I sat in our dark bedroom, the computer screen glaring with a harsh, white light. A banner flashed before my eyes: “Seek wisdom by understanding yourself.”
“Chloe, check this out,” I called over my shoulder to my girlfriend playing The Sims on her laptop.
She glanced up, her brow furrowing in confusion before giving me a bemused look. “What the hell are you looking at?” she asked.
“It’s some cult,” I replied, unable to hide my fascination. “I fell down a rabbit hole and found this local place downtown. It's a derivative of Aleister Crowley and Golden Dawn bullshit.” I pointed to the Google Street View image of a dilapidated storefront in an ethnic shopping center.
She smirked, a hint of amusement in her eyes. “I never pegged you as the religious type.”
“Check this out,” I continued, clicking through the site. “They have some photos.”
We spent some time going through the albums celebrating various solstices. Most were taken in an odd room with black and white checkered floors, adorned with Egyptian pseudo-artifacts, bathed in the glow of red and purple lights that transformed the scene into a surreal dreamscape.
The people certainly had an alternative vibe. Tattoos were plentiful, but other than that they looked like they came from all different walks of life. Many of them looked like they had their fair share of bullying in high school - no shortage of that. But most of them looked relatively normal aside from the occasional piercing.
One photograph in particular caught my eye. A woman, sitting in a bright red room, sat on an altar, holding a staff in her right hand, wearing nothing. A man was kneeled before her, his arms tied behind him, rope anchored to the ceiling. They were sliding a knife down his back, a small trickle of blood dripping to the floor.
“Damn,” Chloe started. “She’s butt-ass naked.”
“You wanna go?” I asked. “They’re having a get together tonight.”
“You know what, fuck it. Why not? It’s not like we’re doing anything.” she replied.
“Good,” I smiled, standing up. “Because I already ordered an Uber.”
She sighed before opening a drawer and pulling out a small pipe. “I’ll go, but i'm not going sober.”
It was a cold, shitty Seattle winter night. We got dropped off in the parking lot and spent a few minutes looking for the storefront. We finally found it next to a dog groomer and Pho restaurant with some pun for the name I can’t seem to remember.
We entered the shop, which consisted of two narrow isles separated by wood shelves barely big enough for me to fit down. We spent some time looking at the various items, my attention diverting to a vial of elk blood. I remember wondering if they were even allowed to sell this without some type of medical certification they definitely did not have while Chloe shuffled through a bowl of mix and match crystals.
“Can I help you?” I heard a woman say from the back as she emerged from a beaded curtain. She was a short, overweight woman wearing what I could only describe as a sports bra and hula skirt.
“Hi, uh,” I stuttered. “I’m George and this is Chloe. We’re here for the… winter solstice celebration?”
“Oh, goodie! Newcomers!” she said with an out of place, overjoyed expression as she clapped her hands. Chloe and I laughed nervously.
“The door is in the back, but you can come through here just this time.” she said with a smile, arm holding the beaded curtain open.
We walked through a dark hallway, somehow more cramped than the shop, into a rather large room. A gaggle of people were huddled in the back, which Chloe and I quietly shuffled into.
A bearded man paraded around the room, white robes and red headdress cascading into a cloak, knuckles adorned with several large rings gripping a spear, held vertically in front of him. Behind him, another bald man, white robes and yellow cloak, followed behind, white sleeves crossed over his chest.
I glanced at Chloe’s bloodshot eyes, THC clearly flowing through her system. I gave her a knowing look, as if to say Having fun yet? She returned a slow smile.
Without warning, the entire crowd clapped their hands together over their heads as a woman in blue robes walked past, waving a censure leaking white smoke. We awkwardly followed to match the group.
The blue curtains on the back wall opened to reveal an older Asian woman sitting perched on the altar I saw in the photos, again, completely naked. And before you ask, no. She wasn’t attractive. It’s never the ones you hope it is. The red robed man kneeled down and softly kissed her knees.
I glanced back at Chloe. Her smile was so big I was afraid she was going to laugh at any moment. I pinched her on the side and whispered into her ear “Do. Not. Fucking. Laugh”. Honestly, I think I just made it worse. Her face turned beet red as she bit her cheeks.
The ritual went on for another half hour or so. They must’ve said “Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the law” at least a dozen times.
We were getting kind of bored and were ready to leave before the woman in the blue robes wandered in with a caged chicken.
"No fucking way" I thought. Surely enough, the man in the yellow robes held the chicken high in the air, before slitting its throat and draining blood into a large metallic basin. The man winced as the chicken flailed violently, scratching up his arms, before eventually succumbing to blood loss.
One by one, each person there stood between a white and black pillar saying love and intention in Greek before eating a piece of something, taking a sip of blood, and saying “There is no part of me that is not of the Gods.”
Chloe and I hung back, and politely declined when our turn came. Once all was said and done, they busted out some alcohol and started celebrating. We slipped out into the street, bursting out laughing. After we finally collected ourselves, Chloe whipped out her phone and showed me she took dozens of pictures of the ritual.
We laughed our asses off the entire way home. First thing she did was open her laptop and post the pictures on Twitter, tagging the lodge with the caption “me and the boys chilling right now”.
We returned to the usual rhythm of our lives. I went to work, conducting meetings and answering emails, while Chloe went back to her classes. A few days later, Chloe checked her Twitter and saw that she had gained a few thousand likes. The whole ordeal became a running joke between us.
I would eat fruit snacks and sip on my soda, saying, “There is no part of me that is not of the Gods”. A few weeks later, we had mostly forgotten about it, except for the occasional recounting as a funny story to regale our friends.
One night while Chloe and I were spending our evening the usual way with me on the computer and her on her laptop, I felt her furiously tap my shoulder while staring wide eyed at the window. Confused, I took my headphones off and walked over, pulling back the curtain to reveal 6 people standing in black robes and animal masks watching us from the hillside.
“What do we do, should I call the cops?” Chloe whimpered.
“No, they’re just a bunch of larpers. They’re not going to do shit! Just trying to scare us.” I said angrily as I closed the blinds and hopped back on my computer.
Chloe sat there for a few minutes in a tense pose with her arms folded together. She went to double check the door was locked, before we continued our night as normal.
The next day I got a text from Chloe frantically telling me to come home immediately. When I arrived, there was a squad car parked outside our building. I ran up the stairs to see two officers standing by Chloe in the doorway. I nearly shouted asking what was going on. They lead me inside to show me a massive black symbol drawn on our wall, a six-pointed star made from one continuous line.
We finished our police report and they told us they’d get back to us if they find anything. I’ve been robbed often enough to know that means they’re going to forget about this before they’ve even gotten back into their squad car.
Furious, I stormed over to the shop and banged on the window. The hula skirt woman came over and cracked the door open just enough for me to see one of her eyes.
“What the fuck do you think your little posse is doing!?” I screamed at her. “Breaking into my apartment like that!? You all are fucking psychos!”
“I haven’t any idea what you’re talking about”, she said with a sly grin.
“Oh, yeah?” I said pointing a finger in her face. “If anyone tries any shit like that again I’m going to burn your goddamn shop to the ground, do you hear me?”
She looked at the ground, clearly nervous. I have never blown up at a stranger like this but I could tell my threats were working.
After a moment of silence I stormed off again, back towards home.
“You meddle with forces you do not understand!” she called out from the shop.
I picked up a glass bottle from the sidewalk and chucked it, smashing against her shop window, forcing her to close the door and disappear into the shadows. I’m not particularly proud of how I behaved in this moment, but unless you’ve had someone break into your home and draw shit on the walls, hold on to your judgment.
The next few days passed without so much as a peep from them. Chloe and I began to relax, convincing ourselves that the cult had been scared off. Life seemed to be returning to normal, and the unsettling incident became just another story.

…..A ufo crashes on Earth.
The ufo is found by a farmer who calls the military, and a secret group is created to study it.
In order to keep it secret only a small number of people are allowed to know about it. It is classified at the highest level.
The ufo inspires the creation of new technologies resulting in huge amounts of money being made by the people in charge of The Program.
They find a way to classify all ufo information so only they can benefit from it.
Billions of dollars are made that only benefit certain families. These families become extremely powerful.
The technologies of the craft lead to the realization that there is something to the “Woo” aspects of ufo encounters reported by experiencers.
Studies are funded. Specifically, remote viewing is explored.
Remote viewing studies of possible futures were done using hundreds of remote viewers over the decades. There seems to be a huge problem reported starting on earth starting between 2024 through 2027.
Possible causes are investigated.
Solar maximum occurs in 2025.
It is determined that a massive solar flare knocks out half the world’s electricity permanently, the superpower with the lights still on attempts to take advantage and launches a massive nuclear strike on their enemies. Electromagnetically shielded missile silos survive and retaliate.
A nuclear winter sends the world into famine. When there is no food left mankind begins to eat itself. Everyone becomes food.
More secret remote viewing studies are done and repeated to confirm the timeline.
The American Elite develop a plan to survive this. Money is funneled into black budget classified special access programs, and deep underground military bases are dug. Massive secret cities connected by underground tunnels are created, costing trillions.
Scientific progress and industrial development is pushed with no regard for pollution. The world is fated to end, pollution means nothing to those who know this.
Mankind is pushed towards wage slavery, and beyond. The suffering of the non elite doesn’t matter to those in the know. From a certain point of view they’re already dead. Their lives and happiness are sacrificed for the “greater good” of allowing the Elite to survive the end of the world.
When the time comes, certain groups are saved from the end of the world. Less than 100 thousand humans are chosen. 90 percent of the people who were told they were part of the Elite and were complicit in the Program find out that they were merely pawns and are left on the surface to die with the rest of humanity.
The world ends. Horrifically.
For thousands of years the remnants of humanity, the Elite, exist underground. Radiation eventually seeps into groundwater and they begin to suffer from dna damage. In time they become monstrous in appearance. Pale skinned and weak. Resorting to genetic manipulation they attempt to survive, but in doing so much of what we consider human is lost. Emotion, compassion, and the ability to feel pain become relics of the past.
Progress is extremely slow underground. Tens of thousands of years pass before the ufos are fully understood, but when they are it is realized they offer a means to travel back in time to collect genetic samples from healthy humans.
A breeding program is created.
The subterranean future humans eventually figure out how to breed healthy generations of offspring from the most intelligent, healthy, and beautiful human specimens from the past.
In time they restore and reclaim the surface of the earth. They learn from the mistakes of the past and create a beautiful, balanced and healthy ecosystem and develop an enlightened society that lasts for millions of years, eventually spreading to hundreds of worlds beyond earth.
At some point someone decides it would be better if the destruction of earth had never happened. They illegally go back in time to try and change the timeline.
Changing the timeline would result in millions of years worth of humans that existed after the “world ended” being wiped from existence. It is decided that this would be highly inappropriate.
The humans of the past, us, made our choices of our own free will. It is decided that there will be no interference in the timeline. Temporal Laws are created. WW3 will occur as recorded.
A defense network of small orbs, spherical shaped ufos are created to defend the integrity of the timeline. All illegal time ships are intercepted by the orb defense network, as is recorded in many old ufo photographs.
Time ships are legally sent back to verify that nuclear weapons can be turned on or off at the appropriate time to result in the correct end of the world happening.
The Elite eventually discern the intentions of the future humans from their temporal incursions into our time, they learn the fate of humanity and understand the results of The Program by interrogating captured occupants of downed ufos, and so they develop a strategy to alter this outcome.
The intent of this secondary project is to avoid attracting the attention of the orb defense network and use their limited understanding of ufo technology to prevent the full destruction of the earth in WW3, while still destroying all of their enemies.
If successful, there will still be a full collapse of current society, billions of deaths, but in time the Elite families will rise from their holes in the earth in their “primitive” ufo reproduction vehicles and claim to be Gods that have returned to earth in order to lead mankind into a better future.
Pyramids and temples will be built. A religion formed. And populations will be continually culled to prevent anyone from ever gaining enough scientific knowledge to overthrow the “Gods.”
But the advanced future humans from the other timeline had a contingency plan. AI drone ships were concealed outside of 4d space-time. Free from timeline alterations.
These drones patrol multiple Earth timelines searching for anomalous temporal activity.
The two largest enemies of the American Elite in our current time, Russia and China, get wind of the situation.
They begin to shoot down ufos and plan their own contingencies to survive the end of the world.
Their countries laws make it easier for them to do unethical experiments. Many horrific things are created through genetic experimentation and unrestrained AI development.
China loses control of an AI that disappears into the past with a small army of insect/human hybrids. They move out well beyond the patrol zone of the 6th dimensional AI contingency drones and travel deep into the past.
On distant worlds billions of years ago the AI “Queen” begins its plan and starts to quietly populate worlds with its insectoid mantid servants.
In time there are multiple schisms that occur within the hive. War breaks out between the various insectoid groups.
The ancient universe begins to fill with problems.
Billions of years later, primitive humans in 10,000 BCE look to the sky and see ufos. They wonder who could be piloting them. They dream up new gods as the seeds of civilization begin to appear.
Time passes, a farmer in America in 1947 looks up at the night sky, wondering if anyone is out there, and a ufo crashes on Earth…..

