Crep.Nauts DECLASSIFIED

They were calling it project Metatron, rings a bell ha?

I don’t know what the fuck they were thinking.

Correction, I know exactly what the fuck they were thinking, each one them, separately.

Collectively, they thought pumping an ai directly in their cerebral cortex would be like hearing the voice of god.

They thought it would be like having all the answers to any question they could ever come up with, or even better, they thought they could create their own answers to every question the world had.

So yeah, I know, I know what they were thinking.

I know how they arrived on that belief, which instincts and traumas lead them to decide to go through with it, what legal stuff they had to argue to not be shut down from the federal government.

I know, and I understand, and I can follow the logic… But I STILL don’t know what the FUCK they were thinking.

One thing is for certain, they didn’t have any faith in their beliefs, just cold calculations, and greed… a universally accepted, bad combination.

And yet, higher brain function be damned, these idiots think they know better than anyone, as rich men always do.

Rich women too, and I’m pretty sure if you got rich queers walking around they wouldn’t be much different.

Rich is the operative word, but if history has taught humanity anything is that rich men, especially men, just don’t know when to quit.

Quit while you’re ahead, quit and walk away, quit and go legit, pay some taxes, treat others with respect, yada yada.

Empty words in emptier brains echo like nothing more than that, words. Code, bouncing off walls along with other numbers.

Bank numbers, profit margins, number of visits to the island, years in prison facing even if the tiniest thing gets out, gets big, gets beyond lawyers and paid judges.

They were all there, every single one. You know them, names are just a formality. Every rich, powerful person you ever heard of. Every person with thinks they know better than you, than scientists, than nature and physics and common fucking sense.

You think they’ve been putting the whole country’s investment strategy on ai just so you can dirty talk an algorithm? Just so it can read you incorrectly a dozen sites, butchering Wikipedia, unable to count the letter r in strawberry?

No. They are building in your backyard, they poison your water with cooling solutions, they are collapsing your economy for one single purpose. To transcend into a higher state of existence.

Or, they did...

You see, this isn’t happening, not anymore. This happenED. They DID run the experiments, they DID ruin the world, they DID buy and sell everything they could get their stinking little mittens at.

And they did stand in a room, far into the heart of one of their alphabet buildings, after signing metric tons of papers, after handcuffing each other legally as best as they could, and they had the, procedure.

Because you have ruined the future, you think of yourself as a god, and the only thing you have to fear, is other gods, just like you.

Reality is a cruel mistress… she doesn’t weigh in all that often, she doesn’t wear the mask of justice. She just is. One wrong step, and reality, reality is surging straight through you from nostril to rectum for what feels like eternity.

The whole thing took place a few years ago, in a sterilized room, a glass room, a room within a room, surrounded by the boy and all the people who make their horrific ideas work as best as they can with the limited time and even more limited autonomy they are given.

That’s what they are, those who think are better than you. Kids, playing with fire, asking from adults to just make it work somehow, even if the end result is barely a half-assed job, in the best of cases.

They all congregated there, in that one room, in one sickly lit room, heads barely growing hair over the shaved spots where the implant was surgically, well, implanted in the meatball between their ears they call a genius level intellect to the stockholders.

Each man’s net worth is in the billions, some will go on to be worth trillions, but there was nothing they could have done on their own. Not for lack of technology or assets, but because of the ability of each one of those men to legally block any such experimentation through the legal system. The toughest, most efficient laws are always the ones that make you money.

There was no escaping it, no avoiding it. They would either all share humanity’s greatest achievement, or none could have it. Men who would literally let each other drown, were about to become “gods”, while holding hands.

The scientists, the experts, even the programmers, were trying to change their minds till the last second. How ironic. As the men lay in reclined patient chairs, bound for their safety, more like each other’s, forming a circle, a secret symbol bound by bureaucracy and lies, the boy and the people behind the glass wall, the people with their hands on the consoles, they had a moment to choose, to choose the future.

Even just looking at them you could tell, they were shaking inside, no question about where their minds were going. The sacred warnings of Oppenheimer’s most famous quote, the strong will behind Stanislav’s decision not to ring the alarms, the gift Turing shared with the world, and his eventual reward from the powers that be.

Here’s a little secret for the likes of nosey little pests. You always have a choice, and it rarely matters what you choose. Human society has reached such a level of expertise and education, that there simply ain’t anyone unique enough out there to change the course of history by simply denying the call to adventure. You can try to prove me wrong, but these people sure couldn’t bring themselves to even do as much.

It was one word, one command on the operating system that was controlling the chips, the data base, the definition of what’s human, and one of them was typing it up already.

Upload.

And the men lay there, dazed thanks to the constant flow of the administered anesthesia, as the chips got to work, in a torturous, slow, pace.

One would expect things to happen at this point. The boy certainly did. You would expect a show of power of divine hubris or any other type of big moment, something, anything! What good story reaches the penultimate moment and then, just, stops?

You know how you see a documentary now, and it’s already presented as a docudrama so you know from the first moment it’s gonna be at best a mix of truth and storytelling? When you see enough of those, you can tell, you can tell that the writer behind the whole thing is doing everything they can to keep a good pace, to keep suspense, to introduce moments of foreshadowing. And it’s so obvious. Things are way to dramatically written, or elements that don’t connect with anything else are introduced, and yet not addressed, because in the real story they either hadn’t happened yet or they did, but parts of them are kept from you, reworked as a future twist.

All those, algorithms, all that smart thinking, all that ruining of your own brain in real time by crafty storytellers and greedy producers. People who can’t accept the niche of their work, people who can’t afford not to reach as wide an audience as possible. People working based on numbers. People who treat your brain as meat, tenderizing the right spots, at the right moment. People who turned every generation after theirs into leagues of obedient/addicted beings, just like this boy.

Well, the upload started like that. If nothing else, the men thought they knew they had to ease in, the programs in their hardware. The chips were just the ports, the wifi, but now, their minds had to, accustom themselves with the new tools, the new, programming run through them. Sometimes, humans have the wildest, most brilliant ideas, and they go, and go, and go, they push forward, not questioning for a moment their own, dream logic.

The hardware was there, lying in those reclining beds. Muscles were tensing and flinching as the men started making sounds. Their brains on fire, the glass room freezing. Shit goes wild fast when you introduce a brand new operating system in your own brain. Especially if that operating system is running in faulty technology.

For years, most of these men and so many more, so many of those scientists and experts behind the glass of the room, behind the consoles, tried and tried and tried again to create robot bodies, robot slaves, just so they could shove an ai in and have it do the dishes, have it drive you around, have it predict the future. Robotics never reached the level fetishized, and the ai, well, the eye could hardly think, let alone think for itself. But the men knew, the men predicted, the men wished for a certain future, and the men were powerful and rich and power hungry and afraid of their own humanity, so the men reached in the box, they reached all the way to the bottom.

Their neurons were frying in real time three hours into the process, the experiment, the ritual, call it what you will, I know what they were calling at this point.

Eyes wide open, streams of sweat and tears as their screams were echoing against the glass. This, experiment, wasn’t meant to, progress so fast. This was supposed to be just the first update, the installing of what was basically a second, whole separate identity, in their minds, but that’s not how they thought of it when they decided on doing this, so now they were paying the price.

With the limbs of the most powerful men in the world straining their bounds so hard they were breaking the skin, their throats tensing with such ferocity that their lips were dripping blood, the scientists were left to do all the thinking. Vitals were skyrocketing behind the blood-stained, blurring glass, as the heat differential in the glass room was creating an immense amount of condensation on the outside. The glass-wearing, pocket-protecting, salary men on the outside were running, were panicking, were notifying the legal teams of each and every one of the men.

What should they do? What were they allowed to do? What COULD they do?

The boy stood up and walked to the glass wall, as the men behind him, slowly but surely realized what should have been obvious since the first moment. If you are going to treat the human mind and body as hardware, you need more input devices than a single usb port, that’s currently occupied.

As his little hand touched the glass, he felt it burning. On the other side, an invincible inferno was ravaging minds and bodies. He kept his digits against the glass long enough to wipe, to wipe away and see, the men, rocking violently in their reclined chairs, as every nerve ending, every neuron and every molecule of grey matter in their bodies was sizzling.

The cameras in the room were fried, unprepared for the onslaught of humidity and heat they came face to face with. At that moment, every scientist, every expert, every lawyer knew the vitals of each of their clients in the glass box, but only the boy could see the whole picture for what it was.

The pain straining these men’s bodies was otherworldly. Their bodies cracked, digits and toes snapping broken as they overextended in a frantic reach for absolution. Their faces masks of torture, of agony, of disharmony. Every bit and piece of these broken idols was stripped of control, of learned behavior, as their brains were rewritten, getting an extra layer of sentience, a sentience that was feeling all around, tickling the temporal lobe, palpating the cerebral cortex, hammering the cerebellum, stubbing the parietal and occipital lobes, violating the frontal lobe.

His eyes opened wide when he saw his father, the rocket man, the champion of freedom of speech, the miracle child who couldn’t stop having children of his own, now bloated like a pig, his back arching and his right arm’s veins pulsating like they’re about to burst from how hard he was pulling.

The incident would never surface. The men, after months of hiding from the public, using body doubles, going quite for a little while, would reappear, back on the helm of their respective empires. It was like nothing had ever happened, they were the same. Or so it seemed. In the coming years, each and every one of those men would either make a series of unsuccessful business moves, or appear somewhere and sound, just, different, dumber, less bright, less, in control. It hardly mattered. Every one of them was rich enough to buy or manufacture good pr, big enough that failure wasn’t an option for them anymore, powerful enough to bend governments to their will, and so they did.

I took the boy that night. I reached out from my space when nobody was looking, I placed my hand on his shoulder, and I turned his face away from the abyss, still reflected in his eyes. He looked at me. Not scared. Not afraid. Devastated. I knew the boy was too far gone, he wouldn’t forget, not enough of it, not fast enough. I knew the boy would have a better life with the likes of you.

And you? You reading this “report”, this, unintended and anonymous file, you reading the title, what were you expecting? A grotesque description of monstrous transformation? Were you expecting the real-life account of some horrific-sounding experiment you read about when you were a mere child, a few years ago? Were you hoping for blood, for death, for torture?

Did you find what you hoped for? Did you find more than what you wished to know? Are you disappointed? Were you hoping for less? Were you hoping for something quick and easy and straightforward? For something detailed, something useful, something not so, preachy?

Do you hate me now?

That’s ok. I don’t mind. Go ahead.

See you soon.

.

This is the second entry that appears in our database without carrying any identified information about who did the input, when and why.

The metadata engraved in every entry is surprisingly, lacking, but further research could be attempted, if the standing administration of CNI would allow it.

Nevertheless, there’s one element about this entry we were able to collaborate. The boy mentioned having been brought to the agency, in combination with who his father is implied to be, none other than [REDACTED] [REDACTED]. That recruit, is still with the agency, operating under the code name Agent Orange.

Interviews with Agent Orange haven’t produced any relevant information about the, man, who supposedly took him from the place of the experiment mentioned in this, report. After psychological evaluation, it is clear that Agent Orange suffers severe trauma from this experience, with the official diagnosis being [REDACTED]. He was also young enough at the time to have very limited information to offer us about whatever experimentation that was.

Because of the unreliable nature of this report and the traumatic experience that’s compromising Agent Orange’s limited relevant information about it, this file will remain open. This file, alongside the previous entry “TF 0998: Clown World” by, who we believe at this point to be the same person, stands outside the time-categorized catalog of files and their numbers should not be taken as a reliable proof of date posted.

As for any connections between this entry and TF 747: Metatron, there is certainly a, cosmetic surface-level link between what’s implied in this and that, but at this point we can’t rule out the possibility that this rogue report is nothing but elaborate fan fiction of the original TF 747 file.

That being said, if this entry is accurate, the implications would certainly be far-reaching and explain a number of encounters that share similarities with the original TF 747 file.

That’s all the relevant information we have managed to gather so far.

I don't know where these powers come from, but they had served me well, and they suit me even better, until that night.

I used to live in a small town up north with a population of a few thousand people. A place as beautiful and serene as it is quite, a naturally formed dead end.

Even as a child I remember dreaming of leaving one day, traveling far, far away. At eight I wished to be a princess, ruling over my own kingdom. At eleven, I wanted to become a singer, traveling across the world. At fifteen being a pilot felt more within my grasp. And finally, at eighteen I had decided, I was gonna travel all the way to California, and become an actress.

My twentieth birthday found me flipping burger patties at the local fast food joint.

As I slid the spatula underneath the unevenly cooked beef I found myself wondering what would be scarier, a female vitcim cowering and screaming in fear in the distance framed by a close up of a bloody knife, or that very same shot but from her own point of view, with the figure about to murder her draped in shadows?

The clock was making its rounds slower and slower lately, but I didn't mind it. I knew I had all the time in the world. This dead-end job wasn't much of a hassle after all, just the way I liked it.

I was only working here for the time being, getting some money together for when I move out of the city, and off to start my career in Hollywood.

One might say I was actually getting used to how my life would begin in California, neck deep in some restaurant or a pub or something, working my ass off as I pursue my dream. I knew that I would have to work hard to reach my goal, no, to even begin my career in acting.

I didn't mind.

I had all the time in the world after all, might as well move out when I'm good and ready.

I flipped the patties again. The day was literally slowing down around me today. No customers sitting at the tables up front either, just a couple orders to fill out and hand over to the delivery boy. I checked my phone, to make sure I was on time as he was already on his way.

The screen of my smartphone flashed red. Shit. Not right now! I had an order to finish first!

I hurried up and rushed the two mediocre burgers. Mustard, coleslaw, no onions. My fingers moved around them, rigid and stiff, wrapping the slightly stale burger buns with the steamy meat tightly slid between them.

"Delivery man, at your service!" Said the sixteen-year-old passing for a deliveryman in our town.

"Here!" I extended my arm outside the drive-through window to hand him the paper bag. "At 4th and Benson, the apartment complex. Name and phone's on the receipt."

"Sure thing miss South Dakota sir!" The little joker threw a military salute and started pedaling away in no time. I rolled my eyes.

"Hey Jake! I, have to run an errand. I'll be back in a few." I shouted at the manager in the back room as I took off my apron.

"Wait. Where you going Lisa? You still got another hour till you finish your shift" the middle-aged man barked lazily back at me from his office.

"Take it off my break backlog Jake, I'll be back in thirty."

"You better be."

I was running down the back alley with my phone in my hand, checking the warning brief. The monster was already wreaking havoc down the northern side of town. I placed my phone on my belt as I reached up to tie my hair into a bun. At this point I was more than used to what was about to happen.

In seconds flat I felt my temperature rising to degrees unfathomable for a healthy human being. My skin began burning bright, casting light around and disturbing electromagnetic signals. Even if someone was able to recognize me before they had to avert their eyes, they could never capture a single frame of video or a photo of my transformation.

A whirlwind of molecules detaching from my epidermis started engulfing my body, my clothes burned away and were replaced with high-quality, padded with something I had decided was a mixture of bulletproof fiberglass and elastic fabric, metallic cloth with distinct plates, everything wrapping tight but not impossibly so around my legs and arms and neck and torso. Underneath it, my form was changing, growing. Muscles were growing bigger, denser, stronger, making me feel like an Olympic athlete dipped in a vat of plot-convenient power serum. And at the apex of my change, a set of wings made out of a mix of biological metal of shorts grew out from my shoulder blades, as a line of pure light forms around ma cranium and comes off, growing just enough to levitate around my head like a low-hanging halo.

I took flight, as my light dimmed, I've turned into a warrior of good, armed and ready to handle whatever was attacking my town.

