Description: AE-04 is a standard digging shovel, sized 292.1 by 241.3 millimeters. The handle is constructed of hardwood while the blade is composed of 14-gauge steel (1.214 mm thickness). Red acrylic paint is coated on the handle in equal thickness. Minor signs of use are present across the anomaly, including a fine layer of sediment across the blade. The sediment may be cleaned from the blade but returns within 24 hours from wherever it was moved to. Compositional analysis determined the sediment is common to deciduous forests across Alternia, and bears no unique markers to indicate true origin.
The handle has the words "What a burden!" scratched into it on the reverse side.
AE-04 was retrieved from [REMOVED] after a notable spike in local fatalities was documented via routine obituary statistical analysis. AE-04 was traced to the local gravedigger and retrieved after suitable replacement was offered after Legionary Unit 02 determined source of anomaly.
Anomalous Properties: AE-04 will, upon contact with a sapient, organic creature, compel the subject (designated AE-03-1) to begin digging standard size graves in the nearest suitable location. This compulsion is extremely strong, although AE-04-1 will not resist if restrained by force.
If allowed to dig, AE-04-1 will begin constructing a seemingly random amount of graves within even spacing of each other in a standard graveyard plot pattern. AE-04-1 will appear to become physically exhausted commensurate with physical ability, but will not cease until AE-04 has ceased its compulsive effect.
If dirt cannot be found, AE-04-1 will begin to dig through the next softest material, up to and including solid concrete (X: Further testing banned, see below). AE-04 is able to dig through these materials with as much approximate difficulty as digging through soil.
Upon completion of work, AE-04-1 will be released from compulsion and can drop AE-04 if desired or use AE-04 for further work without issue. Anomalous properties will not resume until one standard night has passed.
Within one standard night after use of AE-04, a matching amount of fatalities will occur in a local area of [SIZE UNDETERMINED].
Due to safety concerns, AE-04 should not be tested within the city limits around Site-01 or within 200 kilometers of any Legion staff.
Due to ethical concerns, AE-04 should not be tested unless absolutely necessary.
Location: Stored within Site-01.
Containment Procedures: AE-04 is to be kept inside of a secured locker within the secure storage of Site-01. This locker should be locked with a password lock and padlock at all times. The password should be changed every perigee. The key shall be retained by Research Head [INPUT MISSING] or otherwise held by alternate designated staff [See ACCESS-MEMO-01.txt].
Research Avenues:
Grave Digging Side Revenue [Denied]
Improved Sharpness of Non-Anomalous Tools [Accepted]
Extremely Hard to Trace Weapon [Denied]
Research Results:
AE-04's blade was further analyzed to determine if unique chemical makeup or other factors could be traced to its ease with digging through materials. Research was inconclusive, as makeup appears to be 14-gauge steel. Legionary Units 01 and 02 report blade is unable to pierce materials tougher than normal soil or weak rocks (as mechanical units, Legionnaires appear unaffected by the compulsion of the anomaly). Therefore, it appears anomalous piercing qualities only manifest in AE-04-1 temporarily.
Further Notes: Further testing on this anomaly is forbidden as it is unclear as to whether the anomaly itself causes fatalities or if the fatalities would occur regardless and the anomaly is merely predicting them. [REMOVED] suggested to fly or drive someone out to the middle of nowhere to see if AE-04 would affect them, but this was denied on the grounds that it may lead to the digger dying instead if no suitable 'targets' can be found.
Classification: Local-Safe (Subnote: Potential for Regional-Catastrophic or Destructive if not contained, consider category update)
Status: Contained, neutralization IN-PROGRESS
Description: AE-02 is not a singular being. It is a fungal colony that grows as milky-white mushrooms with yellow tinges on the sides of the caps and stalks, which are commonly conical in shape. Fungus reproduces via spores which are spread through the movement of AE-02-b (see anomalous properties below). Spores attach to fertile soil when available and grow per typical mushroom growth patterns. When inhaled in sufficient quantity by a living creature, spores will take root inside creature and begin to grow, similar to the cordyceps fungus noted in insects.
Location: [REMOVED]
Containment Procedures: AE-02's primary colony is currently restricted to a lowblood hive located at [REMOVED], designated AE-02-HIVE. Barriers to trespassers have been erected on paths leading to this building and are monitored by motion detectors and cameras. No persons should enter the building without wearing a particulate filter mask, rated N95. All barriers are marked with a number for inquiries, which redirects to an automated system warning of an imperial study being performed on a dangerous pathogen. Personnel experimenting with AE-02 are required to undergo decontamination and isolation for a period of 3 nights following exposure. The doors and windows of AE-02-HIVE have been replaced with reinforced steel barriers, which are to be locked at all times remotely without express authorization from the Legionary Council. The ground surrounding AE-02-HIVE shall be monitored for any signs of fungal growth, which should be contained and destroyed immediately via acidic spray and excavation of any fungal networks.