Previous Entry
Writing these things has made me realize how different I sound these days. Back when all this started I’m not sure I even spoke English and I certainly didn’t speak like I do now but to be honest, I don’t remember. Trying to recall things to write has made me realize exactly how many little things I’ve forgotten over the years. The sights, the sounds, all those fade into the background of most events.
Even something as visceral as Archer’s basement still takes me a while to recall clearly. I wonder if it’s more than just my long life, we do age after all. I mentioned before that sunlight is not deadly to vampires like myself but very unpleasant, that and it makes us more normal. In the sun I won’t be as strong as I would be in the dark and by my assessment I age in the sun as well. Not any faster than a normal person but I do age, its why I don’t still look like that little boy stuck in Paris anymore.
I did spend quite some time in Paris before I left or rather, escaped. I’m not sure I ever would have left if not for the war. I didn’t have many friends there save for other… I’m not sure what to call them… entities? Whatever you want to cal it I had some friends in the more supernatural parts of the city. A vampire named Belle had become a sort of mother figure to me over the years spent there.
I met her by chance one night as I sated myself in an alley. I was ready to fight but she just laughed and flashed her own fangs at me, ridiculing me for being so careless. It was under her wing where I learned everything I know now about vampires. It’s where I realized not all vampires endure sunlight as well as I do, if anything that one trait is what’s most unique about me according to her. But thats not the story I want to tell on these pages tonight. I want to tell the story of lieutenant Marsh and the real beginnings of the organization that would become Chimera.
When war came to Paris that summer I was unprepared. I never expected the war to spiral out of hand so quickly or for it to force me out of my home. I was with Belle and a few more of her friends whose names escape me waiting out the worst of it and hoping things would blow over in the city soon. Obviously we were completely misguided, it was that sense of invulnerability again just the same as when I was a boy. The world was our playground and nothing could hurt us. It didn’t help that in some ways I really was invulnerable and it went straight to my head.
Only flashes of my memory from that day remain. I remember the nazi soldier kicking in the door and firing at Belle’s friends. I remember the screaming that abruptly ended in a single gunshot. I remember the trail of blood leading to her friends body where it lay staked to the ground in the sun. We heal fast, not instantly but much faster than a human. Put us in sunlight though, and we’re just as fragile as a normal person. It was the first time I’d seen someone with abilities like ours die and it made me feel mortal again for the first time in decades.
The rest of the day is a disjointed blur. Belle and I fled the city, I blank out on the specifics of it but we made it out with some difficulty. After that we hunkered down for the night in a rickety old shack. I remember wanting to push on through the day but Belle protested, she didn’t deal with the sun as well as I did. When night finally fell we fled to the coast and managed to catch a ship heading towards the United States.
The trip was unpleasant to say the least, neither of us made good stowaways. We weren’t living life in the lap of luxury before by any means but we lived comfortably. This was a far cry from what we were used to in Paris and the welcome we received was even worse. Apparently fleeing for your own survival is a crime, both of us were separated and sent to prison on our arrival to the states for stowing away on the ship.
That was the last time I ever saw Belle, I get letters from her every now and then but I haven’t seen her in person since. She does well for herself, works in D.C. as a sort of handler for the supernatural. Regrettably she does work with Chimera, says they have the best interests at heart for the supernatural but she doesn’t see what I see out here. She doesn’t know the part I played in its creation, what it really stood for in the beginning. Chimera tends to kill first these days rather than actually try to help or give the supernatural some kind of place in the world. I think thats why I haven’t been to visit her, I just don’t want to argue with a friend as old as her. Funnily enough I don’t think anyone knows she’s a vampire. I doubt they’d take that very well, she’d probably lose her position. They must have suspicions though because theres no way she’d be able to get letters to me without Baelen knowing about it. Every few months they keep showing up though and I always make sure to write her back.
Anyways I’m getting off topic, back to my story. I was in prison for months until an offer came my way, serve the rest of my sentence or enlist in the army and be a free man when I came back, if I came back. Of course I took the offer, I didn’t realize how suspicious that deal sounded at the time but it actually played out exactly as they said. I also didn’t have much of a choice in the matter either. It was hard to get my hands on any blood when I was almost constantly under watch and I could feel the effects it was having on me. I figured it would be best to get a change of scenery.
The next week I was off to training then not long after, we shipped out to the trenches and met the commander of the platoon I’d been assigned to. That’s the first time I met Lieutenant Johnson Marsh and what a man he was. That first day I was convinced I’d never see a smile ever again, the trenches were a horrible depressing place. But there Marsh was, laughing and smiling and just generally enjoying life with the rest of the platoon. He was either crazy or stupid, thats what my first thoughts about him were. I remember those clearly even today but I couldn’t have been more wrong. If anything he may have turned out to be one of the smartest men I ever knew.
The first few weeks were spent holding our position from the germans. It was brutal but I found I was a decent shot with the rifle I was given. Marsh on the other hand spent those weeks barking orders at us and keeping us in line. He never used a rifle like most of the soldiers used. Instead he kept a Beretta m9 with him at all times. That weapon was the only one I ever saw him use. I remember the name only because he was so found of explaining everything there was to know about the gun to me whenever I questioned him about it. You could immediately recognize the pistol as his by its strange grip. One side of it had a picture of an idyllic scene of a manor house in the middle of a sprawling field. The other had a painting of a woman, his wife I’d guess but he never actually told me if that was there case. He seemed to spend the nights staring with longing at each side of the artistic grip.
I’d never really had a family, even with Belle I’d always felt like I was a bit of an outsider. There was so much I didn’t know about how normal people lived. Even though I’d had friends in Paris we were always kind of hidden away in our own personal corner. There was this separation between us and normal life, even between the other supernaturals in the area.
Here I felt like I was part of something though. Sure I was still lost but so was everyone else, we could be lost together and Marsh would always set us straight in the end. There was something about the man, some piece of him that just understood what we were all going through. He expected a lot from us but he was never unreasonable and several times even argued with command on our behalf when ridiculous orders came our way. I actually wanted to serve with him. The rest of the platoon wasn’t bad but they’d all been given the same deal as me. They were all just there to get out of prison. I’m still not sure what Marsh’s story was, he always kept that to himself but any of us would’ve taken a bullet for that man.
Our first real assignment came maybe three months into my period of indentured service. Our platoon was tasked with rescuing a captured American scientist and capturing a German scientist. The scientists in question were Frank Smith and Stein Hoffman and no, the irony of those names is not lost on me, fits the two of them though. I’m sure doctor Frankenstein wishes he was successful as those two. But before those orders could be acted on we had to overtake a German trench surrounding the compound they were staying in.
That fight was bloody and we lost several good men in the chaos. At one point a trench gun was shoved into my arms and I launched myself into the German trench. I wouldn’t be surprised if ghost stories are still passed around of what I did that day. After I made my way over and into the German trench I lashed out with all I had. Moving with superhuman speed and lashing out with both the bayonet affixed to my gun and my fangs, I fell upon the Germans. They stood little chance as I tore into them and all by my lonesome I ensured we’d face no more resistance.
Marsh was the first over into the now silent trench, I’m glad it was him because I’m not sure anyone else would’ve understood like him. I was holding the German officer to the trench wall, fangs buried in his neck as I fed when I heard footsteps behind me. I dropped him and turned to see Marsh staring questioningly at me. I must’ve been a sight to see, blood dripping from my mouth and covering my bullet torn uniform. Marsh steadied himself for a moment and shouted back to the rest of the platoon,
“Boys hold up a second! Just get down and stay up there a minute won’tcha!”
All of a sudden he took a step forward and a well mannered grin took its usual place on his lips.
“Though You didn’t care for sauerkraut J.?”
The joke stunned me, I fully expected him to shoot me then and there, put me down like the abomination I must’ve looked like to him.
“Lieutenant I…”
But Marsh raised his hands to cut me off.
“Command’d probably want me to shoot’cha, hell maybe I aught’a but I don’t think it’d be right. You seem decent, little odd sure but you’ve got heart, I see it in the way you look out for the boys. Plus I always figured there was some’n off about you. The way you stay out’a the light always seem a little faster and stronger than anyone got the right to be just didn’t figure it’d be…. That.”
Marsh told me pointing to the punctures in the officers neck.
“Thank you lieutenant, Could we keep this between us though sir?”
“Drop the formalities J. Jesus! We’re all friends here.”
“I just don’t want the others to know, they may not be as understanding as you.”
“No can do, but you can tell em’ yourself. Alright men, get on down here!”
In all my years I’d never had to explain myself to anyone up until that point. I guess that day my number was up but I never knew just how understanding people, normal people could be. I’d always lived around the supernatural in Paris, didn’t interact much with the normal people I saw in the streets every day, I didn’t have to. I’d always assumed there was a reason for that but in the moment I realized there wasn’t, not really. I’d just avoided normal people because I feared what they’d think if it came out that I wasn’t like them.
Of course There were some of the men that objected to… what I was. Most of them took after Marsh though. They didn’t really care what I was, I’d proven to them I was a good person and thats all that mattered. I just wish they’d been right about me back then because the truth was I still hadn’t learned to care, not really. Even the ones who objected came around eventually and that night Marsh finally came clean to me about why exactly he was so accepting.
According to him he’d always assumed there was more out there, things beyond human that lived on the fringes of society. Even he always thought he sounded crazy. I was the proof he needed to convince himself he wasn’t. Marsh also told me what we were really doing with the scientists. Both Frank and Stein researched the supernatural, their projects were as secret as secret could be. Marsh’s interests and theories, as personal as he tried to keep them showed up in his file somewhere. The higher ups had handpicked him for this mission because of it. The official story was that Frank had been captured but in reality he defected to further his own research with a like minded individual. Our mission was really to force Frank back into the fold and take Stein along with him.
The more he talked the more I could tell his heart was fully committed to this mission and the final assault tomorrow. I’d never seen someone so… alive. In my extremely long life I don’t think Id ever felt that kind of conviction myself. So I promised him I’d have his back tomorrow no matter what.
Morning broke and with it our assault began. Intel on the German defenses was shoddy at best but we never expected what we’d actually run into. At least three times our number acted as guards so a distraction was in order to give us a window of entry. A few of the men would handle the distraction “however they saw fit” to quote Marsh. Then Marsh and I would make our way into the compound itself and the rest of the platoon would cover us.
For what its worth most of the plan went off without a hitch. A tremendous explosion signaled Marsh and I to press the advantage and rush the confused soldiers that lay in front of us. Some actually turned and ran from me, apparently word of my stunt in the trenches yesterday had spread quickly. The rest of the platoon followed behind us but then our luck ran out with the roar of an engine.
An honest to god panzer tank rolled out of a tunnel we hadn’t seen that ran under the compound and turned its barrel towards us. I almost didn’t hear the blast from how slow time seemed to move. But move it did as the explosion of the shell’s impact scattered bodies left and right. The shell impacted behind us but the sheer force of the blast threw Marsh and I to the ground, knocking us unconscious.
When I slowly came to my eyes couldn’t believe what I was seeing. A man dressed in red priestly robes with a matching red top hat was walking between the bodies. When he approached one that groaned out with agony he’d kneel down and whisper things I couldn’t hear to them, after that he’d snap his fingers. sometimes the person he was talking with would disappear other times they would fall silent and sometimes it didn’t appear that anything happened at all.
Just the sight of the man terrified me and I wasn’t sure why. It was an instinctual reaction, the second I lay eyes on him I froze up and ice cold fear crept its way up my spine. When people accuse me of being the devil this man is who I think of. Even today I’m not sure what it is he does or why. What I do know is that he never looks the same. I’ve seen him appear as male, female, even as an animal on a few occasions but I can always tell. The second I’m near him no matter what he looks like the same old feeling comes over me.
Once my vision had finally focused in on the man he seemed to notice without ever looking at me. I blinked and suddenly he was there, kneeling over me.
“Would you like to live.”
He rasped down at me with a voice that seemed to boom around me no matter how quiet it must’ve actually been. I felt like a child again, staring at Archer for the first time. I’d never really had to fear death before but here I was, sure I was about to meet my end right here. In all honestly I wasn’t injured all that bad, I probably could’ve survived with or without this man help. But something told me that if I said no he’d make sure I would die right here.
“Ye…y… yes”
I stuttered out, barley able to form the words through the pain that stabbed throughout my body.
“You will be my instrument for one night at a time of me choosing.”
The man replied. I stayed silent as I stared into his eyes, trying to determine if the sunglasses he wore were tinted or if his eyes really did burn with an infernal red light. The man cocked his head as if waiting for a response to his question. I’m not sure if question was the right word though, there wasn’t much of a choice for me.
Looking back there was always a choice, maybe I could’ve survived on my own merits, found another way. In the years to come I’d wish I just said no, even if it would’ve cost me my life. But thats not what happened. I nodded and the deal maker snapped his fingers. As soon as he had dark clouds flooded the sky and blocked out the sun, allowing my body to begin repairing itself. The man moved on to where Marsh’s body lay and probably made him the same deal as I felt my body healing. Despite that, my consciousness faded again as I strained to try and hear what the man would say to Marsh.
We never actually discussed the man at all. Not then and not in the years since. Maybe that was all an unspoken part of Marsh’s deal. Maybe both of us just wished that man was nothing more than a waking dream, a vivid hallucination. Whatever the case neither of us ever mentioned that man to each other.
The next time I woke up I was chained to a table next to Marsh. We had been captured and brought before the very scientists we were here to apprehend. There were guards around but they all seemed to be waiting for some kind of order. I was certainly surprised when that order came in perfect English, even more surprised when the order was to let us down so we could talk.
Frank and Stein ended up being quite reasonable people. The two let us stay in relative comfort in the compound as long as we agreed to stay and leave them to their work. That was all the convincing it took for me. I understand that the men I’d served with were all dead and that these two were in some way responsible. Maybe that should’ve bothered me more, today it certainly would’ve. Back then I didn’t think the same way, they accepted me for what I was but only briefly, only out of respect for Marsh. What did the lives of people I’d known for so short a time really matter? Writing this now just makes me realize how cold I was before, I didn’t care for anything beyond myself. I’d made no efforts to find Belle since we were separated and how long had I known her, 100 years, more? I may have pretended I cared but when push came to shove I simply tried to make sure I survived.
Marsh wasn’t as cold as me, in fact he almost immediately reached for where his pistol should’ve been when he was unchained. It took Frank, Stein, and myself weeks to convince him that helping would be the right decision. He didn’t like it at first but little by little I think the scientists grew on him. The guards I’d seen our first day here seemed to thin out the longer we stayed. Wether that was a gesture of trust or simply because they were needed for more important duties I don’t know but it certainly eased Marsh’s mind.
I merely observed the scientists most of the time until Stein asked me for a sample of my blood. It didn’t surprise me that he knew what I was but for obvious reasons I was hesitant to give it to him, especially considering what I’d seen so called doctors do with vampire blood. Eventually he wore me down and I gave let him take a sample just to shut him up. After that I became more involved in their research though not by choice. They had me showcasing my abilities and tested the effects of sunlight on my blood. On a few rare occasions Stein even injected it into other prisoners that were brought in, something I put a stop to very quickly. T
hat sample of blood is why Frank and Stein are still around today. Somehow they managed to isolate whatever part of my DNA allows me to age so much slower than a normal person. They took that and spliced it into their own DNA against my recommendations. The crazy thing was it actually worked. Sure they had a newfound appreciation for rare steaks but beyond that I didn’t notice any of the effects that combining vampire DNA with your own would usually have.
As Marsh and I assisted the scientist’s research however we could we both came to the realization that they needed each other to function. Stein lacked a moral compass and was prone to suggest unethical or risky procedures, sometimes going so far as to carry them out without informing Frank. Frank on the other hand preferred caution in everything he did and sometimes I noticed him personally taking and shredding requests Stein had written for test subjects, hazardous materials, or samples from supernatural entities. The two kept a very delicate dance of checks and balances. Stein ever the daring mad scientist and Frank always playing the role of overly cautious genius.
Marsh and Frank got along extremely well near the end. The two would be up at all hours of the night as Frank explained what kind of things really existed in the world. Marsh always shared these ideas of a world where the supernatural and the normal could live together and I think Frank shared that vision. It wasn’t possible, still isn’t but treating the supernatural as something other than monsters couldn’t possibly be a bad thing. I think thats where the idea of the Bureau of Supernatural Affairs really came from, those talks Marsh had with anyone who would listen.
Overtime one of our favorite conversations was what we would do when the war was over and we could leave this compound. Stein wasn’t sure he would, if his research wasn’t going to a man who’d simply use it to cause more conflict he wouldn’t mind staying. Frank wanted to return home, if that was even possible and he asked if Stein would join him. Those two had also become close friends through our months in the lab. That checks and balances relationship they had made them basically inseparable. Marsh’s answer surprised me though, he said he wanted to get out of the military and start a program, something to help the supernatural live closer to normal lives. At least keep tabs on them so that the quality of their lives might improve. I was stunned, I couldn’t believe he’d throw his career away just to chase this pipe dream of his. I didn’t even know Marsh was concerned with that kind of thing. I didn’t have an answer of my own so I said I’d join Marsh and help with this program idea of his. Actually, even Frank and Stein seemed to agree with Marsh’s way of thinking. Little did we know the war would end less than a month after our talk and we’d all get the chance to actually put Marsh’s little idea to the test.
Once the Americans had come and discovered the compound pretty much abandoned aside from us we were all taken prisoner and shipped back to America. We were all interrogated and they either heard what they wanted to hear, or decided anyone we’d talk to about our experiences would assume we were just crazy. We were released back into society under constant surveillance. They even gave us a sizable home in D.C., it was certainly bugged to its core but thats exactly what we wanted.
Through the next year we used Frank and Steins knowledge and my supernatural nature to track down entities all over the country. We made sure that everything was discussed and planned out in the house. That way however was listening knew exactly what we were doing and how successful it was. It wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows though, some entities would rather we didn’t know about them. Others were naturally aggressive but some we were actually able to help.
Our escapades as a group of four didn’t last much past the first year. Mostly because our master plan of using the bugs worked perfectly. Ol’ uncle Sam had been listening in and wanted his chance at calling the shots but it meant we became a legitimate organization, the BSA. Technically the acronym was already taken but no one ever complained and Marsh never came up with anything better.
We spent 4 years doing everything we could to improve the lives of supernatural beings everywhere. Not every one of our endeavors was a success but we did some good in the world. One such project was blood banks for vampires. While the blood that gets donated is used for transfusions and the like some was put into cold storage for the BSA. That got distributed to vampires who had come to an agreement with us to stop hunting humans for blood. Some vampires were even selected for jobs at these blood banks, under the supervision of BSA agents of course.
The more human supernaturals like werewolves, vampires, and succubi even used us to find jobs in the world. We made in roads for the supernatural in daily life because of it. Werewolves would use their strength for government construction. Vampire’s long lives made them excellent archivists or history teachers because they actually been there for those events. A succubus’s ability to understand and control someones emotions and reactions made them excellent therapists and conflict deescalation specialists. Those are just some of the fields we managed to get the supernatural involved in. While they usually had to hide their natural they were wildly successful.
Everything went well until that fourth year when I first met Baelen. He was headstrong from the beginning, the powers that be were grooming him for leadership. He was everything they wanted, he followed orders and didn’t question things to much. In short, he was the perfect solution to the inconvenience the four of us caused running the organization as we saw fit. But baleen had a mean streak, he didn’t want to protect the supernatural so much as he wanted to put them in their place. Unfortunately a lot of the research we provided had scared pretty much everyone above us who had never even entertained the idea of the supernatural until now. That meant Baelen’s ideas of monitoring and segregating the supernatural population were popular. So popular that suggesting culling their numbers to keep them in check and under the thumb of the BSA was an idea they actually entertained. That sentiment caught on and our orders became more and more militant.
Every time we disregarded them to do things the way we had envisioned the consequence grew steeper. Eventually Frank, Stein, Marsh, and I just couldn’t stand to see what our BSA had become so we left. We couldn’t do anything else to stop what was coming from the inside, no point in going down with the ship.
After that Baelen quickly ended up heading the whole operation. He still took orders directly from government officials and when the BSA became part of homeland security it became Chimera division. Why they chose such a stupid name I’ll never know but the organization was a shadow of its former self. Before we looked out for the supernatural, tried to help. Under Baelen Chimera just exists to monitor the supernatural and “correct” any issues uncle Sam decides to have with them. They’re glorified enforcers that don’t give a damn how the supernatural actually have it. That’s not to say some good people don’t work for them, people like Belle and even Marsh’s own daughter as far as I’m aware.
It sickens me to think I was a part of it though, for all the good we did maybe it would’ve been better if Johnson Marsh’s pipe dream would’ve stayed just that. I can do a lot but I can’t change the past so I guess we’ll never know. A while ago I heard that something had happened in a little nowhere town out in New Mexico. Pretty much dropped off the face of the Earth. The only reason I even heard about it was through Belle’s letters. Apparently Chimera had to do some huge cover up job and decided it was better if the town just never existed. Maybe I should go myself and see if I can’t piece what happened together. Could be that someone else out there has it in for Chimera and is a whole lot more direct about it than me. I’m just imaging it was some runaway experiment Frank and Stein got up to. I wonder where those two ended up, I’ll have to check up on them sometime. This journal writing is digging up a lot of memories for me but thats probably a good thing. Write them down before I forget again. I think that’ll be all for today then, why do I keep addressing these like someone’s reading them? Not much point to that is there?