I flew over the little, quiet city, scanning, seeking. This would be the, third, no, fourth attack this week, and I was honestly getting sick of it. When I first found the meteor, the fake meteor, and was exposed to its mysterious mist, only for the device to decompose before I could catch up my breath, I feared the worst. I could feel my lungs swelling more than before, painfully, and then, a few heartbeats later, the pain went away. It's not like, it was never there, but, more like, I could handle it, breath after breath, till it was nothing, till it was, just, breathing for me.

And then I saw it. The threat, around the back lot of the resident country-wide transportation company depot. The thing, whatever it was, I found to be hideous, like all the ones before it. A total mess, massive, easily 7 feet tall and wide. You could call it muscular, I suppose. But with how deformed and bulbous it was, like all the rest before it, that term, it just, doesn't sit well with me. A man is muscular, an athlete is muscular, hell, an animal is muscular... That thing, that thing was, an abominable union of flesh and raw, physical power.

Sorry. I don't know what, where those terms and phrases come from. I spent my whole time growing up in that one small town. I went through my days gossiping, watching movies and, obsession over boy bands. I wasn't into reading much, especially not into any type of classical literature and Shakespearean plays and the such. Nobody around me would talk like this, not for years anyway.

What's important is that the thing was roaming the back lot, surprisingly causing a lot let property damage than what I was expecting. Maybe it was different from the ones before it. That's when it open its eyes, the big one, on its shoulder turning to see me.

Like, what the fuck is this, right? How does it work I mean, where are the bones, how, how can a shoulder work with a whole freaking eye in it?! These things never make any sense. Multiple arms, tentacles, wings, teeth and mouths and eyes poking out from the most random spots!

I vaulted down, placing my palms flat on each other in front of my chest , pressed firmly and thought and spoke, words... words I don't remember now, but, I always do when it's time. My palms turn 90 degrees in opposite directions, 180 difference between them, and I slide them backwards, away from each other. The silver gold blade was forming before my eyes, materializing under my fingers, 3d printed on thin air. I felt on of the plates covering my left ribs getting lighter, and I held the handle. The mighty Leagur sword was glimmering in my hand, its name springing in my mind the first time I, brought it forth.

Fast as a falcon, I avoided the beast's weakly thrown overhand punch, slicing his side, before I landed, dragging asphalt for a few feet under my heavy, bio-metallic boots. I stood up and turn around swiftly, expecting to block the thing's upcoming attack, a devastating impact for any other human, but for me, just a matter of timing.

The attack never arrived, but its cries did. I blinked, again, and again. This was, new. This thing was, crying? It was wailing like a baby just a few feet away.

I mean, you don't understand! I've witnessed these things before, I fought them, I slayed them! These things, these things are, vicious killers, devastating machines of distraction! Monsters, with a capital M, maddened, flesh juggernauts with zero ability to communicate, to, to reason with, to... feel empathy for.

The thing turned, slowly, holding its side, and I fell sick for the first time. It wasn't the eyes, the multiple arms, the, bloated and, malformed torso, or, anything. Not the teeth, not the tentacles, not they eyes, staring at me, angrily, viciously.

It was the head. The head of a toddler, spawning somewhere beneath and overgrowth that reached well above the, things shoulders. The little boy, with wet, scared eyes, was looking at me, with fear and despair.

And then it spoke, and it broke my toughened heart.

It wasn't easy. Each word, each little sound it made, it was, echoing, through its own body, somehow, it's monstrous, cavernous form, one voice but with many, interpretations, many takes of the same line, many inflections. I'll try to, write it down, but...

"I want my mommy! You hurt me, I want mommy! Mommy, mommy, help me mommy!" the kid said through bead of tears running down its bulbous torso.

"Hey, hey, it's ok. Hey, can you, hear me? Its ok. I can... help you find your mommy." I lied, putting on a nice smile, or at least as much as I could smile under the metallic layer of protection over my face.

"You hurt me! You won't help me, you hurt me! Go away! I want my mommy!"

"No, no, I didn't, I didn't know you were a kid! I'm sorry. I didn't meant to hurt you. You, seemed like all the other monsters I saw before."

"O-other monsters? There are monsters here?! Mommy! Come take me mommy!" one word, one word and the mindless beast I was just planning to dice up seconds ago, was undone before me.

Even worse so, it didn't seem to realize its own, state... This started poorly, and it was getting interesting. And yet, something inside me, something, beyond me, maybe my survival instinct, was whispering at the back of my head, to kill the little child bawling its eyes out in front of me.

And it wasn't just my inner instinct. My muscles, were tense, my grip tight around my sword, my wings primed, ready to have me bursting forward and slicing at the thing again, at any second. But that wasn't all. I could see it, on the boy's monstrous frame, on its extra, red, evil eyes, the big one on his right shoulder, the numerous one on his left pec, the dozen others spread across its form. They were staring daggers at me, they were getting ready, they wanted me dead.

"Listen... where is your mom? Tell me how you got here, and, I will be able to find your mom, ok?" I tried the nice cop routine, feeling for the first time since I first transformed how severely outside of my own element I was.

The little kid, wiping tears with one of its arms, surprisingly avoiding poking it's eye, or, face, out with its own protruding sharp tusks from his wrist, turned to face me again.

"I, I don't know... Mommy's at the house, but, I don't know which way the house is."

"You don't know? How don't you... How did you came here? Did you walk, did you."

The boy teared up, but this time, he stared at me with eyes dripping of guild, expecting scolding.

"I don't know, I was, out playing, and then, I saw a rock, falling, and then, I went close, and... I felt bad, and then, I went, in the floor... and then, I came out the floor, and I was somewhere else."

My brain felt dazed, overloaded with a, five-year-old's unique storytelling abilities, but I didn't care. I heard it. I heard the thing, the only thing that mattered, the only thing that actually made me feel fear in a long, long time.

"...and then there was someone there, and, they turned big, and then I went down again... and then I came up, and it was night, and, I was walking, I was falling, like, a sound, but I didn't hear it, a sound I could fee, I guess, and I got h..."

"Wait! Wait wait... Ok, wait... You mentioned, a meteor?"

"What is a memetor?"

"No, a meteor! A meteor. You know, the, the...THE falling stone! The one you, saw falling, and you went close and... Tell me more about the stone that fell from the sky."

I stared at the kid like if it was one of the girl who just told me she had seen my boo out with some skank. He looked back puzzled for a moment, then he almost smiled, happy to be of some help, like if it just had forgotten all about the monsters and the slashing.

"Yeah! It was big, and, on fire, and sooOoo pretty. It flew overhead, and, it was day so, I guess only I saw it, heh! And it fell near the farm, and I said by to the chicken, and the piggy, and the chicken..."

"SKIP to the meteor! Sorry, I mean, please, tell me about when you found the, fallen sky rock... what did it look like? Did it, make you cough?"

"Yes! It, it did. It smelled weird. I went close and it went poof! And it was a bunch of wet air, and I, I was close and coughed, and... and then..."

"Yeah, what happened then?" I asked him, more concentrated at something someone else was telling me than ever before.

"Then it, melted, like an ice cube, and... that. It went bye bye."

This... was the exact same experience, I had. This was insane, this was... this means I was probably, killing, humans all this time? This didn't just happen to me, this was happening all over the country! This was, it was maybe global, and... I was the only, lucky one to... not turn into this? Why, how... and most importantly... would those monsters be able to... turn back to humans, if I hadn't...

"Are you ok big lady?"

The kid's voice snapped me out of it. He was looking curiously at me. He, was staring at me, worried... His little, round head, with big baby eyes, engulfed in a mountain of blackened, monstrous flesh, wanted to know if I was, doing ok.

"I'm, I'm alright... It's ok... Thank you, um... I'm sorry for when, you know..." I smiled at the kid, feeling more guilt than ever before in my life.

"Sorry? Why are you sorry?" The kid looked at me puzzled again. My eyes moved to it's side. The slash, it was, gone. In it's place, a new, little arm had sprang.

I looked at the kid's face, with a sudden feeling of urgency swarming through my system as I saw the darkened, monstrous flesh, working its way higher up the kid's neck. "Nothing, don't worry about it, um. My name is Lisa, what's your name?" I said with as big and friendly a smile I could master.

"Oh! Hi Lisa! It's nice to meet you! I am Pa..."

I waited. The kid had frozen, staring at something, his expression turning slowly. I waited more. The moments became seconds, and the seconds were now nearing the dozen.

"Pa? Did you mean Pablo? Or maybe Pascal? Patrick? Is your name Patrick little guy?" The words slipped out of me, sweet and honeyed to cover their core made out of liquid dread.

The kid didn't reply, it was frozen, but just its head. The rest of its monstrous form was, pulsating, it was working, working overtime, and it was showing results. The boy's impeccable, smooth skin was turning into that of the beast, it's facial features, starting to stretch, to deform before my eyes. His eyes. His big, baby blue eyes, were sucked into his skull, slowly, torturously. As its swollen, rough monster flesh cheekbones and brow ridge closed over them, I heard two soft, and wet pops, and saw white pulp mixed with blue dripping out from in-between them.

"No... No..." I whispered to myself. I felt the ground under my feet disincorporating, dematerializing, stop existing. I felt floating hollow as I saw, a life, a little kid, a sweet little lost boy, losing itself on this... plague, this plague that had turned me into... a killer... soon to be a killer of babies."

I gasped under my mask, gathering myself, my eyes closed shut, steeling myself. It's weird, to admit it, but, even though I felt, mentally, like shit, a part of my brain was still registering everything, even with closed eyes, I could tell exactly where the, thing, was standing, its movements, even its internal functions... maybe even its lack of, humanity. As for my body, I could feel my muscles twisting, winding up, not from the tension of the moment, of what I just witnessed, but for what was to come.

Whatever had turned this little boy, and all the others before him, into, cosmic monstrosities, into, shambling mutated piles of flesh, had turned me, into a power rangers themed psycho.

I heard it before I opened my eyes. The kid was roaring, it was lunging forward. With speed higher than any man, with force equivalent to that of a speeding truck, with ferocity of the most enraged wild animal on the planet and beyond, the sweet little boy was attacking me, right now, about to rip my head off with one swipe.

My tall, toned, wrapped in metal and gold and light form, turned and leaned backwards, without even requiring any thought from my part. I dodged the incoming attack with the grace of the plant prop in a game of prop hunt.

I open my eyes, staring right into half a dozen of red, vicious, hateful red orbs. Once again, without even realizing it, hell, without even willing it consciously, my arm holding Leagur, the butchering knife I was given by this form, soared through the thin air and through the boy's unguarded, vulnerable at this pose form, cutting its top half from its bottom half.

The boy fell on the ground a few feet away, his legs, taking a couple drunk steps, finally collapsed next to it.

I stood up straight again, I stared at him, at it. Its top half was using its hands to stand as best as it could, and launched again at me. I blocked it's teethe knuckled, poked back at a much more well-guarded spot, but it wasn't to be for the little guy. My stab launched his heavy top half in the air, and I jumped behind it, slicing upwards, across its already exposed, vulnerable insides.

The boy fell, two more parts of it, left and right side of the torso, of the multiple hands, eyes divided, and the once baby face, sliced clean, to show nothing but a deformed, monstrous skull.

These things could never turn back, I told myself. I wasn't killing humans, I was putting them to sleep, I was liberating them, I was.

I swallowed my guilt, and raised my sword. Words slipped my lips, words that once again I cannot remember and recite and don't know where they came from. Words that erupted three rays of blasting light towards all three pieces of the little boy named Pa, burning what he had turned into, into ashes.

I decided to leave my small town that night.

These, monsters, these people, they were coming for me, or so I figured.

I needed answers, I still need answers, and this is why... this is why I'm posting this. If you, find this, and you know what's going on, please dm me... I really... I really need to know, just, what's going on?

.

The above diary entry was posted at the social media platform known as [REDACTED] at 23/5/[REDACTED], yet somehow the CNI unearthed it only recently, 16/3/[REDACTED].

Unfortunately for us, the original poster deemed important to not include many personal information, but at this time we have her full name, [REDACTED] [REDACTED], her town of origin, [REDACTED], and her current whereabouts in file, [REDACTED] [REDACTED] [REDACTED].

Since then there have been multiple sightings of beings similar to her in highly populated areas. Short videos of what the public has coined "Power Angels" thanks to their apparent angelic themes, are circulating the internet, but this is one of the few genuine personal posts from someone claimed to be one of these beings we've managed to unearth so far.

The standing council of the sister agencies have elected to monitor the situation from afar at this point, although it's highly rumored that the Ministry and the Church of Ascension have already made contact.

CNI, for the time being, has yet to officially make any moves towards the, Power Angels.

Report of field mission: [REDACTED].

Crep.Naut submitting: tech agent 3rd degree Pythagorean Savant.

Subject: First encounter and retrieval of TF 808.

.

We arrived at [REDACTED], a small village in the [REDACTED] Chinese province, around noon of [REDACTED] of July 2017.

Three-person team, including myself, obviously, Agent Orange and some newbie, Crepnaut 4227.

Our task was to locate an anomalous incident that the system had flagged on socials a few hours ago before the local authorities got involved and potentially got their hands on some dangerous TFEO or even worse, were ripped apart by a rampaging TF.

Agent Orange, that edgy prick, was vacationing close by, using his special permits to enter the local regime and visit the grounds of a once-famous war-crime-renowned research center or something. I don't follow his creepy torture porn obsessions.

I was briefed by 4227 when he dropped by all of a sudden during my stay in a Korean hostel.

From there, through the GUS we reached Agent Orange's rendezvous location from which the village was a short commute away.

Agent Orange led the way, his navigation skills proved to be adequate. During the trip, the new guy was trying to put the moves on me. Next time I would recommend the agency to pick either a more... or less "normal" guy, or even better a different gender as backup, thank you very much.

We reached the wooden hat in a short few minutes, and the overwhelming stench of excrement and blood was already emanating in the surrounding area. The new guy was placed on perimeter duty while I began taking a mental account of the dimensions and geometry of the shanty-looking dwelling.

Orange, using his own, particular skills and knowledge, informed me that beyond the obvious existence of a dead body on the other side of the wall, he could detect the scent or vitals or whatever of two more living beings which were currently at a state of placidness, as he put it. What he meant was that they were either chilling or sleeping.

Most importantly though, as far as he and the telemetry organs we were provided by 4227, neither of the two living beings inside the hut was emitting levels of ATFE any higher than your one of the mill animal, but something else was.

Stranger than that, though, there was something else the telemetry was peaking up, something far, far more unexplainable at the time than the existence of a high levels of TFE emissions.

The weather conditions inside the hut didn't much the ones we were currently experiencing. It was a hot, shiny summer day, but inside the hut, the temperature and all other environmental readings were detecting high humidity as a byproduct of heavy showers.

With the knowledge that this was in fact a TFEO case, we regrouped around the entrance of the shack and with our weapons drawn, we entered.

The scene was graphic as only a mishap at an enclosure of carnivores could get.

In the center of the hut lay the disembodied corpse of a young Chinese man, rib cage spread open, limbs ripped off, skull crushed. I suspect Orange could provide you with a far more detailed and, clinical even description of the body’s state, but, unlike him, I’m simply not up to the task. Frankly speaking, my guts are churning just thinking about it.

But that wasn’t all we found in account of life forms. You see, the two life forms we detected were there, perking up, their muzzles still wet with the blood of their, summoner. A lioness and a lion, perched on the rudimentary furniture of the hut.

Most importantly, and what piqued our interest beyond the quick tranquilization of the animals, was the back half of the room. From just beyond halfway into the enclosed space the walls, the floors, the roof, they all mismatched the material of which the first half was made out of.