Anomalous Properties: AE-02 is a mushroom with delayed lethality. Upon ingestion of a full stalk (hypothesized) or sufficient inhalation of spores, any living creature will be transformed into AE-02-a. The process of this transformation on trolls unknown, as experiments on this were determined unethical. Experiments performed on mice revealed transformation into AE-02-a takes place within minutes upon ingestion of sufficient material. AE-02-a subjects are separate and distinct from AE-02-b, "spore carriers". AE-02-a subjects appear to be corpses of those heavily infected by AE-02. They are typically located in a hidden location and are kept alive via AE-02 infestation assuming digestive and respiratory functions. Sometime after AE-02-a is created, a copy of the subject (AE-02-b) is created. AE-02-b will only appear when AE-02-a is not in the physical presence of another sapient being, and will only occur from a full AE-02 colony of fungus (AE-02-a cannot create AE-02-b on its own).
AE-02-b appear visually similar to their originating AE-02-a sources, even wearing what initially appear to be clothes (in the case of trolls), but which are actually a vast fungal network. There is no heartbeat that can be detected from such creatures, nor typical brainwave activity. AE-02-b will mimic actions and habits that the original creature performed in life, such as movement through a particular area, basic repetitive motor functions, and is capable of limited dialogue if mimicking a troll. Movements of AE-02-b induce exhalation to simulate respiratory function, but rather than needing to breathe, these exhalations spread the spores of AE-02. The skin of AE-02-b is waxy and yellow, with fungal growths evident across the body in a variety of areas. AE-02-b typically express mild confusion and incoherence on being addressed in the case of trolls, and erratic behavior in the case of animals.
AE-02-b are not inherently hostile, but will defend themselves if attacked. AE-02-b appear to be animated via direct control of the copied nervous, skeletal, and muscular system by AE-02. Research has theorized that control is only exercised if a colony of AE-02 is within relative proximity, but this is still being studied. If contained, AE-02-b (both animal and troll) are compliant and will remain in secured areas until released.
As AE-02-b are copies of creatures, they also contain fungal copies of all vital and non-vital organs. These appear to have no purpose. Review of organs by medical experts, however, has shown these organs are fully capable of their non-mushroom versions' functions. Removal of organs does not result in AE-02-b termination. Termination in subjects occurs when sufficient breakdown of the body has been effected, either via conventional weaponry, fire, or acidic spray. When terminated, AE-02-b release a voluminous cloud of AE-02 spores. It is noted that inhaling this cloud without protection will cause the creation of AE-02-a, and from there, AE-02-b.
Each instance of AE-02-b will be eventually replaced by the controlling AE-02 colony so long as their AE-02-a version exists, however, only one copy of each creature appears to exist at a time.
Neutralization Log: Destruction of AE-02 has been authorized, however, research is ongoing into how to safely destroy the entirety of the colony without risk of spreading spores outside containment. If AE-02-HIVE is burnt to the ground, there is a high risk of ambient wind carrying newly released spores into the air and spreading them across the surrounding forest.
Use of sterilizing acid has been considered, distribution of sufficient amounts to neutralize the entire colony is still being researched.
Fortunately, the only instance of AE-02-a outside of experimentation appears to be its sole victim. The original colony of AE-02 may well be the only colony in the wild at this point in time. Potential medical benefits from AE-02 are being considered until neutralization has been completed. [X - Unlikely. Cordyceps fungi studies are scarce but rarely have any noticeable health effects. We don't have time to sit around staring at a mushroom for 50 sweeps to figure out if it might inhibit dementia by a few perigees.]
Research Avenues:
Duplication of organs [X: Don't bother. Nobody wants a mushroom based organ when a mechanical one is more widely available and less vile]
Neurodegeneration Therapy [See above]
Anti-Fungal Countermeasures [Mild potential]
Bio-Weapon Potential [Absolutely not.]
Low Cost Mushroom Clone Labor [No.]
Fungal Communication in Trolls [This is how you start a zombie apocalypse]
Research Results:
Anti-Fungal Countermeasures: In consultation with third party fungus experts, along with local hospital administrator Doctor [REMOVED], prototype anti-fungal gas has been developed from samples collected of the colony of AE-02. The gas disperses quickly and becomes inert, therefore, a large volume or close dispersal of it near targets is necessary.
The chemical makeup is as follows: [AUTHORIZATION REQUIRED]
Following from this, Anti-Fungal Gas (AFG) has been placed into 'gas grenades' similar to those used to disperse tear gas. Targets within three meters (approx.) when grenade detonates a standard payload are affected.
Targets with minimal or no fungal infection experience a small tingling sensation throughout their body as gas makes contact. These targets are otherwise unaffected apart from mild irritation in the mucous membranes.