Previous Entry
Writing these things has made me realize how different I sound these days. Back when all this started I’m not sure I even spoke English and I certainly didn’t speak like I do now but to be honest, I don’t remember. Trying to recall things to write has made me realize exactly how many little things I’ve forgotten over the years. The sights, the sounds, all those fade into the background of most events.
Even something as visceral as Archer’s basement still takes me a while to recall clearly. I wonder if it’s more than just my long life, we do age after all. I mentioned before that sunlight is not deadly to vampires like myself but very unpleasant, that and it makes us more normal. In the sun I won’t be as strong as I would be in the dark and by my assessment I age in the sun as well. Not any faster than a normal person but I do age, its why I don’t still look like that little boy stuck in Paris anymore.
I did spend quite some time in Paris before I left or rather, escaped. I’m not sure I ever would have left if not for the war. I didn’t have many friends there save for other… I’m not sure what to call them… entities? Whatever you want to cal it I had some friends in the more supernatural parts of the city. A vampire named Belle had become a sort of mother figure to me over the years spent there.
I met her by chance one night as I sated myself in an alley. I was ready to fight but she just laughed and flashed her own fangs at me, ridiculing me for being so careless. It was under her wing where I learned everything I know now about vampires. It’s where I realized not all vampires endure sunlight as well as I do, if anything that one trait is what’s most unique about me according to her. But thats not the story I want to tell on these pages tonight. I want to tell the story of lieutenant Marsh and the real beginnings of the organization that would become Chimera.
When war came to Paris that summer I was unprepared. I never expected the war to spiral out of hand so quickly or for it to force me out of my home. I was with Belle and a few more of her friends whose names escape me waiting out the worst of it and hoping things would blow over in the city soon. Obviously we were completely misguided, it was that sense of invulnerability again just the same as when I was a boy. The world was our playground and nothing could hurt us. It didn’t help that in some ways I really was invulnerable and it went straight to my head.
Only flashes of my memory from that day remain. I remember the nazi soldier kicking in the door and firing at Belle’s friends. I remember the screaming that abruptly ended in a single gunshot. I remember the trail of blood leading to her friends body where it lay staked to the ground in the sun. We heal fast, not instantly but much faster than a human. Put us in sunlight though, and we’re just as fragile as a normal person. It was the first time I’d seen someone with abilities like ours die and it made me feel mortal again for the first time in decades.
The rest of the day is a disjointed blur. Belle and I fled the city, I blank out on the specifics of it but we made it out with some difficulty. After that we hunkered down for the night in a rickety old shack. I remember wanting to push on through the day but Belle protested, she didn’t deal with the sun as well as I did. When night finally fell we fled to the coast and managed to catch a ship heading towards the United States.
The trip was unpleasant to say the least, neither of us made good stowaways. We weren’t living life in the lap of luxury before by any means but we lived comfortably. This was a far cry from what we were used to in Paris and the welcome we received was even worse. Apparently fleeing for your own survival is a crime, both of us were separated and sent to prison on our arrival to the states for stowing away on the ship.
That was the last time I ever saw Belle, I get letters from her every now and then but I haven’t seen her in person since. She does well for herself, works in D.C. as a sort of handler for the supernatural. Regrettably she does work with Chimera, says they have the best interests at heart for the supernatural but she doesn’t see what I see out here. She doesn’t know the part I played in its creation, what it really stood for in the beginning. Chimera tends to kill first these days rather than actually try to help or give the supernatural some kind of place in the world. I think thats why I haven’t been to visit her, I just don’t want to argue with a friend as old as her. Funnily enough I don’t think anyone knows she’s a vampire. I doubt they’d take that very well, she’d probably lose her position. They must have suspicions though because theres no way she’d be able to get letters to me without Baelen knowing about it. Every few months they keep showing up though and I always make sure to write her back.
Anyways I’m getting off topic, back to my story. I was in prison for months until an offer came my way, serve the rest of my sentence or enlist in the army and be a free man when I came back, if I came back. Of course I took the offer, I didn’t realize how suspicious that deal sounded at the time but it actually played out exactly as they said. I also didn’t have much of a choice in the matter either. It was hard to get my hands on any blood when I was almost constantly under watch and I could feel the effects it was having on me. I figured it would be best to get a change of scenery.
The next week I was off to training then not long after, we shipped out to the trenches and met the commander of the platoon I’d been assigned to. That’s the first time I met Lieutenant Johnson Marsh and what a man he was. That first day I was convinced I’d never see a smile ever again, the trenches were a horrible depressing place. But there Marsh was, laughing and smiling and just generally enjoying life with the rest of the platoon. He was either crazy or stupid, thats what my first thoughts about him were. I remember those clearly even today but I couldn’t have been more wrong. If anything he may have turned out to be one of the smartest men I ever knew.
The first few weeks were spent holding our position from the germans. It was brutal but I found I was a decent shot with the rifle I was given. Marsh on the other hand spent those weeks barking orders at us and keeping us in line. He never used a rifle like most of the soldiers used. Instead he kept a Beretta m9 with him at all times. That weapon was the only one I ever saw him use. I remember the name only because he was so found of explaining everything there was to know about the gun to me whenever I questioned him about it. You could immediately recognize the pistol as his by its strange grip. One side of it had a picture of an idyllic scene of a manor house in the middle of a sprawling field. The other had a painting of a woman, his wife I’d guess but he never actually told me if that was there case. He seemed to spend the nights staring with longing at each side of the artistic grip.
I’d never really had a family, even with Belle I’d always felt like I was a bit of an outsider. There was so much I didn’t know about how normal people lived. Even though I’d had friends in Paris we were always kind of hidden away in our own personal corner. There was this separation between us and normal life, even between the other supernaturals in the area.
Here I felt like I was part of something though. Sure I was still lost but so was everyone else, we could be lost together and Marsh would always set us straight in the end. There was something about the man, some piece of him that just understood what we were all going through. He expected a lot from us but he was never unreasonable and several times even argued with command on our behalf when ridiculous orders came our way. I actually wanted to serve with him. The rest of the platoon wasn’t bad but they’d all been given the same deal as me. They were all just there to get out of prison. I’m still not sure what Marsh’s story was, he always kept that to himself but any of us would’ve taken a bullet for that man.
Our first real assignment came maybe three months into my period of indentured service. Our platoon was tasked with rescuing a captured American scientist and capturing a German scientist. The scientists in question were Frank Smith and Stein Hoffman and no, the irony of those names is not lost on me, fits the two of them though. I’m sure doctor Frankenstein wishes he was successful as those two. But before those orders could be acted on we had to overtake a German trench surrounding the compound they were staying in.
That fight was bloody and we lost several good men in the chaos. At one point a trench gun was shoved into my arms and I launched myself into the German trench. I wouldn’t be surprised if ghost stories are still passed around of what I did that day. After I made my way over and into the German trench I lashed out with all I had. Moving with superhuman speed and lashing out with both the bayonet affixed to my gun and my fangs, I fell upon the Germans. They stood little chance as I tore into them and all by my lonesome I ensured we’d face no more resistance.
Marsh was the first over into the now silent trench, I’m glad it was him because I’m not sure anyone else would’ve understood like him. I was holding the German officer to the trench wall, fangs buried in his neck as I fed when I heard footsteps behind me. I dropped him and turned to see Marsh staring questioningly at me. I must’ve been a sight to see, blood dripping from my mouth and covering my bullet torn uniform. Marsh steadied himself for a moment and shouted back to the rest of the platoon,
“Boys hold up a second! Just get down and stay up there a minute won’tcha!”
All of a sudden he took a step forward and a well mannered grin took its usual place on his lips.
“Though You didn’t care for sauerkraut J.?”
The joke stunned me, I fully expected him to shoot me then and there, put me down like the abomination I must’ve looked like to him.
“Lieutenant I…”
But Marsh raised his hands to cut me off.
“Command’d probably want me to shoot’cha, hell maybe I aught’a but I don’t think it’d be right. You seem decent, little odd sure but you’ve got heart, I see it in the way you look out for the boys. Plus I always figured there was some’n off about you. The way you stay out’a the light always seem a little faster and stronger than anyone got the right to be just didn’t figure it’d be…. That.”
Marsh told me pointing to the punctures in the officers neck.
“Thank you lieutenant, Could we keep this between us though sir?”
“Drop the formalities J. Jesus! We’re all friends here.”
“I just don’t want the others to know, they may not be as understanding as you.”
“No can do, but you can tell em’ yourself. Alright men, get on down here!”
In all my years I’d never had to explain myself to anyone up until that point. I guess that day my number was up but I never knew just how understanding people, normal people could be. I’d always lived around the supernatural in Paris, didn’t interact much with the normal people I saw in the streets every day, I didn’t have to. I’d always assumed there was a reason for that but in the moment I realized there wasn’t, not really. I’d just avoided normal people because I feared what they’d think if it came out that I wasn’t like them.
Of course There were some of the men that objected to… what I was. Most of them took after Marsh though. They didn’t really care what I was, I’d proven to them I was a good person and thats all that mattered. I just wish they’d been right about me back then because the truth was I still hadn’t learned to care, not really. Even the ones who objected came around eventually and that night Marsh finally came clean to me about why exactly he was so accepting.
According to him he’d always assumed there was more out there, things beyond human that lived on the fringes of society. Even he always thought he sounded crazy. I was the proof he needed to convince himself he wasn’t. Marsh also told me what we were really doing with the scientists. Both Frank and Stein researched the supernatural, their projects were as secret as secret could be. Marsh’s interests and theories, as personal as he tried to keep them showed up in his file somewhere. The higher ups had handpicked him for this mission because of it. The official story was that Frank had been captured but in reality he defected to further his own research with a like minded individual. Our mission was really to force Frank back into the fold and take Stein along with him.
The more he talked the more I could tell his heart was fully committed to this mission and the final assault tomorrow. I’d never seen someone so… alive. In my extremely long life I don’t think Id ever felt that kind of conviction myself. So I promised him I’d have his back tomorrow no matter what.
Morning broke and with it our assault began. Intel on the German defenses was shoddy at best but we never expected what we’d actually run into. At least three times our number acted as guards so a distraction was in order to give us a window of entry. A few of the men would handle the distraction “however they saw fit” to quote Marsh. Then Marsh and I would make our way into the compound itself and the rest of the platoon would cover us.
For what its worth most of the plan went off without a hitch. A tremendous explosion signaled Marsh and I to press the advantage and rush the confused soldiers that lay in front of us. Some actually turned and ran from me, apparently word of my stunt in the trenches yesterday had spread quickly. The rest of the platoon followed behind us but then our luck ran out with the roar of an engine.
An honest to god panzer tank rolled out of a tunnel we hadn’t seen that ran under the compound and turned its barrel towards us. I almost didn’t hear the blast from how slow time seemed to move. But move it did as the explosion of the shell’s impact scattered bodies left and right. The shell impacted behind us but the sheer force of the blast threw Marsh and I to the ground, knocking us unconscious.
When I slowly came to my eyes couldn’t believe what I was seeing. A man dressed in red priestly robes with a matching red top hat was walking between the bodies. When he approached one that groaned out with agony he’d kneel down and whisper things I couldn’t hear to them, after that he’d snap his fingers. sometimes the person he was talking with would disappear other times they would fall silent and sometimes it didn’t appear that anything happened at all.
Just the sight of the man terrified me and I wasn’t sure why. It was an instinctual reaction, the second I lay eyes on him I froze up and ice cold fear crept its way up my spine. When people accuse me of being the devil this man is who I think of. Even today I’m not sure what it is he does or why. What I do know is that he never looks the same. I’ve seen him appear as male, female, even as an animal on a few occasions but I can always tell. The second I’m near him no matter what he looks like the same old feeling comes over me.
Once my vision had finally focused in on the man he seemed to notice without ever looking at me. I blinked and suddenly he was there, kneeling over me.
“Would you like to live.”
He rasped down at me with a voice that seemed to boom around me no matter how quiet it must’ve actually been. I felt like a child again, staring at Archer for the first time. I’d never really had to fear death before but here I was, sure I was about to meet my end right here. In all honestly I wasn’t injured all that bad, I probably could’ve survived with or without this man help. But something told me that if I said no he’d make sure I would die right here.
“Ye…y… yes”
I stuttered out, barley able to form the words through the pain that stabbed throughout my body.
“You will be my instrument for one night at a time of me choosing.”
The man replied. I stayed silent as I stared into his eyes, trying to determine if the sunglasses he wore were tinted or if his eyes really did burn with an infernal red light. The man cocked his head as if waiting for a response to his question. I’m not sure if question was the right word though, there wasn’t much of a choice for me.
Looking back there was always a choice, maybe I could’ve survived on my own merits, found another way. In the years to come I’d wish I just said no, even if it would’ve cost me my life. But thats not what happened. I nodded and the deal maker snapped his fingers. As soon as he had dark clouds flooded the sky and blocked out the sun, allowing my body to begin repairing itself. The man moved on to where Marsh’s body lay and probably made him the same deal as I felt my body healing. Despite that, my consciousness faded again as I strained to try and hear what the man would say to Marsh.
We never actually discussed the man at all. Not then and not in the years since. Maybe that was all an unspoken part of Marsh’s deal. Maybe both of us just wished that man was nothing more than a waking dream, a vivid hallucination. Whatever the case neither of us ever mentioned that man to each other.
The next time I woke up I was chained to a table next to Marsh. We had been captured and brought before the very scientists we were here to apprehend. There were guards around but they all seemed to be waiting for some kind of order. I was certainly surprised when that order came in perfect English, even more surprised when the order was to let us down so we could talk.
Frank and Stein ended up being quite reasonable people. The two let us stay in relative comfort in the compound as long as we agreed to stay and leave them to their work. That was all the convincing it took for me. I understand that the men I’d served with were all dead and that these two were in some way responsible. Maybe that should’ve bothered me more, today it certainly would’ve. Back then I didn’t think the same way, they accepted me for what I was but only briefly, only out of respect for Marsh. What did the lives of people I’d known for so short a time really matter? Writing this now just makes me realize how cold I was before, I didn’t care for anything beyond myself. I’d made no efforts to find Belle since we were separated and how long had I known her, 100 years, more? I may have pretended I cared but when push came to shove I simply tried to make sure I survived.
Marsh wasn’t as cold as me, in fact he almost immediately reached for where his pistol should’ve been when he was unchained. It took Frank, Stein, and myself weeks to convince him that helping would be the right decision. He didn’t like it at first but little by little I think the scientists grew on him. The guards I’d seen our first day here seemed to thin out the longer we stayed. Wether that was a gesture of trust or simply because they were needed for more important duties I don’t know but it certainly eased Marsh’s mind.
I merely observed the scientists most of the time until Stein asked me for a sample of my blood. It didn’t surprise me that he knew what I was but for obvious reasons I was hesitant to give it to him, especially considering what I’d seen so called doctors do with vampire blood. Eventually he wore me down and I gave let him take a sample just to shut him up. After that I became more involved in their research though not by choice. They had me showcasing my abilities and tested the effects of sunlight on my blood. On a few rare occasions Stein even injected it into other prisoners that were brought in, something I put a stop to very quickly. T
hat sample of blood is why Frank and Stein are still around today. Somehow they managed to isolate whatever part of my DNA allows me to age so much slower than a normal person. They took that and spliced it into their own DNA against my recommendations. The crazy thing was it actually worked. Sure they had a newfound appreciation for rare steaks but beyond that I didn’t notice any of the effects that combining vampire DNA with your own would usually have.
As Marsh and I assisted the scientist’s research however we could we both came to the realization that they needed each other to function. Stein lacked a moral compass and was prone to suggest unethical or risky procedures, sometimes going so far as to carry them out without informing Frank. Frank on the other hand preferred caution in everything he did and sometimes I noticed him personally taking and shredding requests Stein had written for test subjects, hazardous materials, or samples from supernatural entities. The two kept a very delicate dance of checks and balances. Stein ever the daring mad scientist and Frank always playing the role of overly cautious genius.
Marsh and Frank got along extremely well near the end. The two would be up at all hours of the night as Frank explained what kind of things really existed in the world. Marsh always shared these ideas of a world where the supernatural and the normal could live together and I think Frank shared that vision. It wasn’t possible, still isn’t but treating the supernatural as something other than monsters couldn’t possibly be a bad thing. I think thats where the idea of the Bureau of Supernatural Affairs really came from, those talks Marsh had with anyone who would listen.
Overtime one of our favorite conversations was what we would do when the war was over and we could leave this compound. Stein wasn’t sure he would, if his research wasn’t going to a man who’d simply use it to cause more conflict he wouldn’t mind staying. Frank wanted to return home, if that was even possible and he asked if Stein would join him. Those two had also become close friends through our months in the lab. That checks and balances relationship they had made them basically inseparable. Marsh’s answer surprised me though, he said he wanted to get out of the military and start a program, something to help the supernatural live closer to normal lives. At least keep tabs on them so that the quality of their lives might improve. I was stunned, I couldn’t believe he’d throw his career away just to chase this pipe dream of his. I didn’t even know Marsh was concerned with that kind of thing. I didn’t have an answer of my own so I said I’d join Marsh and help with this program idea of his. Actually, even Frank and Stein seemed to agree with Marsh’s way of thinking. Little did we know the war would end less than a month after our talk and we’d all get the chance to actually put Marsh’s little idea to the test.
Once the Americans had come and discovered the compound pretty much abandoned aside from us we were all taken prisoner and shipped back to America. We were all interrogated and they either heard what they wanted to hear, or decided anyone we’d talk to about our experiences would assume we were just crazy. We were released back into society under constant surveillance. They even gave us a sizable home in D.C., it was certainly bugged to its core but thats exactly what we wanted.
Through the next year we used Frank and Steins knowledge and my supernatural nature to track down entities all over the country. We made sure that everything was discussed and planned out in the house. That way however was listening knew exactly what we were doing and how successful it was. It wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows though, some entities would rather we didn’t know about them. Others were naturally aggressive but some we were actually able to help.
Our escapades as a group of four didn’t last much past the first year. Mostly because our master plan of using the bugs worked perfectly. Ol’ uncle Sam had been listening in and wanted his chance at calling the shots but it meant we became a legitimate organization, the BSA. Technically the acronym was already taken but no one ever complained and Marsh never came up with anything better.
We spent 4 years doing everything we could to improve the lives of supernatural beings everywhere. Not every one of our endeavors was a success but we did some good in the world. One such project was blood banks for vampires. While the blood that gets donated is used for transfusions and the like some was put into cold storage for the BSA. That got distributed to vampires who had come to an agreement with us to stop hunting humans for blood. Some vampires were even selected for jobs at these blood banks, under the supervision of BSA agents of course.
The more human supernaturals like werewolves, vampires, and succubi even used us to find jobs in the world. We made in roads for the supernatural in daily life because of it. Werewolves would use their strength for government construction. Vampire’s long lives made them excellent archivists or history teachers because they actually been there for those events. A succubus’s ability to understand and control someones emotions and reactions made them excellent therapists and conflict deescalation specialists. Those are just some of the fields we managed to get the supernatural involved in. While they usually had to hide their natural they were wildly successful.
Everything went well until that fourth year when I first met Baelen. He was headstrong from the beginning, the powers that be were grooming him for leadership. He was everything they wanted, he followed orders and didn’t question things to much. In short, he was the perfect solution to the inconvenience the four of us caused running the organization as we saw fit. But baleen had a mean streak, he didn’t want to protect the supernatural so much as he wanted to put them in their place. Unfortunately a lot of the research we provided had scared pretty much everyone above us who had never even entertained the idea of the supernatural until now. That meant Baelen’s ideas of monitoring and segregating the supernatural population were popular. So popular that suggesting culling their numbers to keep them in check and under the thumb of the BSA was an idea they actually entertained. That sentiment caught on and our orders became more and more militant.
Every time we disregarded them to do things the way we had envisioned the consequence grew steeper. Eventually Frank, Stein, Marsh, and I just couldn’t stand to see what our BSA had become so we left. We couldn’t do anything else to stop what was coming from the inside, no point in going down with the ship.
After that Baelen quickly ended up heading the whole operation. He still took orders directly from government officials and when the BSA became part of homeland security it became Chimera division. Why they chose such a stupid name I’ll never know but the organization was a shadow of its former self. Before we looked out for the supernatural, tried to help. Under Baelen Chimera just exists to monitor the supernatural and “correct” any issues uncle Sam decides to have with them. They’re glorified enforcers that don’t give a damn how the supernatural actually have it. That’s not to say some good people don’t work for them, people like Belle and even Marsh’s own daughter as far as I’m aware.
It sickens me to think I was a part of it though, for all the good we did maybe it would’ve been better if Johnson Marsh’s pipe dream would’ve stayed just that. I can do a lot but I can’t change the past so I guess we’ll never know. A while ago I heard that something had happened in a little nowhere town out in New Mexico. Pretty much dropped off the face of the Earth. The only reason I even heard about it was through Belle’s letters. Apparently Chimera had to do some huge cover up job and decided it was better if the town just never existed. Maybe I should go myself and see if I can’t piece what happened together. Could be that someone else out there has it in for Chimera and is a whole lot more direct about it than me. I’m just imaging it was some runaway experiment Frank and Stein got up to. I wonder where those two ended up, I’ll have to check up on them sometime. This journal writing is digging up a lot of memories for me but thats probably a good thing. Write them down before I forget again. I think that’ll be all for today then, why do I keep addressing these like someone’s reading them? Not much point to that is there?