Where once was wood, bamboo, clay and stone, all you could see now was concrete and iron bars. And in the back, you could see beddings and stones, the type I assume one would find in an enclosure for savanna animals. The hut had turned from a living space of humans, into a, cage, for wild animals.

The lioness and lion were fast asleep when we began advancing into the small space. There was a large metal door at the back end of the room, embedded in the concrete. A door I swear wasn’t there when I was logging the dimensions of the hut. Furthermore, the space inside the hut, including the transition to the enclosure cage was the exact dimensions and had the exact geometry I assumed the hut was just a few short minutes ago.

Someone had the nerve to humor a line about how they expected this place to be bigger on the inside, someone with good taste.

Orange began logging the state of the carcass along with the wild animals, seemingly unfazed by the state of the room. I was advancing further, not realizing that 4227 was already nearing halfway into the space. Before I could react, I saw the newbie stepping across the fused walls, and we heard his boots plant in the savannah imitation floor.

I won’t deny that I treated the naïve rookie somewhat harsher than I probably should have, but at the time I believed that to be the proper train of action towards a subordinate who was risking his own and the team’s safety. With the verbal altercation subsiding, I asked him to check his gps coordinates, and a few seconds of miscommunication and ego-driven back and forth later, we were all three surprised by the readings.

The newbie was standing was currently located at [REDACTED] latitude and [REDACTED] longitude, Colombia. You can check it out, I did on the spot, that’s almost in the middle of nowhere, almost within the Amazonian jungle. My current theory is that this enclosure was located at some drug cartel boss’s mansion or something? I don’t know, but clearly shit’s out there.

I was advancing towards the merging point when I suddenly noticed it. I lifted my TF sensitive telemetry scanner, and I was proven right. There, just a few meters ahead of me, floating in the middle of the room, equal distance from the back wall and the sides, there it was.

An origami butterfly.

It wasn’t flapping its, wings. It wasn’t flying. It wasn’t alive. It was just, an origami butterfly.

And it was standing there, almost frozen in the middle of the room, right at the cross-section between China and Colombia.

The equipment was going haywire whenever I pointed it at it, this thing was Potent with a capital P! A true TFEO in the wild, and you know I know my shit when it comes to those potent fuckers, considering TF 731.

There’s something to be said about how the General would pick me for this case, but you know what? I’ll be the bigger woman. I won’t make this all about me.

What I will do is once again state that I’m highly against placing newbies in the field without proper and thorough examination of at the very least impulse control.

I mean, there we are, two seasoned agents, standing our ground, semi-scared shitless in front of a piece of crinkled old piece of paper that was bending space before our very eyes, and the little fuck head doesn’t give a shit!

He just strolls up, no fucks given, and reaches for the damn thing, like he’s starring in the sound of music or some shit, frolicking in the Alps, chasing butterflies!

Of course me screaming wouldn’t do shit, Orange even made a something of a sound, I can’t throw the blame at him either, it was all just the kid.

Everything after that happened so fast.

I remember his fingers clutching the paper, and pushing it to our side, and, I swear, nothing started happening until he bent the thing with his thumb.

The moment the fold was undone, the room was back to normal, that very second.

The room was all in china now, as it was the 4227’s right hand, left leg and two fifths of his head along with his left ear, eye and part of his frontal lobe.

We both stared at the poor fucker, or, whatever we got to keep on our side anyway, clutching the little origami butterfly, as his eye rolled and fingers stopped twitching.

Orange checked the team's GPS signatures on the app, and sure enough, the newbie’s gps was still in Colombia.

After that there was little we could do, other than decide what we should do with the little paper butterfly. That was the point I looked down at the kids fingers and realized that, whatever this thing had done, was not undone, and the kid was now holding just a piece of origami paper.

Just a colorful little piece of paper, ready to fold space along with itself.

Lucky us, the kid, 4227, the newbie anyway, I never figured his name out, he had brought us a level 2 TF dampener. With the core of the TF incident located before us and inactive, the choice was easy. Risky, but easy, and as far as I’m concerned, the right one.

Of course I tied the damn case at the end of a 2-foot pole obviously, but still, we did just recover a space-bending TFEO, so, I’ll get whatever reprimanding’s coming to me with a side of bonus benefits.

As for the newbie and the Chinese kid and the hut, and, the big cats, protocol is protocol. We set the whole structure on fire and we were out of there before it was time for lunch.

That’s more or less what went down.

Now, I know there’s some, bureaucracy that says agents are not allowed to research their own cases, but we both know that I’m simply the best girl for the job, ain’t that right Alfie?

I mean, you got me here, In the tech department, doing all that RnD because of my, expertise, with TFEO 731, no?

And that shit takes mad math up the ass to decode! Math I was capable of doing on the fly, in my mind, when I was a freaking teen!

So, you tell me. Do you want your “Pythagorean Savant” in that research team, counting angles and geometry and math, or would you rather leave it up to another newbie techie?

Nobody wants this place ripped apart by a rogue space TFEO, we both know that.

And I’m gonna make it easy for you. You put on that shit, and I’m willing to even play nice with others if you do, what do you say? Ha?

Ok. That was my report, and my job application I guess.

I’m sorry we lost the kid. He was a shithead, I knew him for 5 hours and I could tell he was born to be a shithead, but… Still.

Agent Pyth out.

.

After extensive and thorough examination of TF 808 the standing administration heads of the CNI agency a) classified TF 808 as a class B TFEO.

Nevertheless, the practical applications of such a TFEO elevated its status beyond threat.

The standing administration of CNI believes that something like this could revolutionize the response and deployment time of the agency to a critical factor.

Project Foldable Space was green lit in late August of 2017.

He was never the son of god.

That day, he walked out of that cave out of sheer will alone.

He was supposed to die, and stay in there. But the incident was too, convenient, too useful to cover up.

They never tell you about the bloody handprints all over that stone sealing the entrance. Or the, excrement, found at the back of that tomb. There’s so much they never tell you about.

The myth has to be preserved, you have to keep the faith, as if there ain’t enough there to have faith to. Controlling the narrative is what organized religion does best after all.

So, when you find a man walking out of the wilderness with, divine powers, doesn’t matter that he doesn’t look like the man who walked in. John had seen that man only once before, and he was more than willing to either keep the faith train going or just jump on as it passed him by.

And, as of Mary’s “immaculate conception” rumors, they were too convenient a setup to pass on. There were tens of thousands like her in Galilee, women who had been stark believers since childhood, but none of them had managed to get themselves a man who would believe such an, outlandish story. That level of narrative building, that intellectual resourcefulness, that bold persistence to shaping reality as you see fit, that, is a conduit to power.

And he needed that guidance. He needed that personal connection to the people, the people he looked so little alike. The people he was told to shepherd, told to woo.

There were miracles, as says the good book, miracles and con-artistry abound. Because where once was water, now there was wine, so that must have been a miracle, not a conveniently staged swap of preexisting substances. And when thousands of people come to hear you speak, once again conveniently way out of the city, well, to then appear whole baskets of fish and bread would be quite the power move.

After all, you are but a poor carpenter and a woman devoted to her faith’s son, right? There’s no way you could have bought and moved in place all that food and drink. Bread and circuses, treats and narrative. Just put a rumor out there, this man drove whole schools of fish into these poor fishermen’s nets. He absolutely walked on water, you just weren’t there to see.

But John, John was not just a hired goon now. John knew that feeding the crowds and performing parlor tricks was good enough to get their attention. What they really needed now was to convert that kinetic energy, that opening, to belief in the divine. Healings. To cure what ails the people was the key. The key to faith. Unadulterated, blinding, all-consuming faith in the ideal that faith in this one man, on what he represented, would save you from the pains of lifehood itself.

The trick was to build faith on faith itself. People had to have faith that all the healings and all the resurrections and all the banishing of evils of the mind were not only possible, but achievable by this man. This one, ragged-looking, feeble man. Rumors alone wouldn’t cut it now. They needed a powerful trick, they need something, something that would take away the pain, something that would stimulate cognition and communication for just long enough, long enough for onlookers to see, and believe.

Hyper-dosing patients with opium, cannabis or mixtures of mandrake, salicin, henbane, even alcohol when nobody’s looking would do the trick. Might have not been the most elegant of solutions, but, hey, when did these people start caring about ethics anyway? The man was passed on ingredients and recipes for all cases, and he was sufficient at administering those, patchwork solutions. As you may have guessed, very few of those patients were, even partially healed through those methods, most were to die short after.

What’s important is that, at the time, the crowds saw a man at death’s bed, standing up and taking a step, and that’s all the proof someone who’s ravaged by illness needs. The few and far between cases of successful healing, spread like wildfire. Every last one of them were capped as only being possible due to prior sufficient faith of course. That weed out ever failed attempts as, unworthy, of the divine gift. A stroke of genius if I’ve ever witnessed one, making the patients themselves view the lack of results as proof of unworthiness.

A project self-consumed by its own cruelty. But that’s hardly the last case of irony for this collective.

I, don’t have all the angles. I have the historical trail, the reports, the doubt kept away from the mainstream thanks to eons of work. There were nine crusades into the holy land, nine major ones. There was need, sheer, palpable need to control the area where the myth was born, where every little act of public perception that shaped the flock to this day was performed. People all around the globe perform rituals, heretical or not, they still believe in the same concept, the same central ideas. But there is a reason, there is something there. So much blood spilled for so, so long, the immorality of the grand design never to be addressed, never to be questioned or challenged.

Every crusade erases his footprints in the sand some more. Every historical account, even scholar, every place of knowledge and enlightenment. Instead, convenient versions of the same extract narrative were to be spread. You didn’t want a messiah, that’s fine! How about a prophet, is that enough of a compromise to get you on board? The project was moving, was breathing life, red and incised into the mind of every man of the West and the Middle East. If only they could move into that eastern market next.

You see, at this point their man, he was written out of the story. He had performed his act, sufficiently enough, and on the name of a higher power, a conveniently amorphous figurehead of a whole construct of belief and faith. The engine was roaring, chugging out levels of TFe previously unheard of. The old guard was happy.

But the man. The man who went through one life, one convenient conduit of the ambient, he went on. With his previous identity shed like the skin of a reptile, his skillset largely following soon, he managed to slip through the cracks, somehow, falling off the radar for years, centuries at times before he would pop back in. Every time with a new identity, a new agenda, personal or dictated by the powers that be.

.

Excerpts of a history professor’s [REDACTED][REDACTED] third essay in his “History as they wrote it.” rejected manuscript.

Professor’s [REDACTED] personal files, along with his full body of citations and historical accounts were donated to the sister agency [REDACTED] after his termination.

The entity described in these files is believed to be linked in TF 77, or, as researchers have come to refer to him, the dead man.

Numerous of the citations collaborate in the files along with the, vague description of the man’s modus operandi given in professor’s [REDACTED] essay, make the validity of this hypothesis highly probable.

click

A strange man walked through the revolving door of the bar.

Behind him, the vast emptiness of the Australian desert. Dangerous, unbearable, impregnable for a single man with no provisions, and no vehicle.

His leather jacket, blue jeans and western, borderline cowboy boots would have been paired well with an akubra style hat, a minimal precaution against the intense sun. Too bad the man hadn't thought of that.

The peculiar thing of course was that there wasn't a bead of sweat rolling down this man's forehead. Fresh like he had just appeared at the doorstep of this lonely little bar at the middle of the desert, by the only street for kilometers, his steps disappearing in the distance across the sand and the short bushes.

He stood by the door and looked around.

The place had certainly seen better days. A couple of booths by the window side and a weathered yet well-kept counter across it. Stools and a jukebox, along with a couple of signs and a series of miscellaneous memorabilia strung along the walls, tied up the place nicely.

The bar was almost empty at this hour, in the middle of the day, if not for the well-kept geezer sitting by his lonesome with his back turned towards the man at one of the booths.

Unfazed, the man walked to the counter, pulling a stool to the side, and looked inside, towards the door leading to the kitchen or backroom or whatever.

"Hey. You here, barkeep? Hey!"

He shouted after a few seconds. The seconds kept going by after his echo was long dead, but no barkeep, no reply, no nothing came back to welcome the man.

The man waited and waited and his nerves began to stretch more and more.

A full minute went by and nothing, no reply or reaction. Till he heard a sound. The sound of liquid rushing down, the sound of a satisfied sigh and the sound of a glass bottle set to a wooden surface.

He turned and saw the old man, holding a bottle on the table. The frosted glass glistening in the light as condensation was starting to form on it.

He bit his tongue, holding up for a second. Now that he could view him from the front, he sure did look peculiar. Wearing a purplish suit, vaguely militaristic in style if it hadn't such an, innovatively cut, and a pair of white gloves hiding his hands. From his left hand, slightly obscured, was a bracelet, a gold chain, off of which were hanging an orb, and, an elongated coin of some short, both engraved with long and short lines, grooves across the metallic surface, giving the crude imitation of an eye, and an ear.

A big, wacky beard grew off his chin as a natural progression of his mustache, coupled with a head full of hair. The old man, although his evidently advanced age, didn't look fragile or malformed. He had wide shoulders and a thin but toned build. His hair and beard also weren't wispy and see-through, but rich, thick and silver in tone.

The man rolled his eyes upwards, frustrated by the prospect of conversing with this outrageously groomed and clothed old man. The guy stood out like a falling match on a haystack, and that wasn't what he needed right this moment.

"Hey, old timer. Do you know where the barman has run to?"

The old man, without turning his gaze to him at all, took a thoughtful expression, as if he was pondering the question. He smacked his lips and then said.

"I'm afraid I don't son..."

He reached for the bottle as he paused, lifted up, looked at it, then tipped it over to his lips, taking his sweet time.

The old man took a little sip, then set the bottle down again as he followed up his previous statement.

"Place looked abandoned by the time I moseyed up in, see."

"Is that so?" Asked the man staring daggers into the geezer lying to him through his immaculate teeth. "And how you got that beer there then partner? Did you magic it up or something?"

The old man chuckled, trailing into a little amused coo.

"Now now son, if I didn't know any better I would think you're implying I'm a con of some kind."

The old man turned to the young one and with a playful little smirk said.

"Brought this here beer from home sonny." said and lifted the bottle once more, turning round facing the table as he took another sip.

The man looked at him with narrowing eyes. He knew this old coot was bad news since the second time he laid eyes upon him, but this was getting ludicrous now.

He threw his shoulders up in a shrug, giving up in a sense. He smirked to himself and said.

"Fine... you wouldn't happen to have brought any more with you, would you, partner?"

"As a matter of fact..." Said the old man, rising from the inside of the booth, making the young man nervous enough that his fingers twitched, tensing and flexing.

The old man lifted a small cooler and said with an upbeat tone.

"I've got a whole six pack in this here cooler, see? Now, why don't you join me stranger? I'll be happy to offer you a bottle."

The old guy smiled.

Something wasn't right, the man could tell. None of this, nothing, was adding up into a coherent, genuine turn of events.

He approached the booth, looking around the room one final time before cornering himself willingly, like an animal baited in a trap.

"Alright old timer, but I'm warning you, you better not have any nasty surprises up those Mickey Mouse mittens of yours."

He sat down across from the dapper-looking, well-aged geezer. His eyes shifted from the glass of beer to his face, ready to react at the faintest threat.

The old man lifted the bottle again to his lips, and took another sip, not even wasting a glance at the nervous, macho and usually clean for someone who walked in from the desert man taking a seat across from him. Every move he made, he took his sweet, leisurely time with, without a care in the world.

He placed the bottle down again with a loud exhale of satisfaction.

"Now that's some good beer sonny. Perfect for a day such as today."

The geezer was playing games, thought the man who came from the desert, annoyed and unerved. Nevertheless, the old timer was right about one thing. A beer would for sure help, especially today.

