It's a lonely night,
To spend in fright,
But I am home
Looking for a bite.
Nothing in the cellar,
Nothing in pantry,
So I'll set my sights down,
From the gantry.
There is a man,
Lonely and sad,
But soon enough,
He'll be running like mad.
Through the alleys and the street,
But someone who helps,
He never will meet.
In a coup de grace after the game,
His blood will flow all the same.
Through the cobbles and the dirt,
Staining his sweaty and old white shirt.
Excerpt from "Ferality and Vampirism", Unknown author, published in 1889.
The poem is dated to the early 18th century.
This is the only part of the book that was recovered from the transcription before it was stolen by the person who was doing the work. Markus Freiherr has worked for the institution as a clerk since being assigned to us.
He was recruited from the infantry after being almost court martialed during the Great War, his father, being of lesser nobility, had him transferred to our institution against our better wishes.
The biggest issue is that the book was never in our direct possession. He managed to get a job working on transcribing lesser work as well as unimportant deskwork. Someone from the outside must've given him the book.
The chaos the war brought made it impossible to track his work, however, there were murders that could be ascribed to him. I don't know how much of the true him is really left...
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what compelled you to join the occult research section? was it between that and the infantry?
There are quite a few reasons for my position within this specific type of military intelligence.
The middling relevance of my house could still guarantee that I wouldn't be among the first ones to have my blood spilled for Kaiser und Vaterland.
Another one was a mix of personal experience with the arcane and supernatural. You can't deny that what doesn't kill you makes you, at least, interested in it.
However, despite all of that, my position as Head Information Officer in this department is the fact that I was one of its founders. The Fifth Section was formed up around me, but not under me. I still answer to the director of the Bureau, to my overall detriment.
I have to walk through fog thicker than chlorine gas and I end up... where..?
Will it be Vienna or will it be Moscow?
Will it be Richmond or will it be Shanghai?
I get to a shelf and reach for a file. It's not empty, but it looks like what a document should be at a glance. The crest is wrong and nonsensical. The signature is just a line with no rhyme or reason...
Wait a minute, are the letters moving..? They must be. I can now make out a sentence. This used to be nothing but a smudge, a blur.
There is a picture of a person beginning to form. Who is this? Do they know something? Do I know them..?
The name still hasn't assembled itself and the face is still like a faded memory...
Wait. There is something liquid moving on my glove. Closing the document, I see that the ink is bleeding out of the document like a wound.
There is a sharp pain. It's burning through my glove like acid. I have to rip it off. There is a burn on the palm of my hand. I wonder if it will leave a mark? Most things don't anymore.
Why is this happening to me? I just need to remember...
We have an arrow barrage heading towards us from the east. The Japanese have finally decided to try their luck at this dangerous game. Tensions have been high, but my work cannot be ended by such a folly.
Our net is detecting at least ten launches, some of which are targeting KolozsvΓ‘r, Pressburg, Agram, etc... The Kaiser, always a diplomat, sent a call to the embassy to clarify the situation. No reply for 10 minutes...
The Sumatra crisis has been looming in the mind of the world for a month and, with recent losses in the Philippine sea, they seem ready to link themselves to the mortal struggle.
1 minute until Launch
No orders from Wien. No message and no communication aside from chatter. They might be crossed out already. We are moving to maximum preparations. Silos are open and bombers are in the air.
30 seconds until Launch
Still no information aside from radar readings. The long range missile operators have been set to maximum readiness. The keys and codes are ready for a momentary launch. This might be really it.
10 seconds until Launch
No contact from adjacent stations or the Kaiserliches und KΓΆnigliches Strategisches Kommando. I am not a religious person, but this might be the time for a prayer. May the One above us forgive this.
5 seconds until Launch
I confirmed the order. I hope that I'm not wrong.
Keys have been turned and the shells are in the air. I don't know if I'll survive this.
It's odd, but not unfamiliar. This place that I'm in is perfect to the milimetre.
Vienna, 1963
I wake up. It is always 7:26, no matter how long I stay in bed. Craving the same tea and biscuits, the morning begins.
I finish eating and reading the daily paper which talked about the bankruptcy at MΓVAG. After a while, I learned it by heart.
No matter what I do next, be it shaving, cleaning or even running, the sirens always start at 10:01.
When I stay inside, the city is awfully quiet for what is about to happen. Outside, it's pandemonium where no one notices or even crashes into me. Such orderly chaos and panic feels horrible.