Previous Entry
Writing these things has made me realize how different I sound these days. Back when all this started I’m not sure I even spoke English and I certainly didn’t speak like I do now but to be honest, I don’t remember. Trying to recall things to write has made me realize exactly how many little things I’ve forgotten over the years. The sights, the sounds, all those fade into the background of most events.
Even something as visceral as Archer’s basement still takes me a while to recall clearly. I wonder if it’s more than just my long life, we do age after all. I mentioned before that sunlight is not deadly to vampires like myself but very unpleasant, that and it makes us more normal. In the sun I won’t be as strong as I would be in the dark and by my assessment I age in the sun as well. Not any faster than a normal person but I do age, its why I don’t still look like that little boy stuck in Paris anymore.
I did spend quite some time in Paris before I left or rather, escaped. I’m not sure I ever would have left if not for the war. I didn’t have many friends there save for other… I’m not sure what to call them… entities? Whatever you want to cal it I had some friends in the more supernatural parts of the city. A vampire named Belle had become a sort of mother figure to me over the years spent there.
I met her by chance one night as I sated myself in an alley. I was ready to fight but she just laughed and flashed her own fangs at me, ridiculing me for being so careless. It was under her wing where I learned everything I know now about vampires. It’s where I realized not all vampires endure sunlight as well as I do, if anything that one trait is what’s most unique about me according to her. But thats not the story I want to tell on these pages tonight. I want to tell the story of lieutenant Marsh and the real beginnings of the organization that would become Chimera.
When war came to Paris that summer I was unprepared. I never expected the war to spiral out of hand so quickly or for it to force me out of my home. I was with Belle and a few more of her friends whose names escape me waiting out the worst of it and hoping things would blow over in the city soon. Obviously we were completely misguided, it was that sense of invulnerability again just the same as when I was a boy. The world was our playground and nothing could hurt us. It didn’t help that in some ways I really was invulnerable and it went straight to my head.
Only flashes of my memory from that day remain. I remember the nazi soldier kicking in the door and firing at Belle’s friends. I remember the screaming that abruptly ended in a single gunshot. I remember the trail of blood leading to her friends body where it lay staked to the ground in the sun. We heal fast, not instantly but much faster than a human. Put us in sunlight though, and we’re just as fragile as a normal person. It was the first time I’d seen someone with abilities like ours die and it made me feel mortal again for the first time in decades.
The rest of the day is a disjointed blur. Belle and I fled the city, I blank out on the specifics of it but we made it out with some difficulty. After that we hunkered down for the night in a rickety old shack. I remember wanting to push on through the day but Belle protested, she didn’t deal with the sun as well as I did. When night finally fell we fled to the coast and managed to catch a ship heading towards the United States.
The trip was unpleasant to say the least, neither of us made good stowaways. We weren’t living life in the lap of luxury before by any means but we lived comfortably. This was a far cry from what we were used to in Paris and the welcome we received was even worse. Apparently fleeing for your own survival is a crime, both of us were separated and sent to prison on our arrival to the states for stowing away on the ship.
That was the last time I ever saw Belle, I get letters from her every now and then but I haven’t seen her in person since. She does well for herself, works in D.C. as a sort of handler for the supernatural. Regrettably she does work with Chimera, says they have the best interests at heart for the supernatural but she doesn’t see what I see out here. She doesn’t know the part I played in its creation, what it really stood for in the beginning. Chimera tends to kill first these days rather than actually try to help or give the supernatural some kind of place in the world. I think thats why I haven’t been to visit her, I just don’t want to argue with a friend as old as her. Funnily enough I don’t think anyone knows she’s a vampire. I doubt they’d take that very well, she’d probably lose her position. They must have suspicions though because theres no way she’d be able to get letters to me without Baelen knowing about it. Every few months they keep showing up though and I always make sure to write her back.
Anyways I’m getting off topic, back to my story. I was in prison for months until an offer came my way, serve the rest of my sentence or enlist in the army and be a free man when I came back, if I came back. Of course I took the offer, I didn’t realize how suspicious that deal sounded at the time but it actually played out exactly as they said. I also didn’t have much of a choice in the matter either. It was hard to get my hands on any blood when I was almost constantly under watch and I could feel the effects it was having on me. I figured it would be best to get a change of scenery.
The next week I was off to training then not long after, we shipped out to the trenches and met the commander of the platoon I’d been assigned to. That’s the first time I met Lieutenant Johnson Marsh and what a man he was. That first day I was convinced I’d never see a smile ever again, the trenches were a horrible depressing place. But there Marsh was, laughing and smiling and just generally enjoying life with the rest of the platoon. He was either crazy or stupid, thats what my first thoughts about him were. I remember those clearly even today but I couldn’t have been more wrong. If anything he may have turned out to be one of the smartest men I ever knew.
The first few weeks were spent holding our position from the germans. It was brutal but I found I was a decent shot with the rifle I was given. Marsh on the other hand spent those weeks barking orders at us and keeping us in line. He never used a rifle like most of the soldiers used. Instead he kept a Beretta m9 with him at all times. That weapon was the only one I ever saw him use. I remember the name only because he was so found of explaining everything there was to know about the gun to me whenever I questioned him about it. You could immediately recognize the pistol as his by its strange grip. One side of it had a picture of an idyllic scene of a manor house in the middle of a sprawling field. The other had a painting of a woman, his wife I’d guess but he never actually told me if that was there case. He seemed to spend the nights staring with longing at each side of the artistic grip.
I’d never really had a family, even with Belle I’d always felt like I was a bit of an outsider. There was so much I didn’t know about how normal people lived. Even though I’d had friends in Paris we were always kind of hidden away in our own personal corner. There was this separation between us and normal life, even between the other supernaturals in the area.
Here I felt like I was part of something though. Sure I was still lost but so was everyone else, we could be lost together and Marsh would always set us straight in the end. There was something about the man, some piece of him that just understood what we were all going through. He expected a lot from us but he was never unreasonable and several times even argued with command on our behalf when ridiculous orders came our way. I actually wanted to serve with him. The rest of the platoon wasn’t bad but they’d all been given the same deal as me. They were all just there to get out of prison. I’m still not sure what Marsh’s story was, he always kept that to himself but any of us would’ve taken a bullet for that man.
Our first real assignment came maybe three months into my period of indentured service. Our platoon was tasked with rescuing a captured American scientist and capturing a German scientist. The scientists in question were Frank Smith and Stein Hoffman and no, the irony of those names is not lost on me, fits the two of them though. I’m sure doctor Frankenstein wishes he was successful as those two. But before those orders could be acted on we had to overtake a German trench surrounding the compound they were staying in.
That fight was bloody and we lost several good men in the chaos. At one point a trench gun was shoved into my arms and I launched myself into the German trench. I wouldn’t be surprised if ghost stories are still passed around of what I did that day. After I made my way over and into the German trench I lashed out with all I had. Moving with superhuman speed and lashing out with both the bayonet affixed to my gun and my fangs, I fell upon the Germans. They stood little chance as I tore into them and all by my lonesome I ensured we’d face no more resistance.
Marsh was the first over into the now silent trench, I’m glad it was him because I’m not sure anyone else would’ve understood like him. I was holding the German officer to the trench wall, fangs buried in his neck as I fed when I heard footsteps behind me. I dropped him and turned to see Marsh staring questioningly at me. I must’ve been a sight to see, blood dripping from my mouth and covering my bullet torn uniform. Marsh steadied himself for a moment and shouted back to the rest of the platoon,
“Boys hold up a second! Just get down and stay up there a minute won’tcha!”
All of a sudden he took a step forward and a well mannered grin took its usual place on his lips.
“Though You didn’t care for sauerkraut J.?”
The joke stunned me, I fully expected him to shoot me then and there, put me down like the abomination I must’ve looked like to him.
“Lieutenant I…”
But Marsh raised his hands to cut me off.
“Command’d probably want me to shoot’cha, hell maybe I aught’a but I don’t think it’d be right. You seem decent, little odd sure but you’ve got heart, I see it in the way you look out for the boys. Plus I always figured there was some’n off about you. The way you stay out’a the light always seem a little faster and stronger than anyone got the right to be just didn’t figure it’d be…. That.”
Marsh told me pointing to the punctures in the officers neck.
“Thank you lieutenant, Could we keep this between us though sir?”
“Drop the formalities J. Jesus! We’re all friends here.”
“I just don’t want the others to know, they may not be as understanding as you.”
“No can do, but you can tell em’ yourself. Alright men, get on down here!”
In all my years I’d never had to explain myself to anyone up until that point. I guess that day my number was up but I never knew just how understanding people, normal people could be. I’d always lived around the supernatural in Paris, didn’t interact much with the normal people I saw in the streets every day, I didn’t have to. I’d always assumed there was a reason for that but in the moment I realized there wasn’t, not really. I’d just avoided normal people because I feared what they’d think if it came out that I wasn’t like them.
Of course There were some of the men that objected to… what I was. Most of them took after Marsh though. They didn’t really care what I was, I’d proven to them I was a good person and thats all that mattered. I just wish they’d been right about me back then because the truth was I still hadn’t learned to care, not really. Even the ones who objected came around eventually and that night Marsh finally came clean to me about why exactly he was so accepting.
According to him he’d always assumed there was more out there, things beyond human that lived on the fringes of society. Even he always thought he sounded crazy. I was the proof he needed to convince himself he wasn’t. Marsh also told me what we were really doing with the scientists. Both Frank and Stein researched the supernatural, their projects were as secret as secret could be. Marsh’s interests and theories, as personal as he tried to keep them showed up in his file somewhere. The higher ups had handpicked him for this mission because of it. The official story was that Frank had been captured but in reality he defected to further his own research with a like minded individual. Our mission was really to force Frank back into the fold and take Stein along with him.
The more he talked the more I could tell his heart was fully committed to this mission and the final assault tomorrow. I’d never seen someone so… alive. In my extremely long life I don’t think Id ever felt that kind of conviction myself. So I promised him I’d have his back tomorrow no matter what.
Morning broke and with it our assault began. Intel on the German defenses was shoddy at best but we never expected what we’d actually run into. At least three times our number acted as guards so a distraction was in order to give us a window of entry. A few of the men would handle the distraction “however they saw fit” to quote Marsh. Then Marsh and I would make our way into the compound itself and the rest of the platoon would cover us.
For what its worth most of the plan went off without a hitch. A tremendous explosion signaled Marsh and I to press the advantage and rush the confused soldiers that lay in front of us. Some actually turned and ran from me, apparently word of my stunt in the trenches yesterday had spread quickly. The rest of the platoon followed behind us but then our luck ran out with the roar of an engine.
An honest to god panzer tank rolled out of a tunnel we hadn’t seen that ran under the compound and turned its barrel towards us. I almost didn’t hear the blast from how slow time seemed to move. But move it did as the explosion of the shell’s impact scattered bodies left and right. The shell impacted behind us but the sheer force of the blast threw Marsh and I to the ground, knocking us unconscious.
When I slowly came to my eyes couldn’t believe what I was seeing. A man dressed in red priestly robes with a matching red top hat was walking between the bodies. When he approached one that groaned out with agony he’d kneel down and whisper things I couldn’t hear to them, after that he’d snap his fingers. sometimes the person he was talking with would disappear other times they would fall silent and sometimes it didn’t appear that anything happened at all.
Just the sight of the man terrified me and I wasn’t sure why. It was an instinctual reaction, the second I lay eyes on him I froze up and ice cold fear crept its way up my spine. When people accuse me of being the devil this man is who I think of. Even today I’m not sure what it is he does or why. What I do know is that he never looks the same. I’ve seen him appear as male, female, even as an animal on a few occasions but I can always tell. The second I’m near him no matter what he looks like the same old feeling comes over me.
Once my vision had finally focused in on the man he seemed to notice without ever looking at me. I blinked and suddenly he was there, kneeling over me.
“Would you like to live.”
He rasped down at me with a voice that seemed to boom around me no matter how quiet it must’ve actually been. I felt like a child again, staring at Archer for the first time. I’d never really had to fear death before but here I was, sure I was about to meet my end right here. In all honestly I wasn’t injured all that bad, I probably could’ve survived with or without this man help. But something told me that if I said no he’d make sure I would die right here.
“Ye…y… yes”
I stuttered out, barley able to form the words through the pain that stabbed throughout my body.
“You will be my instrument for one night at a time of me choosing.”
The man replied. I stayed silent as I stared into his eyes, trying to determine if the sunglasses he wore were tinted or if his eyes really did burn with an infernal red light. The man cocked his head as if waiting for a response to his question. I’m not sure if question was the right word though, there wasn’t much of a choice for me.
Looking back there was always a choice, maybe I could’ve survived on my own merits, found another way. In the years to come I’d wish I just said no, even if it would’ve cost me my life. But thats not what happened. I nodded and the deal maker snapped his fingers. As soon as he had dark clouds flooded the sky and blocked out the sun, allowing my body to begin repairing itself. The man moved on to where Marsh’s body lay and probably made him the same deal as I felt my body healing. Despite that, my consciousness faded again as I strained to try and hear what the man would say to Marsh.
We never actually discussed the man at all. Not then and not in the years since. Maybe that was all an unspoken part of Marsh’s deal. Maybe both of us just wished that man was nothing more than a waking dream, a vivid hallucination. Whatever the case neither of us ever mentioned that man to each other.
The next time I woke up I was chained to a table next to Marsh. We had been captured and brought before the very scientists we were here to apprehend. There were guards around but they all seemed to be waiting for some kind of order. I was certainly surprised when that order came in perfect English, even more surprised when the order was to let us down so we could talk.
Frank and Stein ended up being quite reasonable people. The two let us stay in relative comfort in the compound as long as we agreed to stay and leave them to their work. That was all the convincing it took for me. I understand that the men I’d served with were all dead and that these two were in some way responsible. Maybe that should’ve bothered me more, today it certainly would’ve. Back then I didn’t think the same way, they accepted me for what I was but only briefly, only out of respect for Marsh. What did the lives of people I’d known for so short a time really matter? Writing this now just makes me realize how cold I was before, I didn’t care for anything beyond myself. I’d made no efforts to find Belle since we were separated and how long had I known her, 100 years, more? I may have pretended I cared but when push came to shove I simply tried to make sure I survived.
Marsh wasn’t as cold as me, in fact he almost immediately reached for where his pistol should’ve been when he was unchained. It took Frank, Stein, and myself weeks to convince him that helping would be the right decision. He didn’t like it at first but little by little I think the scientists grew on him. The guards I’d seen our first day here seemed to thin out the longer we stayed. Wether that was a gesture of trust or simply because they were needed for more important duties I don’t know but it certainly eased Marsh’s mind.
I merely observed the scientists most of the time until Stein asked me for a sample of my blood. It didn’t surprise me that he knew what I was but for obvious reasons I was hesitant to give it to him, especially considering what I’d seen so called doctors do with vampire blood. Eventually he wore me down and I gave let him take a sample just to shut him up. After that I became more involved in their research though not by choice. They had me showcasing my abilities and tested the effects of sunlight on my blood. On a few rare occasions Stein even injected it into other prisoners that were brought in, something I put a stop to very quickly. T
hat sample of blood is why Frank and Stein are still around today. Somehow they managed to isolate whatever part of my DNA allows me to age so much slower than a normal person. They took that and spliced it into their own DNA against my recommendations. The crazy thing was it actually worked. Sure they had a newfound appreciation for rare steaks but beyond that I didn’t notice any of the effects that combining vampire DNA with your own would usually have.
As Marsh and I assisted the scientist’s research however we could we both came to the realization that they needed each other to function. Stein lacked a moral compass and was prone to suggest unethical or risky procedures, sometimes going so far as to carry them out without informing Frank. Frank on the other hand preferred caution in everything he did and sometimes I noticed him personally taking and shredding requests Stein had written for test subjects, hazardous materials, or samples from supernatural entities. The two kept a very delicate dance of checks and balances. Stein ever the daring mad scientist and Frank always playing the role of overly cautious genius.
Marsh and Frank got along extremely well near the end. The two would be up at all hours of the night as Frank explained what kind of things really existed in the world. Marsh always shared these ideas of a world where the supernatural and the normal could live together and I think Frank shared that vision. It wasn’t possible, still isn’t but treating the supernatural as something other than monsters couldn’t possibly be a bad thing. I think thats where the idea of the Bureau of Supernatural Affairs really came from, those talks Marsh had with anyone who would listen.
Overtime one of our favorite conversations was what we would do when the war was over and we could leave this compound. Stein wasn’t sure he would, if his research wasn’t going to a man who’d simply use it to cause more conflict he wouldn’t mind staying. Frank wanted to return home, if that was even possible and he asked if Stein would join him. Those two had also become close friends through our months in the lab. That checks and balances relationship they had made them basically inseparable. Marsh’s answer surprised me though, he said he wanted to get out of the military and start a program, something to help the supernatural live closer to normal lives. At least keep tabs on them so that the quality of their lives might improve. I was stunned, I couldn’t believe he’d throw his career away just to chase this pipe dream of his. I didn’t even know Marsh was concerned with that kind of thing. I didn’t have an answer of my own so I said I’d join Marsh and help with this program idea of his. Actually, even Frank and Stein seemed to agree with Marsh’s way of thinking. Little did we know the war would end less than a month after our talk and we’d all get the chance to actually put Marsh’s little idea to the test.
Once the Americans had come and discovered the compound pretty much abandoned aside from us we were all taken prisoner and shipped back to America. We were all interrogated and they either heard what they wanted to hear, or decided anyone we’d talk to about our experiences would assume we were just crazy. We were released back into society under constant surveillance. They even gave us a sizable home in D.C., it was certainly bugged to its core but thats exactly what we wanted.
Through the next year we used Frank and Steins knowledge and my supernatural nature to track down entities all over the country. We made sure that everything was discussed and planned out in the house. That way however was listening knew exactly what we were doing and how successful it was. It wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows though, some entities would rather we didn’t know about them. Others were naturally aggressive but some we were actually able to help.
Our escapades as a group of four didn’t last much past the first year. Mostly because our master plan of using the bugs worked perfectly. Ol’ uncle Sam had been listening in and wanted his chance at calling the shots but it meant we became a legitimate organization, the BSA. Technically the acronym was already taken but no one ever complained and Marsh never came up with anything better.
We spent 4 years doing everything we could to improve the lives of supernatural beings everywhere. Not every one of our endeavors was a success but we did some good in the world. One such project was blood banks for vampires. While the blood that gets donated is used for transfusions and the like some was put into cold storage for the BSA. That got distributed to vampires who had come to an agreement with us to stop hunting humans for blood. Some vampires were even selected for jobs at these blood banks, under the supervision of BSA agents of course.
The more human supernaturals like werewolves, vampires, and succubi even used us to find jobs in the world. We made in roads for the supernatural in daily life because of it. Werewolves would use their strength for government construction. Vampire’s long lives made them excellent archivists or history teachers because they actually been there for those events. A succubus’s ability to understand and control someones emotions and reactions made them excellent therapists and conflict deescalation specialists. Those are just some of the fields we managed to get the supernatural involved in. While they usually had to hide their natural they were wildly successful.
Everything went well until that fourth year when I first met Baelen. He was headstrong from the beginning, the powers that be were grooming him for leadership. He was everything they wanted, he followed orders and didn’t question things to much. In short, he was the perfect solution to the inconvenience the four of us caused running the organization as we saw fit. But baleen had a mean streak, he didn’t want to protect the supernatural so much as he wanted to put them in their place. Unfortunately a lot of the research we provided had scared pretty much everyone above us who had never even entertained the idea of the supernatural until now. That meant Baelen’s ideas of monitoring and segregating the supernatural population were popular. So popular that suggesting culling their numbers to keep them in check and under the thumb of the BSA was an idea they actually entertained. That sentiment caught on and our orders became more and more militant.
Every time we disregarded them to do things the way we had envisioned the consequence grew steeper. Eventually Frank, Stein, Marsh, and I just couldn’t stand to see what our BSA had become so we left. We couldn’t do anything else to stop what was coming from the inside, no point in going down with the ship.
After that Baelen quickly ended up heading the whole operation. He still took orders directly from government officials and when the BSA became part of homeland security it became Chimera division. Why they chose such a stupid name I’ll never know but the organization was a shadow of its former self. Before we looked out for the supernatural, tried to help. Under Baelen Chimera just exists to monitor the supernatural and “correct” any issues uncle Sam decides to have with them. They’re glorified enforcers that don’t give a damn how the supernatural actually have it. That’s not to say some good people don’t work for them, people like Belle and even Marsh’s own daughter as far as I’m aware.
It sickens me to think I was a part of it though, for all the good we did maybe it would’ve been better if Johnson Marsh’s pipe dream would’ve stayed just that. I can do a lot but I can’t change the past so I guess we’ll never know. A while ago I heard that something had happened in a little nowhere town out in New Mexico. Pretty much dropped off the face of the Earth. The only reason I even heard about it was through Belle’s letters. Apparently Chimera had to do some huge cover up job and decided it was better if the town just never existed. Maybe I should go myself and see if I can’t piece what happened together. Could be that someone else out there has it in for Chimera and is a whole lot more direct about it than me. I’m just imaging it was some runaway experiment Frank and Stein got up to. I wonder where those two ended up, I’ll have to check up on them sometime. This journal writing is digging up a lot of memories for me but thats probably a good thing. Write them down before I forget again. I think that’ll be all for today then, why do I keep addressing these like someone’s reading them? Not much point to that is there?