He stretched out his right hand, reaching for the open cooler. Before he could grab a bottle though, an aged yet steady hand slid the cover on top.

"I'm afraid..." The peculiar old man began speaking, raising his gaze and for the first time looking straight at his drinking companion. "That you haven't yet earned one of those, sport."

The man grimaced, his annoyance verging to insult now.

"Is that how it is? Didn't realize there were tollbooths between me and your offer."

"Don't be so serious! I ain't gonna ask for your kidney or anything!" The old man chackled to himself, hooting as he picked up his own beer bottle again.

He took a sip. Took his sweet time.

"What is it then?" the man asked impatiently.

"So, here's the thing." Said the old man, as he set his beer down. "My mama once told me, Alfy, you little demon..." he spoke, pointing out now towards the man across the table. "You never drink with strangers you dum dum, you hear?" He said and smiled at the man. "So, how about for starters, you give me your name?"

The man rolled his eyes. This American geezer was about to give him his whole life's story. For a moment, he debated standing up and leaving, but, on the other hand, he's just asking for a name.

The man opened his mouth, and he held it open, as his eyebrows set lower across his eyes, confused, puzzled.

"What happened sonny?" Asked Alfred, looking across to the man. "Did some oogly boogly abscond with your tongue or something?"

"No, I... I don't remember my, name... Ha…" Said the man, confused and annoyed, but now also worried.

"Well, ain't that pickle?" Said Alfred, looking at the man across from him without an ounce of irony in his voice. "Seems like I'll have to come up with another question then."

"Can't you just, give me the beer?" Asked the man, at this point, willing to lower his ego enough for a cold bottle of liquid. "Do we really have to play games?"

"Now now son, don't get too up in arms about this whole. I just wanna know who I'm getting drunk with. Your name would do, but, a name doesn't make the man now, does it champ?"

The man's face was set into a state of bitter defeat. He could see where the old man was coming from, and yet, he could feel some part of him, something gnarling at the back of his head, that he shouldn't trust this old man, appearing out of nowhere, drinking at an empty bar, bringing his own beer.

"Sure, but first, why don't you answer me this, what are you doing here? You expect me to believe you just happened to take your little cooler and a six-pack out for a walk in the middle of the desert, ha Alfy? There are no ranches, no communities, no nothing for several kilometers from this damn spot!"

Alfred's lips curled up ever so slightly. He turned the bottle without lifting it off the table. He then looked up, straight in the man's eyes and said, with a broad yet soft smile ans he shrugged.

"Ain't that some coincidence, ha?"

"No, listen here now, you ain't gonna rile me up like I'm some grandson of yours..."

"And how did YOU find your way here, kind stranger, hm?" Alfred cut him off, commanding the conversation in a very deliberate manner.

"Me? I live here, ok!? If you didn't notice my accent, I'm Australian mate! You don't even sound like you're from this continent altogether!"

"Yeah, I see that, hold your horses’ sport." said Alfred, raising his hands with open palms halfway as if he was surrendering, only to point at the man again with both pointers, as he looked back at him.

"That been said, do you remember how you got here? I don't see a car outside, and you already forgot your name, so, maybe we are actually amidst a real emergency here, ha fellah?"

The man groaned and opened his mouth again. "Of course I do! I walked here... I... I did walk here... though, the dessert?" He asked, himself, realizing how improbable what he was stating was.

"And yet..." Alfred began saying. "You seem to know the area quite well, enough to point out how, improbable getting here on foot would be. Ain’t that curious…”

“So, you admit that you didn’t come here exactly when I was gonna arrive to this place out of pure coincidence.”

Alfred cracked a smile, he even chuckled. He raised his bottle and took a sip, taking his sweet time.

“When did I ever admit such a thing, champ?

The man was losing his patience. Every alarm was going off in his mind. This old fool was fucking toying with him! No matter how you were to think about what he was stating, there was not a single good reason why he was here! He was about to entrap him, to attack him, to ambush him!

“Whoa, simmer down there, cowboy.” Said the old man, sensing the eruption he had almost caused. He reached in the cooler and pulled up a cold bottle. He popped the cup and looked over at the red in the face stranger.

“Here, I think this one will cool you down…”

“Oh, you think I’m gonna drink from that now?!” The man shouted, his knuckles white. His fists pushing down against the table top, as if he was about to pounce on the geezer at any second like a wild animal. “I don’t trust you, you relic of a human being!”

Alfred raised an eyebrow. “You don’t, ha? How about this then.” He said and lifted the rim of the bottle to his mouth. He turned it till a thin stream of gold drink spill out, right into his open mouth. After a gulp, he placed the still almost full bottle on the table. Alfred stared right at the young man’s eyes. He smiled, playful, yet without malice. “No poison, no tricks, no nothing. Have the beer, Sonny. Let's take a break.”

Alfred pulled his hands off the bottle and reached for his own.

The man felt his heart pounding, his mind sizzling, and he suddenly had a thought. Why was he having such a strong emotional reaction to, this old man, and his nosy questions? He didn’t had something to hide after all, right?

He stretched out and snatched the beer. His fingers wrapped around the glass bottle. Unexpectedly, he felt a zap, of static electricity. He looked at the bottle. It was already slightly wet with condensation building up. What a peculiar sensory feedback, he thought, but his throat was becoming the cold sweetness of the beer.

The man’s eyes pierced the old man who once again wasn’t looking back at him, as he raised the bottle to his lips, and took a long, sturdy sip.

Heat, anger, annoyance, they all melted away as if this cold beverage was the ultimate medicine for a fight or flight response. He closed his eyes and took one too many sips before he brought the glass back down, letting out a prolonged sigh of satisfaction.

“Alright old timer.” He opened his eyes and stared back at the old man, his tone echoing a better vibe now. “I’ll do you a favor, card’s on the table. What do you wanna know, ha?”

Alfred snickered. He looked at the man across from him, his skin, freckled, old but not cracked, still moist and underlined with good muscles. He looked through the thirty-something stranger, directly into his shadow cast across the wall.

“Ain’t you the ease one?! You gonna give me everything I want just like that? Why do I smell shit on the air son? You ain’t bull-crapping me now, are yah?”

“Listen, gramps, Alfer, Alfred? Well, you said you want to ask some questions for them there beers, I’m just holding up my end of the bargain.” The man shrugged, hiding a slight annoyance, and discomfort as best as he could. “Don’t make me regret that now.”

Alfred’s eyes narrowed. His smirk widened.

“Why? What’s gonna happen then, hm? Are you not gonna let me know that you remember sparsely a thing of who you were before you walked through these here saloon doors?”

“You’re insane old man, I’m just throwing you a bone, that’s all.” The man rolled his eyes and lifted the beer battle to his lips yet again with one shift motion. His expression changed once he was partially hidden. His eyes bulged slightly as he felt his cheeks drop. How is this possible? How could he not remember his name, how he came here, what’s his profession, when he married, if he even married, who he was… How could he be so, so, empty of information.

A strong breeze blew across the doors of the little bar and blew in, bringing leaves and sand from the desert outside. The man downed the whole bottle, then his knuckles went white as he threw it on the ground, smashing it.

“How the FUCK do you know?! HOW?” he shouted at the old man across from him. He hadn’t seen this man ever again, right? He-he wasn’t even from around here! Look at him! He’s dressed like, like some weirdo, he’s dressed like he could own a chocolate factory or some shit!”

“Calm down champ. There’s no reason to lose your cool.” Alfred spoke out as he placed his own beer bottle down. He looked back to the stranger, this time with a certain concern in his eyes as the rough air was swirling around them.

“No, you know what? There is! There sure is! You, you, you knew! You knew I didn’t remember shit! You somehow, some fucking how, knew! How did you knew!? Did you do this? Ha? HA? Did YOU do THIS?”

“What? Giving you amnesia? No. No that’s, not my specialty I’m afraid.” The old man replied, with a considerably more serious tone now. “But right now what’s important is for you to calm down, so we can talk, before y…”

“Before What?! You do, you know something! You motherfucking fossil! You, you were haunting me down! You… What the hell is going on now?!?”

The furious man blinked, as his eyes registered the state of the inn around them. The bottle he had thrown on the floor, had ignited, some how, some thing, something on the breeze. But it wasn’t a breeze anymore, it was now a dust devil, a vortex of air, swirling inside the little bar, the particles of sand somehow set on fire, flying around them. Furniture were catching fire too, bottles and glasses breaking as the air was blown through them on the floor behind the counter.

The stranger man stood up from his seat, he looked around shocked, speechless. He turned to Alfred, ready to follow him outside, to run away from this place.

Alfred was sitting back at the booth cushions, sipping his beer.

“What are you doing?! The place is on fire, we have to go!”

“What we have to do…” Said the old man and snapped his gloved fingers, the while at the back of his hand glowing for a second as the fire went out in a moment, like if it was lights. “is to calm dawn sonny. Trust me, I have this under control.”

The man stared at the old fellow. His eyes wide, his mouth hanging open, his mind racing. The air around them might have been, extinguished, but it was picking up speed now.

“D-did you do this too? H-how?!”

“No sport, you did this. I just, put the fires out. As you can see, my little…” He raised his arm again and snapped, the glove didn’t glow this time “trick, ain’t as potent as whatever it is you’re doing.”

“What I AM DOING?! You think I am doing THIS? How, what, how… What are you TALKING about?!”

The old man placed his beer down and looked up to the stranger. His face turned into a nice smile, yet again, as the cushioning of the couch behind him was getting sandblasted. The speed at which those tiny specs of sand were catching were absolutely starting to tear away every painted, varnished and surface made of fabric in the store.

The stranger looked at it, looked at all of what’s going on around them with, wide, full of disbelief eyes… and sat down across the old timer. He wasn’t ready to accept it yet, but this man, no matter the number of alarms setting off in his head, was his only anchor to a feeling of control and reassurance he currently had.

“What is it that I’m doing exactly… sir?”

Alfred closed his eyes, took a deep breath through his nostrils.

“Son…” He said, opening his eyes. “I’m afraid I have some bad news for you.” The man remained silent across from him.

“Sarah, Lisa, little bloke named Paul, do they ring any bells?” The old man stopped and stared right into the stranger’s eyes.

“S-Sarah? Lisa and, Paul, right? N-no, I’m afraid, I’m afraid I don’t know who and… what does that have to do with…”

“Those, were the names of your family son. Lisa and Paul, your young ones, and Sarah, I believe your school crash turned into a loving decade-plus-long relationship.

Frozen, the man stared at Alfred, unable to speak, to think. Until.

“Were?”

“Indeed, past tense… Along with your whole neighborhood. There were one moment, the next…” Said the old man, pulling out a cigar.

The air around them was speeding up, whistling as it miraculously didn’t touch them. The man tried to speak, multiple times he opened his mouth, full with questions, but his voice was carried away by this pocket typhoon.

The old man stared at him, for the first time with a look of concern on his eyes. Not that the stranger had to wonder why so. He could see it. The air swirling around them was crackling with sparks, electricity, as the particles, or, the plasma, was starting to de atomize part of the tables and the chairs around them.

Alfred reached out with his hand, and placed it palm down, fingers open in front of the stranger with no family, then he lowered it. He looked him in the eyes over his own hand, took a big breath, then let it out slowly. He did it again, and again, until the stranger realized he was doing the same.

As if by miracle, the weather began to subside around them. The sparks went first, then the whirl. Nothing was atomizing anymore, for now.

“My, my family, is dead?” He heard himself saying.

“Along with another forty-two people I’m afraid, yes.”

“And… and you think I did it? Why?!”

“You joking right? Look at what you were doing in here by just getting pissed off, bud.” Said Alfred, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, ok, ok, but, why WOULD I do something like that? It doesn’t make any sense!”

“If it wasn’t clear up until now, your are not exactly, in control of whatever it is you are doing. Our working theory is that you underwent some kind of, irregular manifestation. At that point, you exposed your, loved ones, unfortunately, to the side effect of said manifestation, probably during an episode of profound emotional distress.”

The stranger remained silent throughout Alfred’s attempt to explain every technical term as simply as he could. The old man finished and stopped talking, waiting, giving time for all the information to sink in.

“My family… I had a family?! And, a name, and past, b-but, I don’t remember…”

“Yeah, that part is not that mysterious, although you seem like you got a double dose of the old juice.” Said Alfred, shrugging slightly.

“To make it easier for you to understand, when stuff like, this, happens, a field of sorts is created around the effect area, a field of, memory dampening. The powers that be live for the moment, having their, dirty little impromptu happenings advertised in great detail puts quite the dampener on their plans, yes.”

“You see, these things are quite, horrific, I know, I know, but usually they are more, traditionally scary than, just tragic. And as you may know, horror thrives on lack of definition, information in general about them being known to their victims…”

The old man looked at the stranger, he was having such an obvious hard time following this nebulous mix and match of information. He let out a sigh.

“I feel like I’m losing you, so, to put it simply, memory loss is part of the deal, and whatever Your deal is, seems to be driven by your emotional state, your impulses, and, the mind has some funny ideas about coping with trauma.”

“Wait, I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” The man shook his head. “Do you mean to tell me that I gave MYSELF amnesia somehow?”

“At this point, yes, that seems to be the simplest explanation.” Said Alfred with a reassuring nod. He then remained silent.

The stranger was silent to, he was, too numb, too overwhelmed to think, to think clearly anyway. Holding his head on his hands, looking at the floor, looking for something to stand on, anything, anything that made sense. At the same time, he kept an eye out. If he was getting the gist of this whole shitshow, he was capable now of unmaking reality on an atomic level.

“What is my name?

“Mark. Mark Marbleson.”

“Heh… goofy ass name.”

Mark chuckled, hollowed, soulless, yet, genuine. The old man cracked a little tiny smile for a second.

“Listen, son… You understand now why I’m here, right?”

The man looked up. He looked back at the old timer. Alfred was extending his hand, a fresh, still cold bottle of beer from the freezer.

“You are here to kill me… aren’t you?”

Mark reached his hand to the beer, and picked it up. The old timer had a serious look on his face, but his tone, it was casual enough to give even the worst slab an inkling of reassurance.

“If I have to, I will try. But, to be honest with you, sonny, to directly threaten you now would be as effective as trying to disarm a nuclear bomb with a toothpick and box of Tic Tacs.”

Mark raised an eyebrow.

“So? What’s the plan then?”

The old man remained silent for a few seconds. His gaze shifted to his bracelet, the ball and elongated coin hanging off of it. He reached with his free hand, and pressed a small button-like decoration hanging beneath both of them.

Click

Click

Alfred opened the last bottle of beer as the stranger was finishing the fifth of the six-pack. He brought on his lips slowly and took a sip. He then set it down on the table and stood up, stretching.

“You wouldn’t believe how long I’ve been on this job champ… What I’ve seen, what I’ve yet to see...” said the old man, for the first time sounding like a he looked. Mark looked at this sturdy, weathered but radiant man in front of him and he could tell, he could tell that he was burdened with terrible knowledge of what’s to come.

Alfred turned back at him and smiled warmly.

The old man walked out of the little bar in the middle of the desert. The agents stationed on the rock formations around the little building confirmed that he was alone, that he looked whole and unharmed.

As he reached one of the teams, he turned and faced them.

“At ease Crep.Squad X. Papa's back from the milk store.”

An operative, one of the more stern and looking a bit older than the rest of the young men and women surrounding him, stepped forward and approached Alfred.

“General, I would much appreciate a level of seriousness when we are dealing with a potential Cascading level event sir.”

A few of the operatives around them gasped. Seems like not everyone had grasped the gravity of the situation.

Alfred chuckled. “Now now sonny, will you cool it down with them big scary words? There’s no helping what is to be after all.”