Targets who have been converted into AE-02-b become paralyzed for up to ten minutes, depending on concentration of gas absorbed. The effect is produced by targeting the communications network of the fungus inhabiting the nervous system, which is required to move the body. Subjects appear to be aware during this period, but are unable to retaliate against unwanted movement or injury. Exposed caps and stalks are noted to visibly wither and wilt. Upon recovery, caps remain withered in appearance but begin to restore themselves within 24 hours. AFG is ineffective for removal of fungus itself.
Effect on more benign fungal infections in general population has not been tested. Research recommends against inhaling gas regardless of state of infection.
AFG will be distributed to areas having reports of high fungus activity, which should provide a wider array of testing data on different species of fungus.
Designation: Anomalous Object-01, "The Unthinkable Machine" [Workshop this title with Avanti or Amprus]
Classification: [Garsad - We need to actually come up with a classification system. Something basic. I'll pen this one as a literal 'Locally catastrophic only' for now]
Status: Neutralized
Physical Description: AO-01 is a thirty meter (approximate) tall, twenty meters wide metallic object, constructed from a disparate array of various metal objects, such as gears, cogs, screwdrivers, bolts, screws, lugnuts, small statues, scuttlebuggies, abandoned electronics, etc. Ferrous and non-ferrous materials are in equal abundance. The structure itself is shaped haphazardly, with parts distributed with no clear pattern across it. Parts begin to taper off near the top of the structure, resulting in an obelisk-like shape.
Anomalous Properties: AO-01 is a cognitive hazard to all persons in a massive radius surrounding it, encompassing a local lawnring and a few royal undersea dwellings due to the structure's location. Individuals affected by the object perceive the structure's circumference as a landfill and feel compelled to use it as such. All non-metallic objects are absorbed into the structure over time, including all observed biological matter (food, assorted waste, corpses of both animals and trolls). Metallic objects will adhere to the structure and gradually pass through it, expanding its size over time and maintaining the illusion of a progressively growing landfill.
Neutralization Log:
During observation by remote unit ALPHA, one still living subject was thrown into the landfill, albeit badly wounded to the point that death within a few hours would be certain. Subject made contact with pillar when initially placed. After ten minutes elapsed, subject was observed convulsing as wire and rebar began to protrude through the upper torso. Five minutes afterwards, subject regained consciousness and began to scream.
Fifteen minutes afterwards, subject was silenced as a substance (hypothesized to be some manner of lubricant or oil) filled the entirety of their mouth, quickly coating the ground.
At this time, observation unit ALPHA was ordered to terminate subject. ALPHA deployed firearms to no effect, all bullets and casings were absorbed into AO-01 via the subject. ALPHA deployed flamethrower apparatus to no effect, although resulting injuries revealed extensive replacement of subject's endoskeleton with parts similar to AO-01. ALPHA deployed explosive ordnance [Please do not give Alpha more grenades - Delete comment once you acknowledge this] to mild effect. Shrapnel from device was immediately absorbed into AO-01, however, shockwave appeared to render subject either deceased or unconscious.
After one hour, subject (Designated AO-01-a) became animated. Rather than forming into a daywalker, subject appeared to have retained some form of self. Subject assumed a standing position next to AO-01 and cried profusely for the following ten minutes.
Legion Leadership [Suggest we rename ourselves to a council, it just sounds better. And by that I mean less stupid.] authorized neutralization of AO-01 and AO-01-a. Unit ALPHA determined standard approach non-viable due to metallic construction of the unit, along with lack of effect from conventional weaponry, and instead deployed RS Countermeasure device. AO-01-a immediately collapsed on deployment, with no signs of further movement. AO-01 remained visually unchanged for a period of 6 minutes and twenty two seconds. Following this, a fissure opened within the structure. Unit ALPHA's visual logs record [I'm cutting this part out and keeping it strictly need to know, and no, Garsad, you don't need to know unless we see something like this again] ending in collapse of the structure.
Locals seen investigating area afterwards did not appear to be cognitively affected by AO-01 any longer. Audible remarks are made wondering what happened to the "landfill" and the "foreman" (tentatively designated AO-01-b, unobserved). After civilians depart, unit ALPHA retrieved samples of structure remains for further analysis.
Analysis of remains determine metals are consistent with consensus reality expectations. Location marked on map for return observations on a one-perigee interval.
This takes place concurrently with @cloudbattrolls O Maker Mine plot, specifically Machinat
Toyhou.se version here
Iyorii Dytench, for perhaps the thousandth time, wished she smoked. A cigarette or a cigar in her mouth, she was certain, would make her look so much cooler right now.
But as always, the she reminded herself that the smell made her incredibly ill, and nothing was less cool than secondhand smoke getting permanently stained into all your clothes and making your teeth yellow.