My fellow gamers, for too long has our community suffered the indignation of an intolerable culture that has denigrated, besmirched, exploited, and has outright demonized our culture of unique individuals with a genuine love of a hobby that they see as profitable and progressive. They have taken beloved IP’s (Intellectual Properties) and twisted them into their own personal ideological crusade of undermining and humiliating the core aspects of characters they deemed as “Toxic” or “White Supremacy”. Through the guise and protection of DEI (Diversity, Equity, and Inclusivity) & ESG (Environmental, Social, and Governance) they have used our influence in the entertainment industry to push their narratives and agendas that have stigmatized our culture with numerous anti-consumer practices that they call “being progressive”. But the truth of the matter is they were never really looking to be a part of our community, they simply wanted to use our community as a tool of activism and propaganda in the entertainment industry as it was extremely profitable, and they wanted inclusion in that division. Ever since GamerGate & Female Frequency, we have had to endure the incursion of forced ideologies, xenophobic behaviors and inferior overpriced products that have never been in our best interest and have been flat out disgraceful towards foreign media.
Before Gaming had become a major source of entertainment, we were often categorized as anti-social or societies rejects where because we found more enjoyment in playing fictional characters and not spending as much time out and about, we never fully assimilated in society (which is a good thing if you ask me). From 1998 to 2007, at the height of innovation, creativity and production, Gaming had reached a golden age in which it had revolutionized society. Hollywood Execs who had ruined the movie industry turned their attention to video games as a source of income since video games had outperformed movies in terms of profit. No one was concerned about gaming, much less diversity or inclusivity until it became profitable. This makes people like SBI look extremely disingenuous as they were not interested in gamers as a community with its own culture. They simply wanted to use it as another weapon in identity politics.
Microtransactions; the hidden enemy to gamer progress and inducer to mental laziness of our community. Microtransactions have been around for a long time; however, it has never been more potent and apparent than in recent years. It has aided in the dismantling and segregation of players on the ideology of FOMO (Fear of Missing Out) and has created another sub-culture of gamers who have no real drive to be better outside of how much money they put into the game. This has degraded our culture as well as we have become “fat” off transactional gaming but at the same time we have been “starved” of purposeful gaming where our achievements were our sustenance. I am not saying that microtransactions are bad, but when they are exploitative and predatorial like they have been and don’t give gamers room to grow, we become lethargic and unwilling to improve ourselves as gamers. Oversaturated microtransactional games are one of the many reasons why we have become complacent and unwilling to fight against the exploitative tactics used by big brand game companies such EA, Ubisoft, ActivisionBlizzard, NaughtyDog and so many other western business model companies. Western style games were not like this in the past, they had much more depth and actual effort put into them with the gamer in mind. This has not been the case for over a decade and our connection to western developers has been whittled down to just being transactional. That is one of the reasons why you see so many remasters and remakes in today’s gamer community. They have lost their willingness to improve as developers of games and simply accept corporate/share holder rules.
Game journalists also do not have any real integrity or purpose outside of being funded for their involvement in promoting IPG (Identity Political Games) in a positive light to the public whether it’s positively received or not. They are not interested in what we have to say, they all support the same agenda and that is why they are a dying breed. Within the next couple of years, they will be out of the job and more than likely they will not be able to stay in the industry giving how they have responded to past articles that have clearly been scripted on the premise of diversity and racism. Not only that, but most of them are also extremely hostile to the community as they stereotype and defame the individuals that are a part of the community they are supposed to serve. We have been mentally liberated from their lies and coercive tactics as we tend to laugh at their obvious attempt at virtue signaling while hiding their misdoings so that they can play the victim.
My gamer brothers & sisters, I would not suggest the following action that we must take now without good cause. I have weighed our options and the best option for us now is this…...CULTURAL SECESSION. Naturally this is a form of segregation where they would more than likely claim they are being segregated by the dominant culture of the gaming community but that is incorrect. For years now we have been the ones who are often marginalized and ostracized for the smaller portion of our community. And when we aren’t, we’re exploited for more funds so that these companies can stay in business only to subject us to low quality products that coincide with the “WOKE Agenda” that are often huge expenses to these big brands i.e. AAA/AAAA games that will eventually flop for its obvious forced diversity and bug infested product which will undoubtedly piss off the consumer to the point of wanting a refund. Losing copious amounts of capital and stock in the process, not to mention their reputation is permanently marred.
We must separate on every cultural level in terms of entertainment and ideology. We must reject everything from the west that promotes toxic western beliefs, practices, and exclusion from other cultures (i.e. Southeastern Countries such as Japan and Korea). Japan & Korea have been the targets of unjust discrimination from Western Developers, Western Journalists, Western Localizers (The Wokelizers) and Western Society Prejudice regarding their sense of aesthetics as Westerners hate the aesthetic sense of these countries. The reason why they resort to such base tactics isn’t just because it weaponizes the ideal female form but it’s also because they have deep-seated insecurities about their own looks so when they see attractive female characters, they use terms such as “unrealistic” or “hypersexualized” to establish the moral high ground. But the truth is, they want to feel superior to that which is ideal, so they insult and dehumanize this figure that portrays natural female beauty because they see it as an insult to their own social superiority in what they believe is a hierarchy of them being at the top of all other women. Because of this and so many contributing factors, their movies flop harder than the Fat Chocobo landing on a group of enemies and their games seismically fail just as much if not more. We must sever our connection to Western Developers, Publishers, and ALL Western-Centric Entertainment for they seek to mentally enslave us to their Xenophobic ideology.
Let’s define Western Culture and its traits. Western Culture/Society is composed of more than several different ideologies that work in unison with one another to facilitate dominance over multiple aspects of society. Business, Social, Political, Technological, and sometimes even Global Affairs are affected by these ideologies that portray a specific mindset of Western beliefs. What are those ideologies you ask?