The flash no longer blinds me. I can now look at every pulsing wave of that ball of sheer heat and power. Each ripple in that orb of light is now observable to me.
Time slows and I can see cracks form rapidly on the window of my living room.
It cracks open and, as my clothing begins combusting, I turn in my bed and see that it is 7:26...
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Primary information
Classification: Person
Sub-category: Enemy Informant
Relation to the bureau: Prisoner Occult Support
Date of contact: ββββββββββ
Last location: βββββββββ
Personal information:
Carlo Hardouin, suspected member of the Arcane Society. Found unconscious due to blood loss, possibly self-inflicted wound. Detained after Trieste raid. Captured with an, up until now, undeciphered book.
Current imprisonment procedures:
Solitary confinement with one meal a day, constant light exposure which cannot be turned off by the prisoner
Shared cell in the basement, increased rations and three meals a day. One shower a week
Single prisoner containment cell with table, table lamp and access to the local library. Allowed out of the prison under guard. Granted officer guard meals and daily shower access
Logs:
Brought to βββββββββ prison.
Interrogated after the chance of survival was deemed acceptable.
After recovering to a certain degree, the prisoner was put to regular punishment to extract information Force applied: beatings, electrocution, lashes, starvation, bullet wounds applied to limbs.
Following a week of aforementioned treatment, the prisoner became more cooperative after being offered certain privileges for translating and explaining the book captured alongside him.
Relocation confirmed and completed.
After a certain amount of work, we have gained knowledge on the Arcane Society's activities and connections. As a benefit, prisoner was elevated in status and given further facilities.
At this time, this document is to be burned.
Mr. Hardouin is to be hired, but kept under watch.
[CLASSIFIED]
Hardouin... Hardouin... I cannot being explaining how much I hate Hardouin! That little weasel! A cockroach unbefitting an atom of oxygen, much less what he got.
I swore to myself the day I was scarified to stop his work and cursed to this torment, I will kill that man every. single. time... I try to stop myself, but each times I see those malicious Italian eyes, I feel nothing but hatred of the highest order!
My fondest memories from that first experience with the physical, the week of bloody torture I have inflicted on that man are my dearest sensation ever felt in retrospect. I beat him. I shot him...
My only regret was that not a single bullet found the inside of his skull...
March of the Austrian garrison during the Tianjin Incursion, 1926
Tianjin, the concession obtained by the Danubian monarchy after the Boxer rebellion. I was once stationed there as a member of the Tianjin Seamen Detachment as an adjoined Information and Decryption Officer. There was another assignment I was on, but I am yet to recover the full files.
After the war, during the Chinese Civil War, a battalion of local Communist militia under the command of a warlord based in Manchuria attempted to gain prestige and legitimacy by overwhelming the small garrison. Unfortunately for the attackers, it was a year before that a defunded, but still mostly equipped, field artillery regiment was shipped over to China as a token reinforcement.
The mass attack was stopped after a week of heavy attacks, but relatively small loses to our forces. We lost under 50 men, while the number of Chinese participants and casualties is officially unknown, but was at least ten times greater.
I mostly stuck to my work, stayed inside and had plenty of tea.
Primary information
Classification: Item
Sub-category: Ring
Procurement method: Confiscated from personal collection
Date of procurement: ββββββββββ
Location of origin: Wien
Additional information:
This object was taken away for the βββββββββββββββ family, with some reluctance from their side. Claimed to be a family heirloom passed down through generations due to a curse.
In living memory, three of the female member who wore it died relatively shortly after marriage due to symptoms such as vomiting blood, skin peeling, etc. There were no signs of foul play and the house was thoroughly searched for poisons or chemicals of any kind.
Upon closer examination, the ring appeared normal at first. The outside was golden, with an intricate oak leaf motif. At another look, there was writing on the inside. DONEC MORS NOS SEPARET. Translated from Latin, it reads "Until death do us part."
After further analysis, the writing glowed in the dark. With probable cause, we stashed it far from human contact and gave the researchers, particularly Dr. βββββββββ, who primarily handled this object.
[END OF DOCUMENT]
Ah, finally a case that I can confidently chalk up to a natural occurrence. Without a doubt, all of the women in question died of acute radiation poisoning. The Belle Γpoque claimed many a victim to style and the illusion of beauty, with complete ignorance of the price of their folly.
This document doesn't have much, but I am glad to have found it regardless. I need the ordinary to keep me grounded. The inscription is quite poetic.