She watched the exterior camera feeds from the manager's office of the shipbuilding factory she had been placed in charge of security for. The manager himself sweated nervously as he did the same - some blueblood whose name she had already dismissed as unimportant.
"Shit, look at that. They just dragged that guy out and shot him!" she half chuckled, pointing one gloved finger towards a monitor. It, indeed, depicted a group of trolls (lowbloods, if she had to guess) pulling a man from another factory out and gunning him down. The manager swallowed dryly to confirm that he had seen that, yes. Fortunately, the same couldn't happen at this factory... for now. When the apocalypse outside had started, doing some shit to Civitrecce, the entire factory had gone into lockdown mode. Armored shutters had dropped all around the building's doors and windows. The only reason power was still on was because of a backup generator the real boss had ordered installed in case outside power failed, which was fortunate since otherwise they'd all be trapped in darkness to boot.
Iyorii (Or 'capo', as befitting her rank) struck an imposing figure even before she 'suited up' in her proper uniform. While she was just about 5'10", her personality tended to make her seem much larger to everyone around her. Throwing on a full dark blue zoot suit, grey necktie, and charcoal colored gloves just enhanced the image further. The shoulder pad inserts certainly didn't hurt either. Her hair was neck length and not stylized in any particular way beyond being straightened. Her horns alternated, one facing up and the other facing down, with the ends looping into spirals (which she jokingly called her 'corkscrew punches'). Her symbol, equal in color to her gloves, resembled a rectangle with a line coming off the top right, continuing shortly towards the same shoulder. In the center of the box was an infinity symbol that connected to the rectangle itself.
She clapped a hand on the shoulder of the manager, who jumped in his chair. "Alright there mister so-and-so, you just hang tight and try not to have a mental breakdown, I'mma go down and talk to my boss. Keep the shutters down, capiche?"
She clicked her tongue at him and shot some finger pistols at him while exiting the office without waiting for an answer.
She checked her pager again as she stepped lightly down the stairs with still a bit of swagger in her step. She had faintly hoped she had missed a message from her boss, but there was nothing. She had gotten some alerts from other members of the Grey Mob, but as far as she could tell, everyone else higher up had manage to escape whatever, exactly, had occurred.
Her sensible (and stylish!) black leather oxfords clicked sharply against the metal of the factory staircase while she descended. She pressed a few buttons on the device, sending out a coded message to anyone still holding onto their own pagers.
On the factory floor, she did a quick headcount. There were about ten or so other Grey Mobsters here. Most of them had been this building's security, but one or two had been on the streets and quickly let in just as the naval destroyers appeared on the horizon.
The remaining twenty three people were civilian employees that hadn't bolted at the first sign of trouble, perhaps figuring it safer to stick near the armed security goons.
They mobsters were arranged in a small circle to themselves, cracking a few jokes and otherwise just grumbling. The civilians were more spread out, most of them feverishly checking their phones fruitlessly. In one or two cases, the trolls just stared at the wall ahead of themselves.
Iyorii cleared her throat, planting her fists on her hips and leaning forward. "Alright, listen up you mooks!" she barked, causing everyone's heads to turn towards her. "We gotta come up with a plan of action! The bossman is M-I-A, so that puts my A in C, that's 'charge', of your A's. Got it?"
The mobsters glanced at each other, then nodded. They were all made trolls, but for one associate.
"Shtool, get on up to the office and watch the cameras," she said, pointing to one mobster. "Manager boy looks like he's a gnat's fart from crapping his drawers, send him down here to play with the other wrigglers."
"Easy job, boss," Shtool, a short and somewhat wide man, replied. His name and physique had earned him the mildly unfortunate nickname 'Stool', but he was dependable.
'Like a real stool!' Iyorii thought to herself, but didn't say as he scampered up the stairs.
"Rest of you fools, we only got so much time left in here before the gennie gets thirsty again. This place is primo real estate and, somehow, we didn't plan on having to turn it into a fort for the long term. Jurgun, Gisher, Murdoc, get to the primary machines and strip the most important bits out. We ain't leavin' those pukes stuff that works," she continued, nodding to the trolls in turn.
"Which bits are those again?" Murdoc asked, a lean and somewhat mean looking troll in a wide bowler hat and pinstriped suit.
"Psh, hell if I know, I look like an egghead to you? Take uh.... Take the mechanic over there," she replied, eyes darting to look at the civilian in question. He had a deer in headlights look for a few moments before shakily standing up to be led away by the three other trolls.
She wasn't surprised by the lack of protest. Normally this would be considered poor business practice, but given all that had happened, she suspected that Chimer would be impossible to get a hold of for permission. Also, she didn't care anyway.