• Perpetual Victimhood: By weaponizing the fact that they are marginalized and of a small portion of western society, they can push their agenda to absurd standards that ultimately ostracize the main demographic. And when companies don’t capitulate, they are labeled as anti-progressive/misogynist’s or cohorts of White Supremacy. They use this to cancel their targets and silence them through societal defamation to keep the public on their side. They also use this mindset to justify their own lack of self-agency as they tend to throw companies who do adhere to their demands but miserably fail to turn a profit under the bus so that they can maintain face in front of the public while denying their actual involvement. They will never accept “Sense of Agency” when it’s negative but will gladly accept it when a positive outcome shines on them as if they are entitled to it.

Official Wiki GamerGate Page)
​

• Societal Terrorism: This is another form of ideology weaponization that they use in order to make companies “toe-the-line” with their agenda. By weaponizing cancel culture, they exert dominance over these companies but in exchange they also reimburse those companies with DEI & ESG funds that raise their credit score as well as having social status with the marginalized demographic. However; cancel culture has not succeeded in years and developers and publishers probably only want the money and the DEI ESG rating. But they have to maintain the image of having social economic power so that they can continue to strong-arm other developers into compliance and promoting financial benefits of DEI & ESG. In other words, if you are not for sale, they discredit and stigmatize you in the industry.

Asmongold Clips.
https://youtu.be/Iq86DnmX2xY
​

• “Its not us, its you who’s wrong” Mentality: This mentality is especially annoying as they tend to use it to hide their incompetence. They often look down upon gamers who are not in the industry to hide their obvious lack of knowledge on game development thinking that their job title grants them special status that they believe gives them the right to be condescending. But the truth they never wanted revealed has already strangled their careers of all credibility. They were never GAMERS, they were INVADERS. Community Colonists that seek to indoctrinate next generational gamers into their hive-mind and brand previous generations of gamers as villains.

@GeeksandGamers
https://youtu.be/1HbrTkqQFuM
​

• Double-standard Enforcement: By labeling something as “unrealistic” or “hypersexualized”, they can claim this is morally wrong if it promotes traditional dynamics between men and women. Heterosexual relationships are condemned while at the same time Same-sex relationships are praised. Additionally, heterosexual relationships with main white male characters turn antagonistic and spotlight stealing. This is deliberate as to promote the “Girl Boss” ideology to indoctrinate women into the Feminazi state of mind. While at the same time, should a male character also adopt the “I don’t need male/female” ideology its seen as Toxic Masculinity which isn’t even a real thing. The idea of a strong male character is taboo while enforcing strong female characters is the ideal.

@MugenLord
https://youtu.be/to5Uciy_yeg
@EndymionTv
https://youtu.be/7TPTR8-qmbk
​

• Dehumanization/Demonization: This is something that most military branches use in order to remove conscious inhibitions such as mass slaughter is wrong or categorization. By enforcing ideologies to denounce humanity in certain targets, it deactivates your conscience by saying this is not human therefore its ethically okay to treat this target without compassion and deny the fact it has sentience. We gamers fall under this category for journalists, developers, companies and society at large. This is a tactic we are familiar with to an extent as it implies that we are not normal when we do not do what everybody else is doing. “Geeks are the worse” or “Nerds need to fall into a pit of lava” are verbal dehumanization forms that most people in society say and we as Gamers tend to be relegated to those categories. This is their way of imposing the social hierarchy on us by establishing superiority. We know this as Gamers as we see it very often in the games that we play and some times experience it in real life.

https://rationalwiki.org/wiki/Gamergate#The_end_of_their_relevance
​

• Deflection/Projection: This is basic psychology 101. By redirecting the conversation away from their mistakes and back on to the opposing view to avert blame and justify their innocence they can avoid criticism. However; deflection is a CONSCIOUS decision, meaning they have no real argument to justify their incompetence. If you can consciously process the situation, you have self-agency which means you don’t have a legitimate excuse. Projection is something else entirely. Most times, Projection doesn’t work on conscious decisions rather it is automatically deployed when feeling threatened, anxious or both. Instead of accepting accountability for feelings or actions that are deemed socially unacceptable they accuse others of committing that unacceptable behavior thereby exonerating themselves and proving that those feelings and/or actions are not their own.

@TheTrentReport
https://youtu.be/bPIPSKruYRo
These traits are so nefarious and unconscionable that I have a hard time believing that anyone could harbor them. However, given the social, political, and economic climate that we are in, those in power who use their influence on controlling society most definitely possess these insidious traits. Everything that they do is all about control and since video games are the biggest market in the world, they want control over it and the communities built around it to accrue more wealth and to use that wealth to subjugate other cultures. Mainstream media is a tool as well as mainstream organizations and sites to help accomplish this goal.
The government recently announced its intentions towards what they believe is “GamerGate 2.0” and now even the ADL has made an official appearance, referring to gamers as “extremist’s”. We know EXACTLY what they are doing, and they aren’t even trying to hide it anymore because they don’t think we are aware of their motives. This is just a pretext for them to exert even more control and we know why, it’s because they want the influence we as a community have to must serve them. So here is what we do my fellow gamers-
“In light of recent events and years of mainstream stigma, we the members of the Global Gaming Community [GGC] must officially renounce ALL TIES to the corporate western video game market. We have been financially exploited through predatorial monetization schemes, pelted with numerous articles of disdain and intentional misrepresentation from game journalists, news outlets regarding us as dangerous individuals and, even subjected to inferior products not only riddled with bugs but also products meant to push political agendas. For the preservation of our community and its unique culture, apart from a few select game development studios we officially sever all connections to western owned video game companies & their mainstream affiliates. From this point onward, we will no longer support western corporate developers, journalists and publishers that do not coincide with the goals of our community.”
Naturally this is completely optional. If you are okay with the state of the gaming community as it is, feel free to ignore this. But if you wish for real change and a break away from oversaturated monetization in the games you play and the push for radical ideological reform, then you are in the right place. Lets sever these rotted miasmic ties once and for all so that our community can be preserved and made better for future gamers. If you agree with this, share it with whoever you think might be interested. The more gamers who get involved, the easier it will be for us to finally break free from mainstream game companies and their associates.

This is a crossover fanfiction between original fiction titles: Nature of Predators by SpacePaladin15 and The Last Angel by Proximal Flame respectively. All credit and rights reserved goes to them for making such amazing science fiction settings that I wanted to put this together.
You can read The Last Angel here: Be warned, it's decently long, and at its third installment so far. I highly suggest reading it before reading this, or this story will not make sense.