The old man turned and faced the small bar behind him. It was quiet, too quiet.

“Of course General, my apologies, but… You have to understand, we don’t all have your, experience on such matters.” The buttoned-up operative replied with a tone that didn’t really come across as the most respectful.

The tall, slender-built, thirty-something man turned to face the bar as well. He raised his peculiar handgun with both hands towards the structure. “So, what are your orders? Are we to, engage the warper?”

“Will you lower that? You worrying the neophytes.” With his hand reaching over his underling’s weapon and pushing it down slowly Alfred said. “Besides, you know as well as you suppose to that such actions ain’t advised at the moment.”

“Sir, we don’t know what he is, granted, but he’s still flesh and blood. I’m sure if we ambushed him we could shut him down before he could even think to re…”

Alfred turned at the operative, his gaze falling heavily on the much, much younger and unwise man. “I say son, sometimes I think your one wish must be to go out in a blaze of glory or some silly shit like that.”

The general reached into the senior operative’s pocket and pulled out the little earbud along with the coiled cable that connected it to his walkie-talkie. “Agents, operatives, Crep.Nauts, this is your beloved general. You are NOT to engage the target. In fact, start packing shit up. We are moving out in 5’. Over and out.”

“Sir! Are we gonna leave this, this national level threat to roam the great down under freely?” the operative protested to the general.

“It’s in his hands now… Marbleson was a good man. You have to respect that son.”

“B-but sir! We can’t just…”

General Alfred turned to face the senior operative. He looked at him through glass eyes and a big, wide, toothy smile.

“I took care of it, sonny, don’t you trust me?”

“I-I do… sir.”

“Ok then. Let’s go.” Said the general, and once again reached for the bracelet off of his wrist, pressing the little button hanging off of its end.

Listen.

I know you won't do shit about this. I know you'll probably shove this letter in the back of some cabinet somewhere.

I don't care.

In my time on this fucking planet I've seen a lot of things which if I talked about, people would treat me as if I was crazy.

But I, don't, care what you think of me.

I saw what I saw, I did what I did and I had to live for most of my life thinking I will have to take all of it to my grave.

But this... this is bigger than me. This will outlive me, I know it will. It's already making new cases for you, or whoever actually looks into that stuff.

Of course you supposedly deal with missing people cases, but, we both know you don't.

You just care about your salary and job safety and a few ways to cheat each other, to lord your power over others.

That's partially why I'm doing this anonymously.

For the past 50 years, I made sure my name wouldn't enter any of your, files. Back in the day, during the junta you used to keep files on everyone who stood out. I know the greek police never gave that shit up, don't care what anyone else might say. You might not disappear people anymore, especially nowadays, when nobody cares, but I still remember having an uncle one day, then the next my mother with tears in her eyes, telling me he had to leave for a long, long trip outside of Greece. I'm not risking it, no matter how delusional that makes me sound.

Anyway. I'm not writing to air my grievances with the pork-kin.

Again, there is something out there you should be aware of.

Elisavet [REDACTED], Nikolas [REDACTED], Christophoros [REDACTED], you've never found all those kids, did you? And those are just the active cases from not even a year ago. Remember that village that went missing almost a decade back? Yeah, I know you closed that case really fast, really fast and sloppy.

Does that mean that you know what's going on? You know and you cover it up? Hell I hope not. It's one thing to believe your government and police force to be incompetent, corrupt even, and a completely different one to find out that they are in bed with, the forces of hell...

Not that I know what that, thing, is... or if it's even only one of it.

At the very least I need to know that this, there is an account of this, somewhere, anywhere, an official account, or as official as an anonymous tip gets.

The whole thing started a couple decades ago, at Patra, late February.

I was scouring the nearby mountainside and the little villages around the town in my trusty series 3 Defender, looking for, a loose end.

I was out hunting you see, for, recreational purposes. Something I had seen around the early morning hours of that day nearby one of the villages just as I was setting shop.

I took aim and shot at that time, wounding it, but not downing it.

The son of the bitch had scattered away, using its, camouflage, which made things substantially difficult for me.

But I wasn't gonna give up so easily, oh no.

I had it in good authority that I would found, good game like that, around this area, and I had already wasted the better part of a week looking for it, when I finally found it.

As I was driving up and down the little narrow village muddy paths I remember wondering, how did it take me this long to find out this, thing, if it's supposed to be so prolific, you know?

The, group, from which I got the info about hunting those things, the game I was after, were quite cocksure about it having a bunch of, sightings in the area.

Why would it take me so long to get it then? Especially with the methods I was using. I wasn't a newbie in the field. I had been hunting at that point for over two decades, and, I had numerous successful hunts under my belt.

The day went on, with me often behind the wheel of my defender, but as often walking down the street, looking for marks and footprints and blood droplets. The damn thing was fast, I'll give you that. Almost too fast for its kind, and too, careful... too scared for, prey its size and notoriety.

As I was driving down the streets and villages, I could hear down, in the town, the celebrations revving up. I had totally lost track of time and days you see, the carnival was happening down there, and as it is tradition, the Patricians were having their parade of fluffy and colorful suits and confetti and all that.

That's when I saw it.

It was cowering in an outhouse, long defunct, by far side of an abandoned little cottage at the end of the village. Last place I would look it probably thought. I gripped my shotgun tight, I wouldn't be missing this time.

It reached out to grab me, stop me, or beg for mercy, I know not. I handed it a blinding flash and a handful of molten lead and it popped like a balloon against the back of the little wooden hut.

It was done. I looked at the, animal's body. It's grim work, looking at the things you hunt after you're done with them, but it has to be done. Like any regular hunt you got to pick out the leftover lead and cut off like the burned flesh and, whatever else.

I picked the thing up and hauled it to my jeep, wrapped it up in an old tarp I had for such occasions. You don't just slap a fresh kill like that at the back of your vehicle, I sometimes have to sleep back there, and shit like this smells to high heaven.

As I was pulling the tarp around it though, I noticed that the thing was thin like all hell, skin and bones, barely any meat on it. I took a second, picked its arm to look at it closer. The damn devil had bruises everywhere, like if something gripped it with a vice-like strength in parts, punched it in others.

These, things, these animals I hunt for, they are pretty much on the top of the food chain. I mean, this damn thing wouldn’t' have much issue squaring it up with a gorilla even, not that animals like that are to be found in rural Greece.

This troubled me to say the least. Maybe there was a reason, a reason why I've spend a week here and I've only found one of these.

Didn't matter though. I pulled the damn thing over the roof of my jeep and secured it with some multi-leg bungee shock cords across the rack. It wasn't gonna move till it was time to throw it in the pyre.

I drove down the mountainside as the sun began to set.

Far down to the town of Patra, the carnival was kicking into high gear. I could hear the music and the noise, multitudes of voices blending together, melting into a shapeless, faceless agglomeration of ignorance and bliss.

The engine revved as I hit the dirt village roads. My Series 3 was an old model, but it got the job done. Every year something new would break, something wouldn't work as it's supposed to, something would something. Every year. And every year, it would be harder to find replacement parts.

Not the old fucker wouldn't move, oh no! It was, more than rare that something would stop my beast of a jeep from bucking across these here country roads. Just like his daddy, no matter the problem, my series 3 kept on tracking.

I was about to enter the highway, snaking around the decent-sized town of Patra, when a city car, a little Fiat Punto appeared out of nowhere. The damn thing was packed with half a dozen or so kids, early 20s if not older teens, revving the engine as they entered the dirt road. The little shits were hollering and laughing, louder than the music that was set to max making my eardrums pulse. They drove past me and up the village road, up the side of the mountain. Someone threw a beer bottle out of the window, smashing against a nearby tree as the rest were laughing their lungs off, swearing and joking.

The whole encounter was bringing out my inner misanthrope. I've always despised such recklessness. Yes, I've been in that age too, I won't deny it, I've been such a little shit, and even today, whenever I'll find cheap and tolerable booze and good company, I might revert back to that age myself, and act like a malakas. And every time, every last time, I've come to regret it.

You see, whatever I was hunting up there, it had an easy time whenever it was going after the drunk and the young and those who didn't belong to a place. Yeah, sure, those were city boys and city girls, they were far from home, but that ain't what I mean.

You see, these devils, they need permission, they need, clearance, to step within someone's living space. And sure, they do have their ways of extracting such an invitation to enter your space, and do what their nature at the very least has them doing, but their work is always that much easier when they, can prey to the stupid and the young roaming the streets, or in this case, this much worse case we were about to find ourselves in, the woods outside of town.

I groaned and turned the wheel around. I was still not convinced that the multiple sittings I was tipped off about in combination with the one and only kill I had after multiple days, didn’t' sit well with me. These little fuckers would be dead meat before the sun was up if I didn't do anything.

I found myself driving up the very same mountainside once again. The little city car was long gone, lost around the steep mountainside turns. I could make out the car lights every now and then, and the music, coming from somewhere above, ahead and above from where I was, coming from further and further away.

I don't know how or why, but my off-road beast was losing ground to that fucking lemon those kids were driving. For a moment a random wish passed my mind that a random tree may as well save the fiends and me some time by putting an end to the chase. I regretted even having such an impulsive thought the very next second.

Instead of putting any more thought to what could have been or what might be, I keep driving.

Driving and driving up the mountainside, like if I had no better things to do but save drunk little brats from, possibly nothing at all. Yes, I did thought of turning around, of leaving them be. I already had after all my prize, tightly and securely packed on the car rack above my head. But I didn't dare do such a thing.

I've ignored my calling before, too the easy road, let what could be done and should be done today be tomorrow's headache, and I had paid for that. Throughout the years and years of doing this job, oh how I've paid for not acting sooner.

When you lose a stranger, a new mother pushing down a stroller with a newborn down a dark alleyway, it's a tragedy. When you lose a loved one though, it's an event, a memory you'll forever carry with you till the day you close your eyes.

The car was lost to me now, so far away, but the road, the road was set.

I drove up the mountainside for a good ten, or could be twenty, minutes more. Drove up the dirt path so narrow that a wrong turn of the wheel would have me tumbling down the steep side of the mountain, but that wasn't meant to be my whole journey.

Far above the city of Patra, the dirt road widened as I reached a small plateau. Not that I had reached the top of the mountain, but the numerous short olive trees across the mountainside told me that this was more than the collection of jagged mountainside environment I was so used to for the past half a week.

I had reached possibly a small cottage, an orchid of olive trees, and I could see. The little shriveled and twisted trees were clawing themselves on the most uneven of grounds, but there was clearly an entrance here, and a path.

As the illumination of my night lights showed, some vehicle, low and heavy, had recently took a sharp turn into the little orchid.

I look deep, deep in the depths of that possible plot of private land, between the trees and the tall shadow of the mountain. Could they had already finished their trip? Car lights turned off as they scurried in some cabin? Why else could they be coming up the maintain otherwise? It's not like kids their age would leave the biggest party of the day in the whole country to share drinks and cheers with old-timers up some village. If these drunk idiots were driving up the mountain like that in mixed company, their goal was certainly the expected one.

I thought about it. This private plot of land, we were way off at this point from the area my tip was concerning. Not too far, but, would it really be that terrible if I was to consider that this big of a group wouldn't be having an issue with any long-toothed game in a day like this?

I didn't wanna catch any trouble with the law, the locals don't see strangers like me all too kindly. And, at the end of the day, I would hate to mess up a good thing, I thought to myself, as a mind numbing scream ripped across the night sky.

I turn my head and gaze into the depths of the private plot of land. There was light coming off, from somewhere far, far in the distance, no, that was a window I realized as I heard it smashing and something heavy falling out of it.

I raved the engine and drove in, my foot flattening the pedal as I my eyes stared into the commission.

The wheel screeched as the vehicle came to a stop. I parked next to their car, doors left ajar, same as the door at the little two-floor house somebody had built all the way up here.

I could hear shouting, crying, smashing, so much and so loud smashing. Things were breaking and things were thrown, some sounds sharp like if a thing just broke into thousands of pieces, some deep and heavy, like something heavy was thrown against a solid concrete wall.

The light went out as the distinct sound of a light bulb smashed into bits reverberated distinctly between slamming and shouting, and crying.

My hand reached for my shotgun, before I jumped out the car myself, brandishing the lethal tool as if it was an extension of my very being.

I rushed into the house, shouting to the kids. I run throw the first floor, looking for the stairs, and that's when I came across a body.

Fresh, warm blood was trickling down the young man's pale face, and expression of pure terror carved into his once handsome features, as he was laying against the wall, where he had landed after his head was smashed far above that same wall, further up than his height would allow, closer to the ceiling.

There were still screams coming, from upstairs now, but they were not the sounds half a dozen or more people would make.

No.

Those were the sounds of one person alone, maybe two... if you were only t account for the voices. But the steps, the weight behind them, that wasn't too people. There was something else up there, something that could pick up a fully grown young adult body, and hurl it against a wall with enough force to make the building rattle.

This, whatever it was, couldn't be what I was here for. You see, what I was hunting, it wasn't that strong. It wasn't weak of course nonetheless, but brute strength is not how the kin I usually go after deals with his prey, no. It's cunning, and sharpness, and all kinds of trickery and magics.

I stepped upstairs and slowed my advance, pacing myself. Now that I was close to an active scene, with bodies littering the floors, on of them crumbled down the side of the stairs as I was walking up the, the other next to the broken window from where another one must have been thrown out of. Now, I had to pace myself.

This is how you get killed, by holding a heavy gun like mine and figuring you're invincible. I've seen better hunters than me losing their pace, and then their lives because of such hubris, and I wasn't about to lose mine.

After all, there was no reason to rush anymore. The screams had stopped. The sounds had quietened down. All I could hear now were heavy movements, not steps, but sounds of things moved around, of predator handling his prey, of hunter surveying his game.

I wasn't gonna save anyone anymore, I was too late, and I would be seeing those faces, those masks of terror and death in my sleep for years to come, I knew that, and I knew I couldn't do anything about it. But I pushed through. It wasn't the first time after all.

As I reached the last steps, about to enter the second floor, I leaned on the corner and scoped out the little hallway. There was nothing there, but someone had turned another light on, what was most probably a bedside lamp, inside one of the bedrooms perhaps.

The light that was spilling out, against the opposite wall, from a low angle, was casting a vast shadow. I couldn't make sense of its movements, or its shape. I figure whatever it was, it was kneeling, over a body. It was reaching out, probably with its hands, and gripping the body. I could hear flesh pulled from flesh, ripped apart, wet and crackling as bones were pulled from each other.

I took a step, raise my gun just enough to be ready, and begun taking silent step after silent step, inching closer and closer to the open bedroom door. My eyes moved from the door to the shadow casted across it. The shadows didn't make any sense, it was like this thing, it was, many things, many people, gripping the body of their victim in front of them at the same time, in unison, in a strange harmony, and then, just ripping it apart, limb from limb, and, taking muscle off of bones, taking limbs apart, with a strange ease.

Goosebumps spread across my back, I had years, no, decades to feel like this on a hunt. This was at the same time terrifying, intriguing, and stomach-turning.

But over all these, I was certain only of one thing. The demon that was waiting for me in that room, whatever it was, it wasn't expecting me. I had the element of surprise, and I had in hand a tool that could rip a hole through a safety door with one pull of the trigger. For those reasons and those reasons alone, I felt safe, and secure, and confident, owe, so confident, that I was equipped to deal with whatever this, thing, turned out to be.

I leaned over the open door, the barrel of my shotgun peaking over as well, and I saw it.

It is, hard, to explain what I saw...

Not because the light was cast right into my eyes, lighting this thing from the front, no, definitely not because of that...

What I saw was a back... a muscular, peculiar back.