"Rest of you, I sent a message to anyone left on where to meet up. Ain't enough of us to hold this slagheap against the horde outside, so once we're done, we're sayin' adios!" she concluded, gesturing with two fingers off the top of her forehead for emphasis.
A trembling voice came from one of the remaining staff. A janitor, she suspected, based on their uniform. "W-what about us?" he asked, as the trembling manager reached the group. The manager stayed apart from the workers, nervously staying closer to the remaining mobsters. They paid him no attention.
"You?" Iyorii sniffed, looking down on them with a grin baring just a hint of teeth. "Well, I'm not heartless. You're all free to go! We don't keep prisoners here."
"...Really?" asked the janitor, raising an eyebrow.
Iyorii nodded. "Sure, sure, we're not QPIN! Now those freaks, whew! Nasty work. Once we clear out, you can go on your own. One second," she continued, pausing and holding up a finger as several sharp pings! echoed throughout the building.
She raised a radio to her mouth. "Shtool, what was that?"
She turned the radio around, turning the volume up. "Looks like some goombas takin' potshots at the front gate. Guess they're checking to see if we just put up painted cardboard."
She turned the radio around to her mouth again. "Anything else going on out there?" she asked, flipping the radio back.
"Yeah, uh.... Looks like the corpos and the gangs are crawlin' outta the woodwork. I'm seein' defense drones gettin' jumped by a bunch of punks in ratty ass tank-tops," came the explanation, making Iyorii's grin widen slightly.
She put the radio back onto her belt, glancing meaningfully at the janitor, who looked mildly ill now.
"Like I said, totally free to go!" she chirped, all smiles.
".....Is there a second option?" he asked, sensing the 'or' in her statement.
"Well, seeing as we seem to have some large reductions in manpower, and there's no one to tell me no, I think I can extend a special offer to all of you," she answered with some aplomb. She spread her hands above her, opening her hands and shaking them.
"For the low low low price of decide right now, you can opt to become a member of the Grey Mob!" she exclaimed, adding 'oohs' and 'aaahs' of her own.
"Now, of course, you can't become Made Trolls right off the bat," she added, dropping her hands to her sides. "You'll all have to start as Outsiders, capiche? You're not full familia until... well, don't worry about that. You'll answer to a proper associate or higher, like Urhupa there." She gestured with a thumb at the singular Associate in the group of mobsters, who looked divinely pleased at the idea of not being the lowest rank in the room.
"What's the catch?" asked another troll, who Iyorii figured was another mechanic.
"Ideally, we'd force you to upgrade your fashion disasters you call outfits," she tutted. "But that can wait until later. Right now, you just have to... forever give up your caste!"
She wished she had some glitter to throw into the air to punctuate that statement, given the dumbfounded looks thrown at her. "What?" she groused. "Did you think 'Grey Mob' was just because we really liked the color? You join us, you give up your caste! We don't give a spider's leg whether you're the heiress herself or if you got blood red as mud. Although it's kind of a pain to help the seadwellers hide their caste. The fins, you see?" She patted the sides of her head.
"Luckily," she continued, "None of you have that problem. Only the doctors here know our castes, so's we can get proper treatment, and if you give up anyone's blood, that's curtains for you!"
She drew a line across her throat while making a sort of sklrrrrch sound.
The civilians, all low to midbloods, looked at each other. One opened his mouth-
"What the hell!? But I'm blue, I can't- Are you saying I'd be equal to them?" protested the manager, provoking an mused look from the capo.
"Well isn't he smart, ladies and germs? Give him a big hand for puttin' it all together!" she said, clapping enthusiastically, joined after a few moments by the other mobsters with varying enthusiasm. "You're welcome to try your luck on the outside, rich bitch, but that kinda attitude is goin' to the curb if you join with us. We're on a meritocracy system here. Know what that means? Means you gotta be hot shit for real, not be hatched with super special boy blood."
She sniffed with disdain. "I know this bothers some of the higher castes that join. I'll tell you what I told the others: Tough toenails. Suck it up or stay here and die."
"You told the others that?" asked one of the other mobsters. She shrugged.
"I left out the stay and die part, that's not usually applicable."
"I'm in," said an engineer, a yellowblood.
"Me too," chimed in a foreman, a greenblood.
This started a trend, where every other remaining troll agreed to join, leaving just the manager. After what seemed like a severe internal struggle, he spat out 'fine', earning more amused looks from his former staff members at his fall from power.
Iyorii nodded. "Get some scissors, cut those symbols out. We'll find some spare thread at one of the safehives to stitch anonymous ones on you all."
She unclipped her radio again, barking into it: "Shtool! We're rollin' out in a few minutes, grab anything that looks important on your way out. Leave a grenade rigged to the safe door to reward any looters."
"On it, boss," came the curt reply.
