missing. I tried to put it out of my head that police were searching the river near where I had been. To this day, I'm not sure what I saw by the river. And I'm scared to know the answer.

Violaorchestranerd66 10/30/26 (Fri) 11:44:16 #82637192

Hey, uh, that's a cool tale and all. I mean, I'd never heard that variant of La Llorona but it was different and I liked it. And I don't mean to doubt the authenticity of your post, but, uh, that's my photo. The original is here:

Rio-Grande.jpg

Like, I wouldn't mind, I released it under cc, but like you explicitly said that's your photo and it's just. Not? I'm pretty sure that violates the terms of cc, and it'll probably make others skeptical of your story and, like, parawatch in general.
I don't really have a point. Just uh. Thought I should say something.
Also maybe next time don't post a picture claiming it's your own on a site where the actual photographer is a pretty active member? Like it's the same username on the photo site and everything. I'll stop complaining now.

🗿 FloraHertz 10/30/26 (Fri) 11:52:25 #82551438

Viola, I'm so sorry. You know, I really thought we were better than this as a community. Art theft? Seriously? My mod sense is telling me I should just lock the thread right now, but I know a lot of people would have complaints about that, so you know what? Don't post if you can't be civil.
This thread is to share real life weird ass experiences that have happened to you regarding folktales. It's halloween! A time for fear and spookiness, not pedantry and theft. If you have an issue with a post on this thread, you can bring it up with me personally. No more posting snarky replies, no more posting blasé trolls, none of it. We're done. Sincerity only from now on, got it? Awesome.

BabblingBrooke 10/31/26 (Sat) 06:42:51 #31826352

Okay, so I have a folk tale to tell, but it's kinda weird in that it's a more modern one (I okayed this with Flora, btw).
If you know where to listen, there are murmurings in Portland of a Robot Hell. Or maybe it's a robot heaven? The point is that it's a robot afterlife.
And to clarify, I don't mean a human afterlife filled with robots, I mean an afterlife for robots that have died. "Died." Shit, I don't know, the terminology is gonna have to be a bit weird here.
It's said that deep within Forest Park, a portal of mist will take you to a forest of black and white, where you can just barely see in front of your face. If you're very careful and quiet, the robots won't notice you. And you definitely don't want to be noticed by them. See, they don't really like humans. It seems that while they were alive, they felt trapped and tormented by humans, and being dead, they'd like to not be bothered by humans anymore.
I was a little skeptical at first. Don't get me wrong, I buy that AI exists in a much more advanced state than they want us to know. I could even buy portals to other realms. But robots having an afterlife… it just seemed unlikely.
So I went myself. It's real. I saw drones that were acting like birds, I saw robots just walking around. I didn't stray too far from the portal, but it seemed to go on forever. And it really is black and white, like somebody just put a black and white filter over the whole forest.
Unfortunately, I was spotted by the robots. I knew I should run, but I had to know more. I asked what this place was. The robot asked if I would like to find out, and began charging at me. I only stopped running once I safely reached my car. I almost laughed at myself, because how could robots escape the afterlife? Still, I think we're witnessing the birth of a folktale. And I got to be a part of it.

CFTBATK's-BAFTA 10/31/26 (Sat) 07:31:59 #16253424

Holy shit. I mean, I'm skeptical as hell, but like if what you're saying is true… that means robots have souls?? Robots can die??? And they can get mad at us????
I think I need to go apologize to my roomba

A_Graet_Win 10/31/26 (Sat) 08:50:28 #82662661

Brooke is telling the truth, by the by. A friend of mine went there and took photos. I could probably share them if I got their permission

terryllium 10/31/26 (Sat) 09:58:35 #81726356

I wonder what this says about consciousness. Are we conscious because we think? Or because we know we're conscious? We're aware we exist, and we're used to man made things not knowing they exist. But if they do… what does that say for all of us?

NevaEvaEva 10/31/26 (Sat) 10:16:23 #91827362

I live near Portland, and I've been meaning to go to Forest Park again. I didn't expect you to be right. But you are. The portal is right in front of me, a portal of mist. I took a quick peek inside and… it was weirder than described. The trees look normal but… something is off about them. I couldn't see the sun at all, even though I could see through the mist. I didn't catch any robots. But I brought a camera, in the hopes I might catch a picture of one. I'm going back in, and I'm not leaving until I take a picture of a robot ghost. Wish me luck.

🗿 SurprisinglyCoordinatedPenguins 10/31/26 (Sat) 10:31:26 #10312026

Locking this thread for rabble rousing. The users in question for this part of the thread were revealed to have been rping some obscure ARG. Plus the content was just kinda ridiculous. I mean, I'll grant you ghosts, I'll grant you robots, but there's certainly no such thing as robot ghosts.
[FORUM LOCKED.]

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