You see, whatever this thing was... it seemed like it had, multiple spines... working in tandem like puzzle pieces, forming a monstrously strong, and thick back. And along the sides of that back, there were arms, multiple sets of arms.

A series of deltoids sprang one below another, only the first and the third set extending out to arms in use, the rest, the rest I couldn’t see, except…

There were shards of broken glass about in the floor next to the thing, warm, dark red blood was pooling across them, sipping underneath them, reflecting the front of the, thing…

I saw the rest of those deltoids, the rest of those hands wrapping in front of the monstrous thing, forming... a rib cage, of short… a rib cage made out of biceps, tightly grouped together one bellow the other.

I was counting arms, extended and compacted, as best as I could in the dark, in the entrance to the room, my knuckles white on my shotgun, frozen, unable to raise it, as my eyes continued dissecting the... target.

Because you see, you see, that thing... it had legs... and you better believe that those were MULTIPLE sets of LEGS! And those legs, those were not compacted, oh no. They were extended, all of them, extended and kneeling on the floor in front of me, kneeling over its victim. They was one set, then another one, and, I ain't even sure, but, I think they were more, more legs, at least another set, spawning at the front of the thing.

The monstrous frame was making ungodly sounds. I couldn't hear its voice, but it was, breathing, yes, that's what I would call it, breathing, or, existing, loudly, in front of me. Like the arms forming the rib cage were at the same time working as lungs somehow.

I couldn’t see his head, its, head. It was leaning forward, over a lifeless body, so, I assume it was, eating, but, there's a problem with that theory.

The sounds I've heard, again and again, sounds of ripping and squeezing and pulling, and sucking, but no biting, no munching...

My eyes widened then, as I saw it moving. No, not standing up, or turning...

I saw it moving, without moving. Something WAS moving, through it, through its left upper arm. I saw it, clearly as day, bulging under his skin, as it moved, whatever it was, moved and ,set over his bicep...

How could I not have noticed before?! Those arms of it, they looked, strange, peculiar, thick but also, stretched, across bones… multiple sets of bones… compacted over, and over, and over each other under their skin, under tight muscle.

The thing was collecting bones, I’m sure of it . I have no idea how exactly, but I would bet to burn my own hand if that thing wasn’t, somehow, using the bones, the flesh of his victims, somehow, some fucking how, to, add, to its own mass…

I know. This is insane, this is it, its insanity. You had enough of this whole account, you had enough of my lies, I know, I know you do.

This is why I couldn't start with the event itself! You would have never believed all this madness! I mean, to speak of, game, the type I was talking about before, stuff of legends, of course, but THIS???

You have to be mad to believe that such a thing exists... I BARELY BELIEVE IT, and that's after decades of knowing that demons and ghost are real!

BUT I HAD TO TELL YOU, I HAD TO, I HAD TO TELL SOMEONE!

There are, things, many limbed bodies, roaming the countryside, killing, slaughtering, maiming, and, and we have to stop them, WE HAVE TO! YOU, HAVE TO!

You asking why I didn't take care of it? I was right there, I had the drop on it, I was handling a gun, a shotgun that blew a, blue blood, to bits just hours ago, loaded with special ammo, the type that can do real harm to some devil, like that.

The thing had stopped moving... I snapped back to reality. It knew I was there, I knew it knew, and it knew I knew it knew.

With a shift movement, I raised the shotgun as it began moving, like a great big gorilla, like a bear, like the wrath of nature and all that is unholy and dark.

I pulled the trigger. A volley of molten lead spread across it's, arms forming its chest.

Blood rushed out as it flexed its arms muscles. I wounded it, yes I did, but it barely flinched at me. I could see where I went wrong, you see... under the blood and the ripped skin, there was white, white bone underneath.

it stood up before me... it was a torso. A torso made out of hands, and legs, and spines... no head. There wasn't a head, it didn't have a head, THE THING was ARMS, AND LEGS, and maybe organs, I don't know, but it wasn't a person, it wasn't A THING, it was a collection of limbs!

I raised my shotgun and shot, and shot and shot again and again, as I screamed, I screamed and roared like a fucking maniac, like a cornered animal, my legs instinctively, taking step after step backwards, I was walking back while emptying my magazine on that beast, the burst of light with its muzzle flash blinding me more than it, how could I blind what cannot see.

I was barely holding it bay, flesh ripped off its arms like the tattered clothing, and yet, I was barely doing any damage on it, barely putting a dent to the thick and sturdy bone… structure, under its skin.

I was almost to the stairs, when it started moving. I turned to run, as I saw it, the thing, gripping the walls with its hands, six legs getting a grip, it was about to jump on me.

To this day I don't know how I escaped that two-story house. I remember running and slipping on the blood across the stairs, as the floor above me was coming apart, destroyed, rabbled by the sheer strength of that, being.

All I can tell you is that it didn't feel like a monster, it didn't feel like the cultured things that I hunt for a living, it didn't care for a second for my special bullets and my blessed gear...

That thing... it was a force of nature... like a hurricane, made out of flesh, and arms...

Peloponnesus has a real mythical beast sleeping underneath its mountainside... and I know people like you, you like cutting deals with the monsters, even protecting them, and I get it, the money is good...

Theodore was a man of great faith.

Nearing his thirties, he had spent the better part of his life in a monastery.

You could see it in his eyes, as he stands there. He has forgotten how to act around people.

And yet here he is, among hundreds if not thousands of people. Here he is indeed, with his face painted white, his lips red and his eyes marked with yellow upside down crosses. A clown in orthodox monk robes.

He leans back against the wall, stares at the parting masses as the local carnival parade rages in the main city square.

Today is 26th of February, 2023. The streets of Patra are full of people, young and old, dancing and celebrating, as the dusk finally settles over the town.

Groups of people pass by the cloaked figure. A rosary hanging off his gloved hand, as his dexterous, field working fingers count beads.

Bead after bead, murmuring, counting, looking, judging, assessing, waiting, biding his time. A man of great faith, faith and passion.

His head tilts upwards, his wondering gaze and trance like concentration clearing, as he sees them.

They are just some kids, uni students at best, six of them, three girls and as many boys, walking across the square. Dressed in colors and clothes to celebrate, to match the festivities.

One of them is dressed like a politician, the other is a doctor. The third is a judge and the fourth, the fourth looks like an artist, a painter. The fifth has dressed up as a man of great wealth, and the sixth, is an athlete, with medals hanging from his neck.

They are laughing and drinking, oozing with life, mocking the future, experiencing the present, forgetting the past with each step they take.

Theodore sits up, and stepped out of the shadows. He begins following them, with eyes focused, feverish. A glint of iron sinks deeper into his long sleeves.

The crowd is electric, thick and all consuming. It is hard to traverse it, harder yet to see what’s going on. A forest of hands and an ocean of voices separates him from them, but for how long.

What seems like a routine celebration to some, to others it is more akin a religious experience, like making your way through Sodom and Gomorrah.

He reaches the group, the last of the apostles of a dying world, and his hands move quickly as he whispers a prayer to himself. He is a man of great faith, faith and modesty.

The kid before him, the last in line, the guy dressed like a doctor, goes all wide eyed. His jaw falls, mouth agape with a silent death rattle. The poor soul grips the next of the group standing in front of him, as he falls to his knees.

One by one all the members of the merry company turn, turn to witness their friend with a knife’s blade sticking out his chest, piercing his heart, then slipping back into his chest, through his heart and then out, letting the boy fall to his knees, then fold to the dirty tiles below.

One of the girls screams, one of the guys, the politician, shouts and takes a stance, ready to attack, the monk standing behind their dead friend.

Theodore’s white gloves are coated with the warm color of red as he looks at his flock. A twisted grimace of rejoicing and anticipation scars his pale face, his red lips stretched into a deranged smile.

As thick, pulsating terror grips the rest of the teens before him, witnessing their friend perishing in a moments notice, that same terror deepens even more when their screaming does not draw attention.

The crowd around them, it is like they didn’t even notice, they don’t even see them. They claw at them, the hit them to draw attention. Nothing. It is like they don’t care, they look past the kids, screaming for help, for a doctor, a cop, anything, nothing. They keep celebrating, joyful and gleeful, as a murder wasn’t committed three meters away from their feet.

Red lips and a tainted with white beard rose into a wicked smirk as he hold his hands joined in prayer. He speaks to them, but it’s so hard to make out his words. Then he takes a step, and all five of them panic.

They begin to run, but they can’t, they have to squeeze through the thick crowd, and so they do, as fast as they can, as the killer monk takes another step, and then another.

Through a sea of people, they walk as fast as they can, and continue to try to get their attention, slapping and stepping on toes, but nobody turns, nobody cares.

And the man, the monk, the clown, the stranger how they just met, he follows behind them, not five steps away at all times. He is a man of great faith, of faith and patience.  

Theodore’s eyes follow the kids, each of their moves, their misteps, their faillings, looking for an opening.

And an opening he finds, when the girl dressed like judge slips and falls to the ground. With a shift motion the monk kneels on her back, pinning her down, and drives the knife through the back of her skull, putting an end to her cries for help, her hand stretched towards her group, now laying lifeless in piles of confetti.

One of the boys, the athlete, with his medals clinging on his chest, stands next to the monk now, and pulls his muscular, powerful leg back, and he shoots, shoots for his head.

The monk simply turns his head, and looks into his eyes, as he takes the full force of the kick, his hands joined once again. He’s a man of great faith, faith and tolerance.

The foot makes contact with his head, and yet, he barely moves, there’s almost no give. The wicked smile grows across his lips once more, as the kid dressed as an Olympic winner above him screams, screams and falls on the ground. His foot bones are clearly broken in multiple spots. He shouts and swears with his eyes welling surrounded by a forest of legs.

When he opens his eyes next, the dark cloacked figure is over him. He sees but his wicked smile, and a flash of iron, as the tool sinks into his chest. One, two, four, seven times, poking all kinds of holes through his lungs.

The monks head jerks up, staring into his remaining victims, he speaks but the words are lost in the cacophony and echoing the mirth of the crowds around them. Their reaction though speaks for itself.

The hunt continues as the three remaining college students finally manage to exit the thick of the crowd, slipping somehow still unnoticed in a narrow alleyway.

Narrower and narrower, the buildings surrounding them seem to be going on forever, and with the firmament above now darker than dark, the only light to be found shines through the end of the street, where the carnival still goes.

So close they are, so close, when a screeching sound of a heavy object moving makes them look behind. The monk stands there, not ten meters behind, pulling a dumpster off it’s spot, making it collide with the pavement in a symphony of dysfunction and decadence now pulled out to block the way.

His red painted lips curl into a derange smile, as he joins his gloved hands. He’s a man of great faith, faith and persistence.

With newfound terror, the kids turn forward to run, to exit the alleyway, to escape, only to find out that they are standing at a dead end. Bricks set on bricks, a building as old as the town around them is blocking their way. They smash their fists on the wall, shouting, raging, losing hope. Then the last guy left pulls the hand of one of the girls, shouts at the other.

There are stairs on the right, leading down. With no other option, they descend, they run down the stairs and enter a door set ajar. The breath of the maniac, burns hot behind their ears, and thus they don’t think, they run into the basement.

The last of the bunch, a girl dressed as an artist, slips as she rushes down the stairs, and falls, and hits her head on the cement wall. The two turn to her, to help her, but they are too late. The dark figure is standing almost next to them. He eyes them down, his heavy gaze setting ablaze their weak aspirations of performing heroics, challenging their cowardly nature.

Her cries and begging echo through their ears as they turn, they turn and abandon her and run. The Theodore turns towards her, reaches out, his fingers touching her warm with rushing blood locks of hair softly, then tightly.

A series of gut wrenching sounds of something solid smashing against a hard, progressively damper surface echo through the alleyway with a mushy reverb.

Sets of maze-like rooms springs in front of them, without doors, wide and empty. They walk through them, no basement in Greece is this empty, this clean, or this well-lit. The door behind them closes. The monk covers the lock with his hand, he joins his fingers on the other hand into the sign of the cross and crosses himself. He’s a man of great faith, faith and resolve, and when he pulls his hand away the lock looks like it has fused with the wall.

His steps echo in the wide, empty space as he continues his purse, his targets now cornered, literally, cowering at the deepest hall of the basement, at the furthest corner, on their knees. No items or boxes or furniture around to hide or wield as weapons.

A maniacal laughter rips through the heavy air. He steps in the open hall, with his black robes damp and heavy as all the blood of their friends drips off of him. He smiles, a maddening mixture of glee and trance like fervor in his every grimace, every move, every word.

The two late teens remaining, the boy dressed like a rich man and the girl dressed as a politician, they cry and cry, but there's nothing they can do. Nothing they can offer or say to save themselves. They are so young, they scream for help, and yet, they are left to their fate by the world around them. Forgotten, traumatized, battered, and sacrificed in the altar of pointlessness.

As they tremble with fear and cower, unable to master even the weakest defense, to do anything more than to mutter single word begging towards the maniac, his eyes follow their every move, studies them.

He is a man of great faith, his life governed by it, his past clocked in it, and his future, illuminate by it. He rips the cross from his neck and throws it in the ground. He joins his hands, falls to his knees, and begins to prey, to chant. To whom he prays now, as he sets the insignia of Christianity to the cement floor, it is to wonder.

And the cross sinks in the cement, as if it parts it, and the cement covers the cross as if it consumes it, and the kids, they two young souls, they cry and scream, as their feet sink in the cement, they sink slowly and they are devoured by this strange power that surges through the air around them.

Step by step the scene grows further away, as I step back, allowing Theodore to take over at this, the final step of his mission. I take a turn and walk back across the basement. I stand by the door and wait for the monk. I've witnessed everything except of the sinking feeling of watching the slow suffocating death of his two last victims, I spare you of such cruelty, or maybe tantalizingly keep all the gruesome details of it from you, for now..

Everything before this played out exactly as I had planned, but this, this was a show of strength. Theodore is a man of great cruelty, cruelty and…

Five minutes or so later, and here he is, he walks up to me. He's smiling, like a vile child. His once white, once drenched with blood gloves, now smocking where they were touching as he prayed. He looks up to me, with a pitiful need of recognition, of praise. I tell him that he did good, and indeed he did, no matter the divergence into unplanned cruelty.

For I needed a man of great faith, and no master to serve, a man of great potential, and no space to grow in, a man of great malice, and no redeemable attributes. I needed that, because I needed you to know, what you stepping into, what you are looking forward to, and what you are asking for.

Welcome, my accomplices, to a world of internal Crepuscule.

.

The above entry appeared posted in the archive without any relevant information about who, where and when added it or composed it.

This is very troubling and sets the contents of this entry under active investigation.

We’ll allow it to remain uploaded in case we get a ping from an account other than the authorized ones to edit it.

Until further notice, all personal is to treat entries with the prefixed zero at the front of their official entry number as unreliable and highly suspect.

The King who couldn't say goodbye.

16th-century epic from the Kingdom of [REDACTED]

There once was a King, the King of the [REDACTED].

King [REDACTED] was so rich and wealthy, he could buy every stone, every sword and every treasure of the biggest Kingdom of Albion.

He was so refined and trained of taste, he had the best chef, the biggest kitchen and the deepest, fullest pantries of any royal.

He was so cultured and rich of spirit, he had a whole castle full of books, of scrolls and two of every animal of all the world.

He was so cunning and quick of wit, he had never lost a battle, a game or a disagreement across the all the land.

Every villager and peasant looked up at King [REDACTED] and envied him and his wealth, his lifestyle and his birthright as the ruler of all the lands of [REDACTED], and yet they loved him because he was a just ruler.

But King [REDACTED] wasn't happy, not one bit. In his thirty winters of life he had not met a woman, nor a princess or baroness or even a simple seamstress to move his heart and make it pound.