Iyorii looked back at the trolls who were getting to work cutting their symbols out. Not the way she expected to get a promotion... but she'd take it.
When the lone mechanic returned, he ended up agreeing to the terms as well to nobody's surprise. The machines in this factory would never run without the parts newly taken from them by the mobsters, and there was almost certainly no way to manufacture new ones in this city right now.
Given how things seemed to be going to hell, she'd be surprised if most other factories had anything functioning in them after this. At least here she had the insurance of there being nothing to gain from trashing the machinery- she expected the other gangs to waste lives and efforts ripping replacement parts from other places, inevitably getting everything else destroyed first.
Within an hour, she had turned the lights off and ushered everyone into the escape tunnel dug into the floor. Entrance would be locked and mined behind them to prevent any perceptive looters from taking the same route.
From there, she would lead everyone to the meeting point: one of many safehives set up in the city for emergencies. Out of the way buildings intentionally designed to look as shoddy as possible to deter curious passers-by. These were stocked with a mild amount of food and some serious firepower, meant more for members to cool their heels in for a week or two than for long term stays.
A week or two, she figured, would be enough for the gangs to get around to killing each other. A few dozen additional gangsters would trickle in over the next few hours, having performed much the same as her. Every single Starsight factory was out of commission and locked up tight, at least the ones that had still had Grey Mob members in them.
Now she would be forced to play the waiting game, which was dreadfully boring. At least there were some movies left in the safehive to watch.
She wondered, as she loaded the first movie in for the first movie night of the Mob, just how this had all happened. Was it one of the other gangs? What remained of the resistance? Maybe if those kooks ever showed themselves, she could get some answers.
Hell, maybe she could sell them food at a high cost!
...If money meant anything anymore.
Maybe they had some different movies to trade for...
These events take place shortly following @cloudbattrolls Repentance storyline.
Toyhou.se version here.
"Every day now, I find myself in the same place."
"I walk along the old corridor. The air is thick with rot. I can see their faces looking up at from below. Broken bones, chemical burns, most with their flesh melted right from the skull."
"They reach for me as I march, splintered fingers clutching at my boots as they try to pull me through."
"The exit leads to a forest, one that I never recognize. Then I meet it, the blackened creature that waits for me. Every day, I never get close enough to reach it. Its blank head turns towards me, and I wake up."
"Today, however, something new happened."
"Today, it tilted towards me, then it smiled, though it lacked any mouth to do so with. I merely felt it smile. No. That is not correct."
"I smiled. I felt happy. A sense of relief passed through me as joy filled my heart."
"I awoke still feeling that joy, and now I copy that feeling here before it passes."
Platar set the pen down on his desk, running a hand through his moderately shaggy head of hair. It had been perigees now that these dreams had continued, but this new development was a big problem.
He had not yet managed to track any information on what exactly the thing was that had marked him so long ago. All he had was a small sample of the rot that it had left him with.
He turned in his chair, checking the computer monitoring the quarantine. It showed a room locked behind thick metal doors, a glass case on a pedestal in the center. Inside of it was the carcass of a desert rat he had retrieved. Its body was decomposing at a rapid rate, already half skeletal despite only being dead a night.
What remained of its flesh was marked by a softly pulsating series of black bands, almost resembling severe burns. The rot had to be fed to stay alive, and his experiments had shown it held no interest in being fed old plants.
He looked back at his journal, chewing the inside of his mouth. This was not possible to conclude on alone. The world was getting worse. A city simply obliterated by... something. Just gone. No matter how hard he tried, he could not make a difference, even with his strange abilities. That one group had ignored him, but...
He had been hearing rumors lately, of some sort of machine-hunter...
=====
The stranger wove between the other trolls delicately, robes fluttering about their heels. The only sound in the room were the muffled cries of the persons struggling to try and rise from their chairs. Though nothing visibly bound them to the seats they were in, sweat poured off of each as they tried to stand, to move even one muscle that wasn't restricted to their faces.
The stranger wore a timid smile, the only part of their face visible beneath their hood, as they pushed the chairs into a circle, with each troll facing inward. They paused beside a brownblood, who had tears trickling down his cheeks.
"No tears, please," they whispered, whisking the wetness from his cheeks with a flick of their sleeve. "It's a waste."
The troll's eyes shook wildly as they looked at the stranger, who returned their look with that same smile as they proceeded to the center of the circle. The living room of this hive had been cleared of everything but for a chair in the middle and the trolls arranged in a wide circle on the edges. A few sleeping bags were still wadded up in the corner of the room. Through the blackout curtains on the windows, the rays of the setting sun could still be seen.
The six trolls here were lowbloods in all, ranging from red to yellow. The stranger sat down on the chair in the center, drawing a hand to their throat. "Thank you for the invitation, we will gladly accept your assistance," they whispered.