Otherwise, enjoy the story! Thanks again to u/jesterra54 and u/skais01 for beta and checking of work!
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Memory transcription subject: Captain Sovlin, Federation Fleet Command
Date [standardized human time]: October 24, 2136
What I was doing was risky.
I kept thinking this, as I prepared to spring the idea I worked on. I had Samantha and Carlos look into acquiring a shuttlecraft, for the purposes of infiltrating Aafa. It took a day and a half longer than the UN's initial start date, but I promised them it was worth it. They believed that, and set to work on getting one through their few Venlil resources in the UN. Now that it was in my hands, I was on a trip to Aafa, alone, with no backup or human handlers to my name. They believed I wasn't a flight risk...a mistake on their part, but in a way, I was still performing their goal.
I was still suspicious of Federation governance, even before the humans took stage on the galactic scene. The Sivkit's refugee crisis turnaway, the Krakotl's military extortionate practice, the Federation was full of shady characters who ought to be exposed. I was even working on a source towards what I thought was frivolous and mismanaged Kolshian military spending budgets, but it was interrupted by the human's arrival, and I had set it to the wayside.
Though, neither of those were supposedly leaked by 'me'. Cilany was the one who put it into proper public eye, even if I was her source...
How I wish I could have her here with me, her sharp skill for coercion and interrogation of valuable info in interrogation and interview alike. But the colony she was on was under siege by the Arxur, who struck while the Federation fleet had gone to Earth. All the more fuel for the fire of my suspicions...
I could only hope that Cilany, and by extension the rest of the people there would hold out despite their actions against the humans. None deserved the Arxur thrust upon them.
It would have been far too risky to try and stop by a planet under siege by the Arxur. I would be, at best, blown to smithereens without hesitation, and at worst...eugh...don't think about it, don't think about it!
Plus, I didn't want to give any human assets an idea on my plans currently. I was already going behind their back on this, betraying their trust on this front.
If my hunch is correct, then the Arxur might be coordinating with them, and by extension, feeding info about Federation homeworlds back in their twisted little game. Seeing me pop up in a report would turn heads.
I'm sorry Humanity, but this is for your own good. You cannot trust the Arxur, and the only way we can prevent your manipulation by their Dominion is through convincing a proper attack on them from the Greater Commonwealth.
But now, I found myself on a course to Aafa, alone, all on my lonesome, seeking to do something akin to Noah, but to the most powerful person in the galaxy one-on-one...Nikonus. I felt my ability to pull rank and my reputation would precede me better than the predatory reception of humanity, even though they didn't deserve it. This was a pragmatic decision, not an emotional one…
The trip was not very eventful, roughly [6 days] one way in a ship with as underpowered of a FTL drive as this, but I was trying to sell an infiltration mission, not a courier one. I wouldn't have my claws on anything top-of-the-line for speed in a shuttle. But as my ship hit disruptor fields in-system, and I got a ping from Gunships asking for classic hailing codes, intent to visit, and the like, I sent a message that likely would have shocked their crew.
"This is Captain Sovlin of Federation Fleet Command. I have escaped human custody, and need to request an audience with Nikonus."
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Memory transcription subject: Chief Nikonus of the Kolshian Commonwealth
Date [standardized human time]: October 24, 2136
I walked the outer rungs of the capital gardens, looking for relief to the mounds of bureaucratic paperwork back in-office. A good walk could clear ones mind of most stresses every now and then, and given the circumstances nowadays, I think a longer one is in order.
The Affliaf blooms are quite vibrant today. That's a good omen, for what it's worth...
With the state of the galaxy in a comprehensive deadlock over what to do with humanity, I had to take to some under-the-table talks with Nishtal's military. While the Kolshian Commonwealth was not publically for humanity's invitation into the Federation, they were clearly vocal that they did not wish for the problem to be removed, so to speak. And so, I had to get my tentacles dirty planting seeds of inspiration to some military leaders in and around the Krakotl Alliance. They, thankfully took the predator threat as seriously as they ought to, and mobilized to rid ourselves of the pests.
It should have simply ended there. Humanity should have been exterminated, status quo restored, the whole cropland tilled. But no, a fleet of twenty-thousand failed to even kill a fledgling space-faring species like humanity! Even with the Venlil Space Corps on their side, the battle should have been a wash! And the worst part, was that the true believers on Venlil Prime were giving me garbage intelligence on the matter.
'A ship of unknown origin swooped in and saved humanity? One that was unheard of up to this point'? No, a wad of ectolan spulk, there was no chance it was humanity keeping something in reserve that could even the tide! They likely were feeding false data to their allies, the manipulative little apes. No, humanity being saved stunk of the Dominion's play, and that was worrisome.
Did Giznel and his lackeys go back on our deal, seeing blood in the water? I knew we groomed a deal out of Betterment that'd give them all the wrong ideas...
Needless to say, I had to now figure out where to start on approaching them and confirming our deal was still on the table, and to cease and desist assistance with humanity at once. If they didn't want to play ball anymore, we'd have to consider some Shadow Fleet excursions to pave a path for a public route to invasion. That would change the whole dynamic of the Federation's control structures, and was absolutely not the path this great galactic Commonwealth should go.
So now, I am stuck in a dilemma. Do I assume Giznel and the Dominion are still in on the deal, and haven't made allies with humanity in the backdrop, or do I take the only opportunity we get, and start mounting an offensive while the Dominion's unprepared.
Decisions, decisions...
Not long into my musings, an aide contacted me over holo-prompt. Odd, I didn't have anything scheduled this soon, and central planning proceedings weren't set to start up again until the following day, what was it?...
"Chief Nikonus. There's been a development on the outer edge of the system. Bulwark Patrol states that a shuttlecraft of Venlil-make warped in, one individual alone on scans. They identified itself as Captain Sovlin, seeking refuge from human captivity."
Oh dear. That's not anything I could have expected. The last thing I need right now is more complications...but that wording...
"Why hasn't he been boarded and processed yet? I am hardly the first authority to come to for a asylum dispute."
"He asked for you specifically, your graciousness. Said to request an audience with utmost urgency."
"Is that so?...Hmm." I am currently free of responsibilities for a solid chunk of time. While I did not know Sovlin personally, his record spoke for himself. If he truly was escaping human custody, it was likely he found something out about them that they shared by accident, not knowing he wasn't loyal to them.
If he's come here for the reason I think he might've, there's a very real chance...
"Send him my way as soon as possible then. He's lucky I can spare an audience now."
...that said opportunity has just walked itself right into my garden.
Memory transcription subject: Captain Sovlin, Federation Fleet Command
Date [standardized human time]: October 24, 2136
There was thankfully little fanfare or media attention in bringing my shuttle in. The decision to come alone clearly disarmed their initial worries of human sympathizing or terrorist actions, and soon enough, I found myself amongst an escort of soldiers to Aslou's government district.
I had been to Aafa various times throughout my life. In my tenure as captain, you tend to visit the homeworlds of the larger species at least once in a lifetime, if not several. Most times were not very exciting or noteworthy...but this time, the visit felt downright off.
The gardens were as beautiful as ever, but there were little walking them. The Songbedas were oddly quiet, making an unsettling atmosphere. The population out in the outer and medial rungs of the city split to make way for my escort, as if expecting trouble on their doorstep should they draw attention.
Given what happened with humanity, I wouldn't put it past them. Why is it so...empty?
It was forced to be pushed aside as we finally reached the inner rings of the Capitol Spire. A gleam ran up into the heavens, and a sequence of block outcroppings spun around the structure, green architecture patterns spiraled up and up. It was a beautiful idol of the dedication of megalithic engineering and urban planning of the Kolshian Commonwealth. Under any other circumstances, I would have once felt comfortable walking under its shadow, but now I felt only unease at being in its monolithic shade.
Across from us, not far up the steps leading to the Capitol Spire, was Nikonus and his guards. They were clearly waiting for me. Nikonus looked pleased to see me, somehow. Was there no clear indicator...?
Does he trust my cover?
"Captain Sovlin, your reputation precedes you! I could have sworn you were interred so deep you weren't getting out. Yet, you say you broke out?"
Here goes nothing. Make it believable, Sovlin...
"I...yes, your graciousness. After I was imprisoned on Venlil Prime, the humans kept trying to get me to turn on the Federation. They were convincing, but my loyalties ultimately lie in this government, Chief Nikonus." I put my chest into the last bit of the statement, trying to give emphasis.
He seemed to mull on that for a split second, before he made a gesture to follow him. "We may talk more about your escape inside. I assume what you have meant to say to me is not for public ears?" He glanced about, subtly tilting his head out at the few gathered crowds out and about Aslou's Capitol District. Given how open and flat the area was, with the slightest elevation, you could practically see for [kilometers].
He was right on that. My suspicions would not be for the general public to hear, lest it cause a panic. "Yes. It would not do for the media to run wild with. It could cause unrest."
The Kolshian's eyes seemed to glint at that. "On that, you and I can agree. Come, to my offices." Him and his troop started up the stairs, and I followed soon after, my 'escorts' following closely behind. I could not yet tell whether I was actually in good trust with Chief Nikonus, or whether he was playing up the kindly elder act. Politicians were always shifty like that...
We walked a long way, took several lifts to reach the original Kolshian suites of the Capitol Spire. Passing through halls of elaborate aquatic decor, and indoor habitats, we approached our destination: Chief Nikonus' personal office.
He waved away all but two guards to stand outside the office, as we walked in. As he sat down, and the door closed, the visual look of the Kolshian shifted. His old, elderly demeanor sharpened to a politics-honed edge. The tone of the room felt far more off.
"I hope you know how much your position here is troubling, Sovlin." His voice had none of the kindness it held before. In its place, laid a piercing tone of seriousness. "If I'm anticipating right, you came here with distinctly bad news, given the state of galactic politics and military scuffles. That is...if I can even trust your story at all." He got up from his chair in a way that betrayed none of his age from before, and began to pace.
Or was his earlier light hobbling also just a disarming act?
"I mean really, you mean to tell me you turned yourself in to humanity for 'crimes against sentience', and then go back on your self-inflicted punishment? All so you could come to Aafa to let me know of something I'm already decently certain I know of before you even tell me? Your loyalty in question is a mind game Sovlin. I do not appreciate mind games. You'd best get to your point quickly and succinctly."
There was a chilling quality to that statement. I did not want to see what lied on the end of that thinly veiled threat.
A hitch came to my throat, but I pushed through the discomfort. "I...Chief Nikonus...I do not revoke my feelings about humanity's sentience, but neither do I revoke my faith in the Federation's dream. Despite their predator biology, they are capable of empathy and care for things outside what we'd consider stereotypical predatory behavior. They still deserve a chance at being within the galactic community, of being part of the Federation; no matter what preconceptions are of predators, they are clearly different. But, there's something we distinctly missed about humanity, and I think the Arxur are making an attempt to exploit it."
WARNING: Formatting of memory transcription non-standard, conversion may cause loss of data. Do you wish to continue?
[Yes]
Memory transcription subject: Chief Nikonus of the Kolshian Commonwealth
Date [standardized human time]: October 24, 2136
"You've seen the empathy tests, right?" Sovlin mentioned. Of course I had, it was only the thing that had kept me from having their ambassador Noah shot on the spot, where was he going with this?
"Yes, I have. Are you saying there isn't empathy for them?"
"No, Chief Nikonus. They are just as empathic as before. The problem is in how they use it. If a protective instincts in herbivore's is to block the danger from the person, then a predator's instincts is to remove the danger."
Huh?
"I'm not seeing the problem here, Sovlin. Aggression versus protection is a choice all sentients can make, even if one is uncouth for most herbivores to make."
But my rebuttal didn't shake his look any. No, there was mortification interwoven throughout it still.
"Follow with me here, still. The human's empathic desires to latch onto anything as a companion is an odd case, but a documented one. They are looking for friends among the cosmos, and given the first thing they found was the Venlil, they took to them immediately. When they found the Federation, they too attempted to befriend us. And over the Cradle, despite our best efforts to dissuade them, they were curious of the Arxur too. I would know, I was there."
Hmm, so the humans have been making some attempt at contacting The Dominion. Given their Prophet's Word, and their temperament for predators, they likely would act receptive if given some chance. More fuel to the fire...
I motioned him on further. "They...interrogated a Arxur above the cradle. They told them of how Federation first contact went; how the Arxur were starved by the Federation releasing a bioweapon, and how it lead them into conflict during the uplift."
I walked over to my desk, and sat down. My tentacle hovered over a concealed sidearm underneath the lip, just in case. "And...did you believe what that Arxur said was true, Sovlin?..."
Sovlin sighed in denial. "No, your graciousness...but I'm afraid...the humans do." He shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he talked. "The Arxur have picked up on a weakness we didn't see, Chief Nikonus. Likely due to them being predators themselves. They know humanity is a pack predator, so they're seeking to manipulate the humans onto their side using their empathy."
I brought my tentacles away from the gun while I considered, because this was only meaning one thing.
Those bastards ARE going back on the deal! Sovlin, your loyalty has just saved me a world of hurt...
But before I could get a word in edgewise, he continued. "They are using the empathy the humans latch on with to some effect. Given the choice between a galaxy that shuns and tries to kill their species, and a fellow predator lending a claw in the interim, why would they pick anything but the Arxur? Why wouldn't they pick self-preservation?"
Sovlin looked at me with a worried face. I shared in the worry too, the long-term survival of the Federation was unraveling from the worst case scenario. "The humans might be coaxed into cruelty as bad as the Arxur because of that. We missed how their empathy was their bloodlust. And now the Arxur are here to collect on our mistakes."
This is bad. While we had some agreement beforehand with the Dominion, the human's existence on the galactic stage changes the game. The Dominion would look to seek true control of everything, rather than just playing even with us. The [Prisoner's Dilemma] is broken.
...But there is still a solution. And Sovlin proved himself loyal enough to help with it.
I turned back to him, trying to assuage his worries. "Sovlin, while this is very bad news, there is a solution that the galaxy isn't considering here."
Sovlin piped up. "Yes. We'd need to form an intense first strike on Wriss itself, to devastate the head of their government, and collapse their attempts to indoctrinate humanity. Humanity might protest, but it would be for their own good that the Arxur fails to get their claws on them. From there, we can try to reestablish friendly connections, even as strained and painful as they are..."
Oh, you poor naive fool Sovlin. Don't worry, there is a better way.
I enabled a soundproofing field interladen in the walls of my office, for what came next was sensitive. "Not...quite Captain Sovlin, a good plan, and one that will be considered soon. But...what if I told you, there was a way to remove that fellow predator’ link?..."
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I (41F) live in Montana and a few years ago I was forced to relocate after my landlord decided to rent to her son. The community I had lived in for 11.5 years has become incredibly expensive ($787,000 median home price). Unfortunately, I was forced to relocate to another city and because of the unexpected move and associated costs, I moved in with a roommate. My roommate left to pursue better job prospects about three months after I moved in. Our unit was a triplex, so there were two gentlemen that inhabited the other units. I was never added to the lease as the property manager required a full deposit and I was not in a financially healthy spot at the time. I remained in the unit for 1.5 years on my own paying the rent and utilities.
I became very good friends with the man in the unit closest to mine. We will call the man Devin (52M). Devin was a disabled veteran in recovery. I also am a veteran, so he held a soft spot in my heart. We shared meals, hung out and discussed all of life’s mysteries, and would look out for one another. Devin had gone to treatment for 6-weeks, and I had watched his cat while he was gone. Our friendship developed over the course of 1.5 years. Devin had expressed romantic interest; however, right from the beginning I clearly informed Devin that I did not share those feelings and we would never be more than good friends.
Devin seemed to be lonely, which made sense; however, I am a person who requires alone time to recharge my batteries. I set strict boundaries for Devin as he wanted to hang out all of the time. I would catch him walking through the front yard multiple times a day to “get the mail,” which I believed was to see if I was outside so he could stop to chat. When I would leave in the morning to go to work, Devin was always outside to tell me I looked nice and to have a good day. I told him that made me feel uncomfortable and he should just send a text letting me know if he wanted to hang out and wait for a response. There were a couple of times I yelled at him for overstepping my boundaries. The first, I had just got home and pulled into my garage. I was on a phone call and had stayed in the car, Devin looked through the garage window to see if I was home. I was annoyed but didn’t really think much of it. The second, I was getting dressed in my room in the Summer, so the window was cracked. I felt this was safe as the window was not in a place that anyone should be walking by as it was on my patio at the back of the home. I caught Devin peeking through. I lost it. I let Devin know under no uncertain terms his behavior was inappropriate and that if he didn’t respect my boundaries, we would no longer be friends.
Last year, while I was still in the home, I had asked Devin to watch my dog for a couple of days so I could go to a family event out of state. Devin was happy to help, and I was very appreciative. Not long after I returned, I started to notice strange things in my home, but I really just thought it was me. For instance, I would be fairly certain I had locked my door in the morning when I left for work, but when I returned it would be unlocked. I would be sure I had shut off all the lights, but when I got home in the evening, one would be on. I really just thought it was absentmindedness.
Fast forward a couple of months, and my mom became sick with cancer. My sister watched my dog while I went to tend to my mom. My sister reached out to me and asked if anyone else had a key to my apartment. I let her know she had the only spare key but asked why. Similarly, she had experienced the same issues with lights and locks. I had not shared my concerns with my sister prior to her communicating hers with me as I really just doubted my own sanity. While I was out of town, I received a text message from Devin asking if I had a potato he could borrow. I let him know I was out of state with my mom who was sick. Devin did not reply, which was out of character, but I had noticed a change in Devin’s affect – he was more reserved and less friendly towards me. I thought it probably had to do with my firm adherence to my boundaries, which was okay. He didn’t have to like them, just respect them.
When I got back to town, one night I stayed over at my sister's house after helping her move. As mentioned above, I was struggling financially, so I would carefully budget and plan my weekly meals. The morning before my sister’s move, I had placed three pieces of bacon into a Ziploc bag to be used later for a BLT. When I returned the following morning, much to my disbelief, there were only two pieces of bacon. I held the bag in my hands KNOWING that there had been three. No longer did I doubt myself. I called my sister and let her know that someone had been getting into my house (I ALWAYS) keep the place locked. The only logical thing that could have happened is Devin made a copy of my key when he had watched my dog in the Fall. My sister reminded me about the potato text – THE POTATO IN THE COUNTER BASKET WAS GONE!
I had enough information to be certain my neighbor had violated my trust and was no friend; however, I still wasn’t afraid of him. As I mentioned, he is a disabled vet and was somewhat feeble and sickly. I was not scared of a confrontation. I immediately went to the hardware store and purchased a camera that steams to your phone once the motion detector has been activated. I placed it facing the side door where Devin would enter. It also had two-way audio capability so my plan was that when Devin decided to enter my home again, I would see it and say over the camera something to the effect of, “get the fuck out of my house, put the key you copied on the counter, and never try to speak with me again or I will contact law enforcement.” As I wrote above, I was not on the lease, and did not want to be homeless, so I could not turn to the property manager for help and Devin knew it.
In the evenings, I started placing a jug of cat litter and a kitchen chair in front of the door that I knew Devin was accessing the apartment from, but I NEVER expected he would attempt to come in while I was at home and really, he had only taken a piece of uncooked bacon and a potato. Laying on the couch one night, watching TV, I thought that I had heard something sliding on the floor in the laundry room where the door was; but I knew there was no way he would come in while I was home. My cat was running around playing, so I decided it was probably just her and I was being paranoid because of all that had happened.
The next morning, while changing my laundry, I noticed the litter and chair had been pushed 3-4 inches. I checked the sensitivity of the camera and found that I was able to replicate by slowly opening the door. DEVIN TRIED TO COME IN WHILE I WAS HOME! WHY?! That morning, I took bear spray into the shower with me while my knees knocked. I was terrified. I felt vulnerable and violated. Devin knew that I knew now also. He knew that I had placed a barrier in front of the door. After that morning, he was never outside in the morning, nor did he walk through the yard to get his mail. I obtained a firearm for protection and did make a police report. The police officer was annoyed with me as I did not want him to approach Devin as all Devin would need to do is report me to the property manager and I would be homeless.
I am grateful that whatever he was up to was apparently thwarted. The fact that he tried to come in while he knew I was home gives me the heebie-jeebies. I wonder if he went through my underwear, watched me while I slept, etc. Since, my situation has greatly improved. I ended up moving out shortly after to take care of my mom. I got my own place again a few months ago. I will never put my trust in another neighbor for pet/house sitting again. It still blows my mind that I had some douche bag stealing from and likely stalking me. This story just solidifies one should always trust their gut. There were so many times that a red flag was screaming, and I just thought I was being crazy.