Then, at his thirty-first birthday, a letter was presented to him. The letter came from a neighboring Kingdom, gilded with leaves of gold, and stamped with the reddest of waxes.

The King opened the letter and read it, and more he read, the more his face brightened and cheered.

He was off the next day, accompanied by his two mightiest knights, his wisest scholar and his most acclaimed chef.

For thirty days the King was missing, for thirty days the Kingdom was cloudy, for thirty days the livestock wouldn't give birth or eggs or make no sound other than the one of their footsteps as they would walk.

In the thirty-first day the King returned, with his face brighter than the brightest sun. The cloud parted to shower the road to the castle with the first rays of sun in a month, and the animals sung for his return.

The King’s carriage stopped by the draw bridge of the castle, and the King stepped out of it.

"Throw the bridge." The King said with a wide smile on his lips. "Your King is back."

But the bridge didn't fall, it didn't move. Instead a voice came through the stones of the castle walls, a voice most common, a voice that could be anyone's.

"Who's our King? You are a smiling man. Our King is gloomy and sad. You are not our King."

The King smiled wide and said. "That is true yet false. I am your King, but I'm no longer that King. Rejoice and throw the drawbridge, because your King, has brought your new Queen with him!"

And as the King spoke, he opened the carriage door, and the Queen [REDACTED] the Red stepped out. The Queen was tall and she was beautiful, as any Queen owe to be.

But everyone knew at that moment, that what had King [REDACTED] as King for her hand in marriage, was her eyes. Her eyes were as sharp and curious as only the Kings eyes were, and yet more passionate than even his.

Queen [REDACTED] the Red and King [REDACTED] were married the following week in the year [REDACTED], and an era of prosperity overtook the Kingdom. The years were rolling one after another, harvests each more rich than the previous one, wars breaking more and more rarely and disputes easier to deal with than then one before.

The Kingdom flourished, no beggars were seen in the streets, no plagues took hold in the houses, no famines settled in the fields for years.

Close to two decades passed, two long prosperous decades, but at the year [REDACTED], the Queen fell ill.

King [REDACTED], worried watching his Queen spend her days in bed suffering, moved heaven and earth.

He brought barbers from far away, men of medicine of the olden times, plague doctors too, nobody could tell him what the Queen was sick off, or how to cure her.

He hunted down witches and men of magic and old wise women, threatened them with their own lives to cure his Queen, but alas, all proved to be fake and charlatans.

For ninety long days, the Kingdom sank under heavy rain, livestock drowned, and the rats, they filled every greenery, bringing with them pestilence and starvation.

In the year [REDACTED], Queen [REDACTED] the Red died early in the morning, while the King was missing in a long trip to a nearby Kingdom.

King [REDACTED] had done everything, anything and all he could to save the Queen from the long skeletal hand of the reaper, and yet, his Queen was dead.

The King arrived back in the castle, accompanied by a royal of the neighboring Kingdom, Countess [REDACTED]. With her, Countess [REDACTED] had brought her court, thirteen young female servants.

Countess [REDACTED] stood by as King [REDACTED] broke in tears over his Queen's lifeless body. And then it is said that the Countess gave an order, to the King himself.

"Leave, and don't come back for thirty days, no servant, barber or priest is to come near the Queen's body either. Only thirty young girls are to be brought in front of the door, one each day, their families compensated as if they are to never see their daughters again. That is for you to do, if you want to see your Queen breathing again."

The King did as he was told, and left his Queen's bedroom. And every day, for thirty days, one after another he ordered for a young girl to be brought to the Queen's room. And every night, he had his servants take the girl, now drained from all her color and wits and will to live, and bring her back to her family. And in the thirty-first day, the Countess stepped out of the bedroom, with a wide smile, and a wicked stare.

"My King, oh you might ruler. Wealthier than any man, smarter than any being, luckier than any hero. Your Queen my King, Queen [REDACTED] the Red has awaken from her eternal slumber!"

And the Queen walked out of her chambers, her white death gown now drenched red, and her eyes more crimson than the most precious rubies.

King [REDACTED] saw his Queen, the love of his life, the gem of his Kingdom, and rejoiced. He would do anything for her, and did everything to have her back.

Countess [REDACTED] and her fourteen young female servants took their leave, after rejecting all of the King's treasures and all of his gifts. They hauled book after book, brand new, filled with parchments and notes, into the carriages and left for the Countess' castle.

The Kingdom rejoiced, as if a spell has been lifted off of it, and all the lands and all the fields prosper, under the watchful crimson gaze of Queen [REDACTED] the Red.

That's how much the King loved his Queen that the Kingdom itself wouldn't question the events of her resurrection, or the red of her, and those who did, were outcasts and fools.

Many a year passed, and King [REDACTED] and Queen [REDACTED] the Red lived happily, like if the Queen had never died. And as the years went by, the King would turn white and wise, but the Queen stayed beautiful and red.

And then, one day, the Queen turned to King [REDACTED] and said.

"My King, you who are the wealthiest man in all the Kingdoms, what do you love more, your wealth, or your Queen?"

"My Queen, I love her the most, I love her the deepest, I love her truly." Said the King without a moment's hesitation.

"Then my King..." The Queen closed her eyes and wished. "If your Queen you want to keep alive, give me your riches, your wealth, your treasures."

The King hesitated, just for a moment, but he couldn't smile wider as he replied. "Of course my Queen. I wouldn't miss the treasures one tenth as much as I would miss you." And he ordered for the treasury to be emptied, and for all of the Kingdom's wealth to be laid before his Queens feet.

Queen [REDACTED] the Red looked over the treasure with her crimson eyes, covering the entirety of the throne room, ankle-high, and she smiled.

"Good. Now servants, take the wealth, and throw it in the sea." She ordered, and the King nodded.

For three days and two nights, the servants picked every last coin and chest with jewelry from the castle, traveled to the edge of the cliff, overlooking the greedy sea, and threw the entire country's wealth into the water.

Years passed, and the Kingdom although suffered a fair amount by the loss of its wealth, was prosperous, and full of love. And the King was no more the richest man in all the Kingdoms, but he was still the happiest.

And then, one day, the Queen turned to King [REDACTED] and said.

"My King, you who are the most refined man in all the lands, what do you love more, your treats and meals, or your Queen?"

"My Queen, I love her the most, I love her the deepest, I love her truly." Said the King without a moment's hesitation.

"Then my King..." The Queen closed her eyes and wished. "If your Queen you want to keep alive, give me your royal chef, your kitchen, your pantry."

The King hesitated, just for a moment or two, but he smiled widely as he replied. "Of course my Queen. I wouldn't miss the meals one-fifth as much as I would miss you." And he ordered for the pantries and the kitchen to be emptied, and for the best chef in the Kingdom to be brought before her Queen's feet.

Queen [REDACTED] the Red looked over the utensils and all the rare ingredients with her crimson eyes, covering the entirety of the throne room, knee high, and she smiled.

"Good. Now servants, take them all, and bury them in the earth." She ordered. "And you, you can either join them, or have your hands locked forever." She said to the chef, and the King nodded.

For six days and five nights, the servants picked every last utensil and ingredient from the castle, traveled deep in the biggest forest, reaching the widest opening, and dug a hole as big and as deep as a church and buried the King's oldest love in the earth.

At the last day, a blacksmith took the best chef of the Kingdom to his forge, and enclosed his hands, every digit tightly in solid iron gloves, and sealed them.

Years passed, and although the Kingdom's diplomacy suffered because of the quality of the royal feasts offered to visiting royals, it was still prosperous, and full of love. And the King was no more the most well-fed man in all the Kingdoms, but he was still the happiest.

And then, one day, the Queen turned to King [REDACTED] and said.

"My King, you who are the most educated man in all the lands, what do you love more, your collection of knowledge, or your Queen?"

"My Queen, I love her the most, I love her the deepest, I love her truly." Said the King without a moment's hesitation.

"Then my King..." The Queen closed her eyes and wished. "If your Queen you want to keep alive, give me your royal library, your art, your zoo."

The King paused, remained silent for a minute, but he nodded as he replied. "Of course my Queen. I wouldn't miss all the knowledge in the world half as much as I would miss you."

Queen [REDACTED] the Red traveled to King [REDACTED] royal castle with a group of his most loyal guards, looked over the concentrated mountain of knowledge with her crimson eyes, and she smiled.

"Good. Now guards, take the torches, lock every door and every exit, and set the fire ablaze. Let all the knowledge rise in the sky and hide the sun."

For ten days and nine nights, the castle full of books, parchments art and the biggest zoo across the continent burned, and the smoke lifted, and the black clouds hid the sun.

Years passed, and although the Kingdom's arts suffered and the peasants became dumber, it was still prosperous, and full of love. And the King was no more the most educated man in all the Kingdoms, but he was still the happiest.

And then, one day, the Queen turned to King [REDACTED] and said.

"My King, you who are the smartest man in all the lands, what do you love more, your intelligence, or your Queen?"

"My Queen, I love her the most, I love her the deepest, I love her truly." Said the King without a moment's hesitation.

"Then my King..." The Queen closed her eyes and wished. "If your Queen you want to keep alive, give me your eyes, your ears, your tongue."

The King was silent, and he remained silent. When he finally spoke he looked at his Queen, his loving partner for fifty years now.

"My Queen." He said slowly, for the first time attempting to barter. "That can't be done, because even though I love you more than my own self, how can I love you if I lack that with which I get to experience you in my life?"

"My King." Replied Queen [REDACTED] the Red with her crimson eyes wide and sharp. "You will experience me through the love we share, the love we show and the love we perform, because to feel my love you don't need to be whole, just to be the one who loves me."

King [REDACTED] exhaled deeply, and looked away from his beautiful Queen for the first time in so many years. This was an argument he couldn't win. "My Queen, I love you more than I can express, but you ask of me too much, for the first time... Will you truly die if I don't give you my eyes, my ears, and my tongue?"

The Queen remained silent and she nodded. Then she smiled, her red eyes full of love. "Then my King, let us share our love, for one last night."

That night the King and the Queen locked themselves in the Queen's deathbed chambers and they consummated their love all night, and the next day, the King was found by the servants in the Queen's deathbed alone, naked, and with his eyes, his ears and his tongue removed and held in his hands, like if he had himself ripped them out, after losing his Queen.

But the Queen's body was nowhere to be found in the room, the castle, the whole Kingdom.

Nobody in the Kingdom saw the Queen [REDACTED] the Red again, and no man dared to say her name or talk about her beauty, or her character other than mentioning her red eyes.

Because if a man is to speak of how lovely and how impressive the Queen was, the rumors say she would appear to him, and make him prove his love to her same as her King.

.

The text above has been passed from generation to generation along the lands of the [REDACTED] empire, with its earliest estimated performance being during the sixteenth century.

It is considered an epic, or as it’s more conventionally understood, a poem, and in the current zeitgeist could be considered a myth, a legend or even a campfire story.

"You'll die in five days."

I was in the bathroom, brushing my teeth.

I was about to leave for work, begin my day, business as usual.

Work, home, groceries, home, work, home, night out, home, work. A routine, for sure, but one I commanded. One I controlled. One in which I wasn't hearing voices, letting me know the moment of my death.

The toothbrush fell off my hand, toothpaste foam splattered everywhere in my sink.

I looked up, turned my head around. Puzzled, surprised, shocked, in my underwear, no shirt, not even a tank top.

"What the fuck? Who said that?!"

I lived alone. Just a twenty-something guy, living on my on, working as a store clerk, barely making rent, but making it I did. I hadn't been on a date for a while, my family in another state. I had friends, sure, a few but I did, and a few people I knew from work, nobody I felt close enough to give'em a spare house key.

The ugly little bathroom at my half-empty studio apartment was empty, barely had a couple towels hanging off of the side of the shower and a tp roll next to the toilet.

On the upper left corner, near the window, I saw a small but dense spider web, the tiny critter walking lazily across it.

I shook my head. It's nothing, I said to myself, nothing to worry about.

"You'll die in four days."

My spoon fell out of my hand, sinking into my salad with a loud clank sound.

My coworker sitting at the couch of the break room lifted his head. I looked back, trying to decide if it was him. He was an older black man, with a deep, booming voice.

"What?" I asked, staring at him, waiting for a reply.

"Nothing brother, just that spoon, is all good." He shrugged and looked back down at his smartphone, probably betting or placing predictions as he usually did.

I narrowed my eyes. I've heard before about blacks doing white voices, speaking like top salesmen and...

"Judging a man by the color of his skin alone."

"WHAT THE FUCK?!?" I stood up. I was staring at the man, and his lips didn't move, they didn't fucking move! I looked around, shaking with fear and anger! What was thing? Where did it came from? How did it hear my thoughts and WHY was it calling me racist???

"Hey man... are you ok?" I looked back at my coworker sitting at the couch, staring at me with a worried look, on some level a genuinely worried look, but certainly not just for my well-being.

"I... am, I'm not sure... Hey, did you hear a voice?"

"A voice? No... no I didn't hear anything... What was it saying?"

"A voice? Did I say a voice?! Heh, no, no, I meant like a voice, did you hear a sound, it seemed like a voice to me, I thought that I heard something I mean, hehehe. Don't, don't worry about it."

"Oh. Ok. So... what did you think you heard that voice saying?"

The man looked at me with his big almond eyes. I was starting to feel my face flaring up. I can't tell him, I can't tell him either of the two things that voice had just told me. I shrugged as naturally and most convincingly as I could and replied.

"I mean, I don't know, that's why I'm asking you, you know? It was too quite to make out... maybe someone is speaking outside the breakroom. Like, you know, gossiping and shit."

I said, I said and made a face and I shrugged again and I exhaled with an air of lite contempt about the whole thing. My salad bowl was overturned, my lunch was ruined, my clothes, my work suit had a few major olive oil and vinegar stains, but it's all good, right? Please don't ask more about how a voice told me that I was about to die and what a horrible, racist person I am. Please let it go.

"Heh, yeah, it must have been bud. Nough to jumpscare you. Bet you thought was that new girl from yo department, ha? You two being giving eachother the rizz eyes."

I entertained the older black mans curiocity with a little chit chat, trying to lie to myself, not admit that I was practically begging for some distraction, something to make me forget of the voice, but I was totally desperate for it. I was craving, practically begging for a tiny little departure from my current train of thought.

It wasn't helping, at the start, but the new girl did look rather fine, so it eventually did.

"You'll die in three days."

I tried. I really tried to forget about what happened yesterday, and the day before.

You see, I've googled it, I googled what voices in the head mean. The first thing I found was that's what people call their thoughts when they think in sentences or whatever, which is clearly not my case.

The second was auditory hallucinations, mostly caused by long-term mental issues... and that's also not it... I would have guessed so earlier... right? I mean, stress does sometimes cause all types of hallucinations. That was a good enough explanation… for now.

The third thing, it was some religious blogpost, about people hearing the voice of god, or at least his spokesperson, Metatron. I... doubt I'm used to pass on the divine will of the Christian god or whatever, but...

I lowered my hand, placed the spoon down on the little dessert plate. In an attempt to, just, ignore my, issue, I had made plans with friends. Coffee place outing, but I ain't much for the bean. I had a dessert.

My mouth filled with bitterness. One of my friends sitting across from me, speaking and speaking, talking about life and relationships and housework and stuff, routine stuff, casual, boring, safe topics.

He didn't act like he heard anything, none of the people I was sitting with did. We were seated in the middle of a crowded space, people all around us yapping and yapping, my ears buzzing, I always get a level of sensory overload in these places, but its worth it, for the socializing.

None of them, not one, acted like they've heard a clear voice, a clear and loud voice, telling any one of us that they were about to die in a couple of days. That shit would cut through real quick. I was starting to ponder the possibility of having an actual mental breakdown... I guess stress could do that to you.