Their hand sharply plunged towards their own throat, flesh bubbling and beginning to melt.
======
"Which brings us to this kind of fucked up thing that turned up recently," Garsad said, clicking his remote and moving the slideshow to the next slide.
The slide was a picture of a rather mediocre looking hive, the only standout thing about it were the only slightly ominous looking stains on the interiors of the front facing windows.
He, along with Xrumon and Avanti, were crammed into the too-small back room of the cheapest storefront they could have afforded for their meager little group. The wallpaper was peeling, there were some mild cracks in the foundation, and if the sole lamp in the room was on, it probably would have been flickering. There were some shelves with nothing on them pushed to the sides of the room, with the middle being taken up by a cart with a computer and a projector on it. The other two trolls were just in front of it and off to the sides on their own chairs. A single, ancient landline phone sat on the wall.
"Moreso than the entire city that up and left?" Xrumon groused, chafing in the uncomfortable folding chair he was forced to use.
"Well yeah, I mean. What do we even do about that? That's like. An ant trying to worry about a lawnmower," Garsad replied, shrugging. "Besides, your boss made it out, right?"
"Feh. Not much of a boss now since the factory went-" the teal snapped his fingers, grumbling. "Anyway, forget it."
"Did you send Alpha to check it out already?" Avanti asked.
"There's nothing to check. Whole place is cordoned off by the navy, I'm not sending those twitchy bastards something fucked up like our science project to shoot at."
Garsad cleared his throat, pressing the remote again. The next slide showed the interior of the hive, specifically the living room. Xrumon winced, feeling his stomach churn slightly.
Avanti, as well, pursed her lips and leaned forward in her seat, looking slightly more pale.
"Not a fan of censorship? Is this why we're doing this before breakfast?" Xrumon complained.
"Yeah, actually," Garsad nodded. "You need the raw details, man! Plus, I mean, look. There's actually important stuff here besides the guy's int-"
"Skip to the relevant parts, please," Avanti chimed in.
The brownblood picked up a laser pointer and gestured with it over the slide. The laser danced across the photo of the room in a distinct pattern, matching the whorls of blood seen in it.
"See this here? It's a little pattern I saw. Patterns are like, big shit in the supernatural world. From what I've learned anyway," he began. Xrumon wryly noted he appeared to also be avoiding looking too much at the scene pictured. "But this one? I haven't seen any like this in what I can get my hands on. But it's definitely deliberate."
He clicked to the next slide, a photograph of the same room from another angle, and his laser danced about again.
"See? Same pattern, bigger. In circles, over and over around the whole room."
"You sure it's not the workings of your average blitzed out subjug?" Xrumon asked, only mildly joking.
"Nah nah, they try to paint with their shit. Always looks terrible, probably since they're mad doped off their sopor pies and shit soda. This is delicate and precise, which, uh, hides pretty well behind everything else."
"So what do you think it is? Any theories?" Avanti asked.
"I think... I think it's some kind of message. You can, you know, call things, I think, if you write the right message. Usually it's names, like how you write a letter and put my name on it?" the mechanic tried to explain, stumbling only slightly as his brain tried to reach all memories needed. "This, I think, is like that. Like a.... a.... hailing?"
"A beacon," Xrumon said, earning a nod.
"Yeah, that! You know bloody mary and all? Say her name three times? Well this pattern, I think, is like that. So I think it's supposed to represent something. And, you know. Call it. Message it?"
"Well what the hell kind of shape is it? I can barely make it out past the viscera and your stupid laser pointer!"
Garsad clicked to the next slide, a photograph taken from the ceiling's point of view.
"...Is that an eye?" Xrumon asked. Something inside him went deathly chill at the sight of it.
======
Corelo pinched the bridge of his nose, drumming the fingers of his other hand on his desk.
When the highbloods had started acting nicer, that had been worrying. When everyone started clearing off the streets, that had been concerning.
When the navy destroyers appeared on the horizon and the city seemed to begin to twist and mutate, that had been catastrophic.
Fortunately, most of the mob's people had been able to escape. His hand moved from his nose to the beeper laying still in front of him, next to his notepad. It paid to have backup communications available, and doubly so to have escape routes, bugout bags, and tunnels ready.
He could still easily recall the strained silence as his group had sped out of the city, explosions and lasers lighting up the darkness behind them in the sky. Then the blinding flash as the city decided it had no business being here and simply vanished, like a god had scooped it right from the ground with a cosmic melon baller.
Now, back at his office, he was trying to figure out what to even do. Membership loss had been minimal, but any inroads he had been making into the city were obviously vaporized. That was a substantial loss of revenue, even if there had been nothing he could have done to prevent it. Nobody at all knew what the hell had happened, and if the empire knew, it certainly wasn't about to tell people how it had failed.
He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, then checked the potted plant in the corner for the fiftieth time. It was still perfectly plastic and dead, as it should be. All plants were banned from the office after what had been witnessed happening in the stars above some perigees ago. Odd shit seemed to be happening at an increased pace. He grit his teeth.
He was tired of this, this feeling of lack of control, of always being on the backfoot. He would never rise up further in the ranks if he was always having his fronts lost to the void or his members being culled by some sort of psionic serial killer (though that, at least, seemed to have stopped), or rogue members going around attacking hospitals.
He paused. He'd had everyone pore over the information on that case. The doctor he'd kept tabs on. She was in some sort of caravan, doing medical work, followed around occasionally by some odd other troll he'd never been able to get anything on. Sure, he could probably order some form of reprisal on her, but that wouldn't gain anything, especially with how far she had moved from their operations.
But that wasn't what he was concerned about. Odd shit. There had been that one report of a bizarre robot that had arrived one night to see her.
His eyes darted to his rolodex. He flicked through the cards in it until he came to the one he wanted. He opened a drawer in his desk and picked out a phone at random, flipping it open and dialing the number as he retrieved a notebook from a different drawer.
"Hi, I've got a friend who's celebrating something soon," he said as soon as the call was answered. "I'm looking for gift ideas. Do you know anything about a..."
He flipped through the notebook for a few pages.
"Xrumon Arigah? I think he likes mechanical stuff, but I haven't been able to reach him."
There was silence on the other end for a few moments. Then: "We have a few options in stock. Would you prefer us to perform further research on what they may enjoy?"
"That would be wonderful, thank you. You can send a letter to my post box." Corelo replied, hanging up shortly after.
That robot had been odd. That doctor had been odd. But that teal had remained in the background until he'd been forced to come forward.
Well, maybe it was time to shed some light on his involvement, and on that machine.
Xrumon stood in the bathroom of his respiteblock in the clinic, fluorescent light above buzzing slightly. The room was clean, nearly spotless even, not that the tealblood really noted this. Instead he stood in front of the mirror, checking the scars across his face. One across the lips, one chunk of his ear gone, a large gash across his cheek.
His eyes flicked to the warped and cracked skin covering his forehead. Permanent burn scars. He was lucky that his hair still grew thickly enough around it to hide the worst of it.
'Lucky'.
He snorted softly. To be sure, there were some people with far worse scars than him. People with faces nearly ripped off whole, victims of chemical attacks, or people with other massive disfiguring injuries that not even a hundred surgeries could repair. By the standards of "horrific attack" victims, he seemed to have gotten off lightly.
A finger traced the scars on his left hand, which still pulsed softly with pain. He refused to take most painkillers. To himself, and to others, he said it was because he didn't want to deal with liver failure from opiate addiction. He could still see it in his memory, the sight of the knives flashing against the buzzing factory lights.
He rolled the sleeve of his sweater up. Permanent bruise marks, stab scars, even grimly pale circles covered one side. He rolled the sleeve back down, then carefully removed the sweater entirely. He folded it up, placing it on the towel rack behind him.
His chest had the worst of it, he surmised. Even now, perigees later, he could still see his ribs poking through his skin when he breathed. More of the pale circles, fortunately only one or two, dotted his chest. He was glad he could not see what his back looked like. He pressed a hand to his heart and imagined he could feel the electronic rhythm of his pacemaker. There were more of the bruises here than anywhere else. He could cleanly recall the sound of it all. It was funny, in a grim way. When he thought about it, the cracking was the most clear memory. The faces were blurred, who had done what exactly, but he could remember the first crunch as clear as a bell, then the second, third, and so on.
He sighed through his nose, letting his hand drop. What was it that some people said? That people thought scars made you look dangerous and cool? He couldn't see it. Scars were a memory, a memory of failure and pain. They couldn't even teach you anything like a good failure could. Maybe a rakish and light scar, one of those absurd ones across the eye that doesn't blind the action hero, those would be appealing. All he saw here was a tapestry of suffering and a requirement for coddling.
Maybe some of the scars could be healed with surgery- No, he stopped his thoughts there. They were ugly, but they were part of him.
'Ugly'.
He squinted at the mirror. He saw his pale-skin, his now ashen-colored hair, his horns that looked like the life had been leeched out of them, the welts, craters, and crags of nearly being killed that covered his body.
A small, weak laugh left his mouth. Sure. He was a little ugly. That was fine. Maybe not the ugliest, but no beauty pageant winner. That was okay. He didn't want people thinking any different of him.
He put his sweater back on, wincing as his hands throbbed again. Could surgery fix the nerve pain? Was it even real pain, or just ghost pain? Phantom memories tricking his gullible grey-matter into thinking he still needed to suffer?
He washed his hands, drying them with a paper towel before leaving.
At least the pain reminded him that he was still alive.