"I'll be right back, gonna order some more." I stood up and smile to the rest, all brave and shit. I made my way to the back of the store, right at the bar.

"Yeah, can I have one, no, two more profiteroles? And some water for the table. Thank you." I said, paid and left, back to my table.

It wasn't long till the waiter arrived with my sweet treats. He took them off the tray and placed them along with the big glass jar full of water on the small coffee table we were all sitting around.

A number of my pals, my buddies, had their gaze turned to my little pity menu, my poor attempt to bury my uneasiness on addiction. I smiled and shrugged. "I guess I'm developing quite the sweet tooth nowadays. Hehe." They chuckled alongside me. They were some nice, non-judgmental company, even if they might have started getting a little worried.

I wolfed down the first plate, the sweet, sugary concoction lingering on the inside of my mouth, tasty, made to perfection. I might have caught their eyes once more, eating like if I was starving, like I hadn't just downed a whole plate of sweet, creamy profiterole already.

Didn't care. Couldn't afford to care if I came off as a fatty or a greedy gremlin boy, eating three plates of dessert in one sitting. I was losing myself in the fix, and that was enough for me, for now. That was enough.

I placed the empty plate out, reached for the third. My pals were still talking, about something and other, I wasn't paying attention anymore.

The utensil sank in the soft putting-esque surface of the desert. I scooped it up, a professional at eating this chocolate masterpiece by now, and lifted my hand to my mouth, leading the spoon right into my gaping maw.

Lips closed around the cold utensil, and I devoured the first bite of the third plate of my second favorite dessert.

"Eating massive amounts of sucrose, way more than your organism requires."

I froze up. Spoon in my mouth, hand holding it. My eyes going wide. Did this thing... could this thing, somehow, some fucking how... taste, the dessert, I was eating?!

My friends yelped and snapped their heads towards me, with wide, surprised eyes, expression of surprise and fear, soon to shift into puzzled and worried ones. My hand was bleeding, holding the remnant of the plate, the broken, jagged edges of the porcelain digging in my hand. I guess I placed the dessert on the metallic coffee table a little too hard, a little too fast.

"A-are you ok?" My childhood crash turned best friend, sitting next to me asked. She reached for my hand, I was shaking, I was trembling and shaking and... and...

"F-fine... I, ammm... I just remembered that... I missed a... a..."

My mind was running a thousand meters as minute. I had to come up with something, something to explain away my reaction, something to, something believable to hide my evident terror with. not easy to do when your whole intellect is devoured by sort of existential questions, questions about your sanity, your mental health, searching through any and all available memories. Do we have a mental case in the family? And... what if this wasn't... mental illness? I mean... that would be better... right? Or worse? Shit, would that mean that I was in ACTUAL danger?!

"... the deadline! Yeah, to pay a bill, and now... I'll have to, pay a fine and... I just got pissed... with myself." I replied, unable to force a smile on my face, but at least covering for my insanely animated being.

"Oh... That's... unfortunate but, what's happened happened. No reason to get so worked up about it now, right buddy?" She smiled at me. Everyone around me was smiling in a very friendly, very understanding and reassuring manner. I nodded. I couldn't master a grimace convincing enough to join them.

"Yeah. I suppose you are right. I'll take care of it... I'll, take care of it."

"You'll die in two days."

“SHUT UP!”

I screamed. I screamed deep into my house. I screamed off the top of my lungs. I screamed as I’ve never screamed before.

Sitting up at my bed. It was morning, no, it was noon. I’ve laid there for hours after I woke up, gathering my strength, my thoughts, my will to go on. To go on knowing, knowing this was a about to happen at some point within the day.

What happened yesterday had really messed me up. I think I’ve went to bed last night around four in the morning? I just couldn’t, couldn’t forget about it anymore. I couldn’t bring myself to calm down.

I’ve forgotten to shower, have dinner, brush my teeth, do laundry, make lunch for the next day, the next workday. I’ve spent all that time in front of a screen, trying my best to distract myself.

Trying, and failing.

The voice was ringing in my ears still. The words burning in my hippocampus, burying themselves deep within my short-term memory. I’m gonna die, what is this? I’m gonna die?! Even if I WAS crazy, how and why would I be calling my very end like that? No, no! This MUST have been something else, SOMEONE else, talking to me, drilling into my life.

I stepped out the bed, shaking, trembling. I had to get up, to start my day. I had to be at work soon, way too soon. And then groceries, and all the other shit I hadn’t done last night.

My nostrils caught a scent a vile scent. I raised my arm. Fuck. I was sweating off all that stress and worry and fear throughout yesterday, wasn’t I? I smell like a trash can, left in the sun. Now I had to take a shower before work. Now I would be REALLY late.

“Your personal hygiene reaching compromising levels for your social standing. Too many fear hormones going off.”

“WHAT THE HELL!? H-how?! Where, how, why, what??? How can you… Can you smell me now?!” I shouted out, my eyes bulging out at this point! This was insane, this WAS insane, this was INSANE!

What was happening was insane, it had no explanation, it was driving me mental. If I wasn’t crazy up until now, I would surely, surely end up… end up doing something extreme.

I gritted my teeth.

No… this is what this was, wasn’t it? Did I just figure it out? Whatever this is… it’s trying to make me… it’s testing my resistances… it’s trying to drive so, unstable, I’ll be willing to self-fulfill its prophecy… Or something…

For the first time in a while, I smirked. I’ve figured it out! This thing can hear me, smell me, fuck, maybe even taste what I eat… but that’s all. It needs ME to do the rest myself. It needs ME to end my own life.

It wasn’t going to happen. It was NOT gonna win!

“You lost! You hear me NOW motherfucker?! I figured it out, you can’t kill me, can’t do it yourself, you want me to do your dirty work. But I won’t, do you hear me?! You, have, lost this bet.” I declared with righteous pride.

“You’ll die tomorrow.”

The edge of my lips curled upwards.

I was reading a magazine, waiting at a doctor’s lobby. An acquaintance of mine, a psychologist with a little something on the side.

“Yeah, yeah, blow it out’f your ass will you?” I whispered to myself, I knew it could hear me somehow. This fucker, whatever it was, it was keeping close. After four days, I knew his tricks, hell, HER tricks maybe. The voice wasn’t female per se, but it wasn’t that deep either.

Either way, whatever it was, its was going away. It might have lost it’s hold on me, I was hardly worried now. I knew its game. I KNEW it’s mo, it’s goal evident from the first moment, its tactics giving away its own limitations.

I wasn’t gonna break so easily though, no. I wasn’t gonna give in to its demands. I scoffed to myself as I heard my name, folding the magazine and placing it on the glass surface of the lobby’s coffee table.

And in any case, just to be sure, I’ve made an appointment to get my hands on a certain death switch for this whole situation, my endgame solution.

I stepped into the office of Dr. Elizabeth [REDUCTED], psychiatrist for the past ten years, a real master of the craft, or so I’ve heard.

“Hey doc, how’s it going?” She smiled back at me, forty-something and still drop-dead gorgeous. That’s how you end up meeting people in useful professions these days, through date apps. And if you treat them well, and if you show them a good time, well, sometimes you end up with a hook-up booty call, and sometimes with much more than that, I suppose.

“Hello there [REDUCTED], how have you been?”

“You know. Just grinding away, living that life. Interesting times to be alive I suppose.”

She nodded. With everything going on in the country, people like her, with much to lose, were having a hard time keeping their opinions to themselves.

“It’s certainly being a, challenging, few months.”

“More like a year.” I said and sat down at the couch.

“Indeed… But we should, start our little meeting. After all, we don’t have much time.” She replied, sitting behind her desk.

“I know, and thank you again for agreeing to see me in such a short notice. I REALLY need a refill, that’s all.” I said more genuinely than ever before, dropping my voice to a whisper at my last sentence.

Elizabeth look at me for a second, like if she was weighing me. I smiled at her with an even more authentic worry in my eyes than I thought I could fake. She wasn’t the greedy type, which meant that it always took a big of convincing.

“Listen, [REDUCTED], I know I’ve been, eager, to help you deal with your stress in the past through, chemical means, but, you seemed like you’ve been dealing with it alright for the past couple of months, even with everything going on… I guess what I’m trying to say is that, I don’t think you really need the pills anymore.”

My heartbeat quickened. It’s not like I was worried, no… no, I wasn’t worried. But, as they say, better safe than sorry.

“That’s, true. And, I’m sorry for not making an appointment earlier, but… I felt really… pressured earlier this week, and I don’t know why, I don’t know where or how. I even tried to deal with those feelings myself, believe me, I tried…” I spoke, counting my words, counting how much and what exactly I was goanna give away.

I didn’t wanna scare her TOO much now, did I? After all, after tomorrow, I wouldn’t have to worry anymore.

“And, I just need, you know, a moderate amount, in case I feel like, I’m losing control, again…”

“Oh… I didn’t know that… did something happened? Did you had an episode throughout those few days or…” She asked with genuine interest.

I lifted my arm, my first instinct to play dumb, to right off play the importance of the situation off.

“Ehh… maybe?” I replied, my right hand with the palm facing down and the wrist twisting lightly in a so so gesture softening my admission. “Nothing really dramatic happened, but, I think the stress is getting on me. My nerves… like, I was out with friends yesterday, and I placed a dish down on some coffee table with such, force, I broke it, and… Like, that’s all, you know? Nothing really happened, not really, but… for better or worse, I thought, being that I have a history of stress… that you could do me a solid, give me some Xanax or, so I can have them in my pocket, use them like a deterrent, or like, a placebo.

She shook her head, taking an understanding expression.

“I see… That’s certainly the responsible way to go about it.” She replied, and turned her gaze to her desk, reaching down.

I heard unlocking and then the unmistakable sound of a draw being drawn out.

“But, listen, if anything, anything more severe happens, I want you to reach out, ok?” She said, placing three pills on the varnished wooden surface of the desk.

“Certainly! Thank you, thank you doctor, you have no idea how reassuring it is to hear that.” I said standing up and walking to the desk.

I pulled a pill bottle off my pocket, opened it up and with my other hand reached for the pills. I was already reaching for the first one.

“So, how have you been? We haven’t really caught up in a while.” I said as I reached for the second.

“You know, working, treating patients… trying to do so correctly in some cases anyway, thanks to the new reality we live in.” She began speaking, her expression changing to one of frustration. I was about to reach for the third pill.

“The last one of your chemical dependency concoctions, so round and useless.”

My fingers held the little round pill. My eyes widened, looking down to the desk as the doctor was talking away in front of me. The voice, it could see me now, it saw the pills, does it see my future too?!

The bell rang. One of the nurses walked up to the door. We were about to get caught, I have no idea how bad this would be but it couldn’t be good, right? I was so lost, so frozen and empty to what just happened inside my head, that I didn’t pay any attention to the doctor’s icy gaze as she repeated for me to take the pill quickly.

I couldn’t do it, I couldn’t even hear her, or at least register her voice… but it did. My fingers gripped the pill on their own, and brought it in the little bottle without my involvement, dropped it inside and then shoved the bottle in my pocket, moving during this whole time with arcing motions so unlike mine. I wanted to scream, I wanted to shout out, to speak, to ask for help, as the door opened.

“Dr [REDUCTED], your next appointment awaits.” Said the nurse.

“Very well, bring them in.” Elizabeth said and stood up. She turned to me with a soft, yet commanding smile. “It was nice seeing you again [REDUCTED]. Take care.

My neck moved on its own, brought my gaze up to hers. She was gonna see me now, see my expression of total and utter panic plastered across my face, I was sure of it. Even if I wasn’t controlling my hand and neck, surely I had still some control over my own b…

“Of course doctor. Lets make a proper appointment soon, ok? Goodbye.” My lips moved on their own, air rushed from my lungs to my larynx and through my vocal cords without my input, words forming unlike the ones I was thinking.

She shook its hand, and then my once legs turned me around and marched me out of the well-lit office.

“Your heart is pounding too fast. I will calm it down.” The voice said, and I felt my pounding heart slowing down, my panicking state slowly, forcefully, ripped from me, as I lost control, as I my sight began dimming and dimming.

I could hear my body taking steps, but not for long, as the sound went away too not long after. My mouth, still wet with excessive saliva thanks to my earlier panicked state, now begun feeling just heavy with liquid, no taste. It was followed closely by my sense of smell, just as I was standing next to the door of the medical office, smelling the scent of the fresh flowers in the vase by the coat hanger for the last time.

All I was now was consciousness, sloshing around in a vessel that bobbed and weaved as my body was walking, walking, walking away.

I could feel a certain numbness, that’s all I could feel anymore anyway, with my stress lowered and my heartbeat normalized forcefully anyway, a certain, blunt numbness… rising, through my limbs, my core.

I felt the faint weight of three small egg-shaped pills jiggling around in a bottle in the pocket of my jacket, and then, nothing.

I have no idea how long I’ve spend like that… locked away from my body, like if I was sleeping, I guess, but I know I wasn’t.

Whatever part of my brain responsible for forming dreams wasn’t online anymore, or at least I didn’t had access to it, even if I did had access to my thoughts and memories.

I remember feeling like I was next to others, myriad of others, billions of others… and yet alone. Locked away, alone, so alone, so, so alone…

.

“And then you wokhe me up… How?”

“That’s not important. Do you not remember anything, anything after visiting Dr [REDUCTED]? It’s been three days since the date of your appointment according to her office logs.”

“No… Thhree days… I guess… wait, is she ok? I diddn’t… IT, diddn’t do anyfhing to her… right?”

“That’s classified info… Yes sir. She’s fine sir, don’t worry about her.”

“O-ok… what thould I be worried about? I hiear… buzzing.”

“Don’t worry about that either. All you need to worry about is remembering everything you can until then and now. Do you remember what happened after that moment?”

“I toldd you no! W-what hiappened? I can see you now, I can hear you, I can smell, I can touch… oh my god… m-my handhs! They are so, bloodthy! A-and fhull of woundths and, and…”

“Relax [REDUCTED], please, try to control yourself. This is very important…”

“OH MY GOD! W-WHAT HAPPENEDTH TO ME?! WHAT DIDH IT DO WITHH MY BAWDYY… Wh… what the fffuck… why can’th I speakh well?”

“It’s not important, you are missing a few teeth, and your larynx has, seen better days, that’s all. Please, focus! Can’t you remember anything?!”

“A few teeff?! Are you theriouth??? And what about all the bloodth? A-and… are these h-holes, bulleth holeths in my chesth?! Wh-where even am I?! Who are you?? WHAT HAPPFENTh?!”

“Mister [REDUCTED], as far as the public knows, you are the main perpetrator of a terrorist attack.”

“W-what?! Y-you are kidnding! You are kidnding, right? You muft be, you muft be! I c-couldn’t possibly d-do somefhing like t…”

“No, you couldn’t, but whatever took your body over, did… I’m also afraid, it wasn’t lying… you are dead. You died last night at the ground zero, by sustaining multiple gunshots on the chest, collapsing most of your vital organs.”

“... H-how I’m still alive? Who are you people?”

“Son… you are not alive. Not anymore. These little critters, they are doing all the heavy lifting right now, but we won’t torment you for much longer. Thank you, for your invaluable input on gathering information about that, voice. Your contribution won’t be forgotten. You can unplug him now.”

“W-what? Are you therious? No, NO!”

“Right away general [REDUCTED]”

“W-wait! Wait wait! I will remember, I swear! I’m sure th-there’s something I forgot, l-let me…”

“Poor fucker…”

“May thought make him whole in the fifth… No time for tears though I’m afraid. Let’s go boys. We got work to do.”

.

End of recording.

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