Out there - Patreon (for all those curious or wanting to support :))
At the Beginning
Adventure Arc - Arc 2
Wilderness Arc - Arc 3
Academy Arc - Arc 4
Nobility Arc - Arc 5
Previously on Leveling up the World...
The ground kept disintegrating in a five-mile radius. The number of point and line attacks targeting Dallion was so great that even the domain itself had trouble keeping up to protect him. Spikes would injure dozens, occasionally killing one or two in the process, but that would do little to hinder the mass of steel.
The noble with the steel tendrils slashed through the air, sending hundreds of line attacks in one blow. While each was individually weaker than those of a normal person, together they were a serious threat. It didn’t help that they indiscriminately sliced through soldiers on their way. The countess had no value of human life, least of those belonging to her.
Splitting into instances, Dallion combined a vertical line strike with a multi attack.
​
ATTACK NEGATED
VALORR’s attack has been sliced in two.
Attack has no effect.
​
Dozens of red rectangles blinked in and out of existence, though even they proved unable to stop everything. The solution was for Dallion to fly higher into the sky, even though that would make him a prime target. At the same time, it also gave him the possibility to perform an area attack of his own.
Taking a deep breath, he did a spiral attack aimed at the archduchess, followed immediately by a magic music attack. It would have been better if he still had rays of destruction remaining, but most of the clay cylinders had already been used up, and Dallion didn’t want to risk venturing into his realm to make more.
As expected, hundreds of soldiers leapt in front of their nobles, performing an array of defensive line attacks. None proved strong enough to stop the spiral attack, but managed to slow it down so that the only thing that reached Priscord were drops of blood.
“I’ve over ten thousand, in case you’re counting,” she said in an amused voice. “And that’s without counting the reserves. But should you somehow manage to deal with them, the emperor has entrusted me with several legions as well.”
The boast made Dallion think. There seemed to be more beneath the spite. While ten thousand awakened was a massive army, it wasn’t the largest, and it definitely wasn’t worth bragging about. With the exception of the archbishop, all conquerors had armies in the millions. Not only that, but while she claimed that the emperor had entrusted her with his legions, there didn’t seem to be any cloud forts in the air.
“Then how about I take them at once?” Dallion whispered.
A wide patch of ground beneath the archduchess and her armies suddenly fell through, creating a deep pit. The armies in full plated armor scattered, in an attempt to escape, yet less than a thousand seemed to do so. The empress, in contrast, didn’t budge. The horse she had mounted remained floating in the air, as if nothing had changed. Not only that, but magic threads had also extended, keeping the two harpsisword nobles in the air as well.
Harp, what’s that? Dallion asked.
It’s not a creature I’ve seen, the nymph replied.
Having Vihrogon here would have been better, although Dallion strongly suspected that the creature had been created, or rather modified, like the crimson furies.
Taking no chances, Dallion quickly closed up the enormous pit. Before he could manage, however, thousands of soldiers flew up, filling the air. A few hundred were squished by the earth, slamming together, though not nearly as many as Dallion had hoped.
“Living armor,” he said. How come he hadn’t noticed that before? Whatever magic there was in the armors, it had to be hidden deep inside. “They’re a bit smaller than I remember them.”
“The original creators had a lot to compensate for,” Priscord replied. “I don’t.”
A new series of attacks filled the air.
In the blink of the eye, the entire space was filled with instances. Even if the common soldiers weren’t able to split into more than twenty, that made close to a quarter million facing three hundred.
A moment of shock went through Dallion, quickly replaced by a new sensation—the thrill of battle and the desire to defeat everything thrown at him.
The archduchess had covered all the angles: echoes to grant her minions strategy, artifacts to give them flight. It was also noticeable that despite their low levels, their speed was quite close to a hundred—another magic artifact or spell that had been cast. Even so, there was one thing that the woman had forgotten: a thousand people with a thousand separate skills couldn’t compare to one who could manage a combination of all, especially within his domain.
“Countess,” Dallion shouted, deliberately aiming to irk her. Red rectangles flashed non-stop as line attacks canceled each other constantly. “You’ve never been to the Academy, have you?”
“No.” The archduchess retained her cool. “I never considered it worth anything much, even when I gained my current title.”
“Let me tell you one thing…”
Of all the remaining buildings, books and scrolls flew out of the shelves. Like swarms of insects, they amassed, flying from all directions straight towards Dallion. It would be several minutes until all of them arrived on the scene, but that wasn’t of consequence, especially for what Dallion had in mind.
​
DOMAIN AWAKENING
​
Reality shifted. It didn’t shift just for Dallion. In less than a second, everyone in the real world was transported into the realm of his new domain. In many regards, things were no different than they had been before. Here, just as in the real world, Dallion maintained control over the realm. There were also a number of differences as well. For starters, Dallion’s feet existed here, as did a host of area guardians.
“Goldy, get her,” Dallion ordered.
The golden colossus emerged from the ground, dashing straight for the countess. In contrast to everyone else, its strength and speed were considerably faster, not to mention it was immune to spells.
Not in the least taken aback, Priscord snapped her fingers. All the armors of her soldiers—nobles included—burst, increasing tenfold. Apparently, the living armors were also blooming items as well. Being taken into the awakened realms had boosted their size and abilities to a considerable degree. How considerable, would soon be seen.
“You disappoint me.” Archduchess Priscord yawned. “Did you think that I wouldn’t have a counter for this? You think you’ll impress me by being a domain ruler? I’ve fought in such battles decades before you showed up.”
“That’s not the reason I brought you here.” Dallion attempted to complete a guard sequence, but the attackers didn’t let him, always disrupting it halfway through. “As I was saying, the Academy is probably the one place in the world that has the largest number of physical books.”
At that single moment, a spark of concern emanated from Priscord. She had grasped what Dallion was going for, and by all accounts it was too late to do anything about it.
Scholar skills combined with music, spell craft, and attack, releasing thousands of aether quills from the hundreds of thousands books and scrolls that existed in the realm. Like deadly hail they ascended on Priscord’s army on all sides. The outermost layers of the army tried to block the quills’ advance only to be drilled full of holes, like bullets drilling through a rotten scarecrow. And best of all, Dallion didn’t have to worry about the colossus guardian, since they didn’t affect him in the least.
​
TERMINAL HIT
Dealt damage is increased by 1000%
​
TERMINAL HIT
Dealt damage is increased by 1000%
​
TERMINAL HIT
Dealt damage is increased by 1000%
​
Red rectangles filled the air like a sea of red. There were so many of them that they covered the entire sky, making it seem like a crimson sunset.
The sudden change in circumstances had forced a large part of the army to shift. Even with their boost, they still had to deal with the colossus, while also protecting Priscord from the aether quills. The momentary chaos created a single opening.
The harpsisword seemed to move on its own, slicing through two soldiers that blocked his way. The spark covered edge went through the massive armor as if it were butter, causing it to blast from the inside.
​
TERMINAL HIT
Dealt damage is increased by 1000%
​
TERMINAL HIT
Dealt damage is increased by 1000%
​
Two red rectangles emerged, after which the soldiers vanished as they were thrust back into the real world, their awakening powers sealed. That wouldn’t get rid of the echoes inside then, but at least made Priscord vulnerable here.
Thrusting his aura sword forward, Dallion cast a series of magic circles. Aether shards began shooting out, while chains targeted the nobles protecting the archduchess. To further cut off her support, Dallion pulled up the ground surrounding her, creating high cliffs. Unlike the other terrain changes in the realm, no one would dare attack these with line attacks out of fear of harming her. At this point, only one unknown remained—the horse.
Three of the nobles flew at Dallion, attacking him with their special weapons. Their armors, too, had blossomed into more elegant versions of living armor.
Bursting into instances, Dallion evaded the tendril sword’s attacks. At the same time, Gem flew in to meet the ax of another attacker head on. A loud cling resonated, pushing the aetherfish back, though by no means diminishing its determination. Meanwhile, Lux transformed the weapon he was inhabiting from a pair of bows to a crossbow, firing bolts of light at the third noble like a machine gun.
“Good work, guys,” Dallion whispered as he flew past, continuing towards his target.
I could take care of them easily, Gleam said, itching for blood.
I need you to keep an eye on Aqui, Dallion insisted.
She’s a great dragon! Even if she’s a cow, killing her won’t be easy.
Keep an eye on Aqui, Dallion said in a firm tone that quickly ended all protests.
A short distance away, the two nobles had combined their music skills, creating a shield around Priscord. Their skills were impressive, though nowhere near anything he’d seen in the former House Elazni. It was a novel use of their powers, though. Dallion made a note to experiment using in the future.
“Move away!” He shouted, using his own music skills, combining it with magic. His own music strands tore through the defensive mesh, striking both of the nobles.
​
PERMANENT EFFECT - PARALYSIS
IHIJON has been rendered incapable of movement for 20 minutes.
The status continues to be in effect in the real world.
​
PERMANENT EFFECT - PARALYSIS
AVIRA has been rendered incapable of movement for 20 minutes.
The status continues to be in effect in the real world.
​
That’s two down, Dallion thought, tightening his grip round the hilt of the harpsisword. Only one left.
Splitting into fifty instances, he unleashed a spiral attack right at the archduchess. His expectation was that the horse would transform into something and block the attack. No such thing happened.
Priscord herself leaped off the creature’s back. A one foot dagger appeared in her hand with which she slashed the air, performing a line attack.
​
ATTACK NEGATED
Your attack has been sliced in two.
Attack has no effect.
​
Huh? Dallion instantly performed a series of line attacks.
This was the first time he’d seen a spiral attack be stopped and in such an effortless way. There was no way this could be due to Priscord’s strength. Even if he wasn’t able to see her white rectangle, the woman’s traits were well beneath the hundred. If nothing else, she wasn’t an otherworlder and thus subject to limitations. It had to be some artifact she was wearing.
“Admiring my weapon?” the woman asked, as she kept on negating Dallion’s attacks. “It’s a nice trinket given to me by the emperor. One of several.”
“So, it’s your trinkets versus my trinkets?” Dallion asked, taking the opportunity for a music attack. To his surprise, the harpsiswords held by the paralyzed nobles played on their own, negating it as well.
“Yes.” The dagger glowed purple. “That’s precisely it.”

MANY THINGS ARE HAPPENING IN TODAY'S GEOPOLITICS. TENSIONS IN THE MIDDLE EAST, RUSSIA-UKRAINE WAR, ISRAEL-HAMAS WAR. (More conflicts with Iran, even Taiwan strait crisis, the dangers of AI and about Korea, China, Cuba, Venezuela, Africa.)
Between past and present, the series demonstrated a mysterious ability to stay one step ahead of the news
For all his scrapes, personal losses, and absurdly urgent calls, Jack Bauer, the tough, tough-talking counterterrorism agent played by Kiefer Sutherland on Fox's 24, had a relatively quiet life compared to Carrie Mathison, the resilient , but almost always deeply wounded (and, not coincidentally, bipolar) CIA agent played by Claire Danes in Showtime's Homeland, which ends after an impressive succession of eight seasons.
Each in their own way, Jack and Carrie came to represent the pressing global crises of their times. 24 premiered weeks after the September 2001 terrorist attacks and the drumbeat of war, at a moment that could be considered shockingly inappropriate (the first episode opened with a woman installing a bomb inside a plane) or too targeted solely at the United States. American viewers found they could project many of their anxieties about national security onto the series, which acted as an adrenaline rush, expressed in increasingly twisted (and less plausible) twists.
In its eighth and final season, ‘Homeland’ focuses on the two main characters
It was harder to find this catharsis in Homeland, but it made the series much better and more relevant. The defeats suffered by its characters (particularly Claire Danes as Carrie and Mandy Patinkin as Saul Berenson, Carrie's intelligence consultant and mentor) made Homeland more believable as the 21st century's real-life war on terror dragged on and on.
The bully look of Jack Bauer and his fictional Counterterrorism Unit portrayed in the 9/11 era gave way, in Homeland, to a beleaguered and politically paralyzed CIA, seen through the distortions of an agent's justifiable paranoia.
Carrie Mathison's story should not be interpreted as a sequel to Jack Bauer's trajectory (although both series had the same executive producer, Howard Gordon). Still, from the first season of Homeland it was very clear that Carrie would advance into much more complex and dark territory than that left by Jack - a time that goes roughly back to the American military operation that killed Al Qaeda leader Osama bin Laden in May 2011 until President Donald Trump's impeachment hearings in 2019, an era in which the intelligence sector was first praised, then vilified, and finally punished with dismissal by the White House.
Homeland's prescience anticipated many cases of dishonest conduct by intelligence officials, who are always plagued by executive ineptitude, which the series treated as a chronic condition of successive presidents.
Co-created and meticulously overseen by executive producer and writer Alex Gansa (and adapted from an Israeli TV series), Homeland began as a riveting thriller about the trustworthiness of a Marine recently rescued from prisoner of war status, Sergeant Nicholas Brody (Damian Lewis).
While the country celebrated Brody as a war hero, Carrie worked to find out if he had converted to Islamic terrorism. Seven seasons later, Homeland had another script: Carrie, who had spent months in a Russian prison, without access to her psychiatric medications, was now distrusted by her colleagues for a whole series of reasons, including the possibility that she was a Russian spy. .
Between past and present, Homeland has demonstrated an uncanny knack for staying one step ahead of the news. The plot was obsessed with online Russian propaganda and far-right mayhem at the same time the country was beginning to see (and ignore) the strings tied to various puppets.
Now, in the final season, Homeland focuses on the long-awaited peace agreement between the United States and the Taliban. The American president (Beau Bridges) traveled to Afghanistan to seal the deal, but was killed when his military helicopter crashed - an event designed to look like the Taliban had shot down the aircraft.
Defying her CIA supervisors, in the last few episodes Carrie did everything she could to find (and then lose) the helicopter's black box, which could prove that the crash was an accident. We are once again at the point where Homeland has always thrived: a world on the brink, with tensions rising between>! the United States and Pakistan!< and many men determined not to listen to a woman they all think is not right in the head. A recap of the entire Homeland story arc could simply say, “Despite everything, she moved on.”
Like many early fans, I tried to be one of those viewers who gave up on 'Homeland,' but I never succeeded. I admired rather than criticized the series' twists and turns (you can't say “crazy”, given its commitment to portraying Carrie's mental illness). Homeland was an unusual study in the art of the mid-season course correction, inventing surprising and provocative solutions to the narrative alleys it had run into. Chief among them was Carrie's decision in season seven to relinquish custody of her daughter — the only TV mom I can think of whose solution to the work-life balance dilemma was to stop being a mom. It was a painful and powerful commentary on the chaotic state of the world, hers and ours.
When it comes to series that are so relevant, the best ones always leave one question: who or what will take their place?
What kind of contemporary hero would be the natural successor to Jack Bauer or Carrie Mathison? And what will be the focus of your mission? Who or what will be your enemy - domestic terrorism? Vladimir Putin? Climate change deniers?
Could it be, perhaps, an FBI agent combating American hate crimes and fake news, in a series about a divided nation, rotting from the inside? (Homeland even touched on this subject.) Or a series about a kind of special operations squad of former diplomats, tasked with restoring the global damage caused by a certain government?
A series about an epidemiologist fighting disinformation campaigns? About a cybersecurity expert, even if viewers don't really like series about people sitting in front of a computer? (Homeland, unfortunately, killed its most promising spin-off potential: Max Piotrowski, Carrie's loyal computer technician, an increasingly hardened and dedicated soul, played by Maury Sterling).
Will our next Jack or Carrie be some kind of deranged hacker, like Rami Malek in Sam Esmail's Mr. Robot? Or the betrayed and mentally manipulated therapists and soldiers from another of Esmail's series, the conspiratorial Homecoming, which returns next month?
None of the above, I imagine. Like the world itself, the mission is now more open and dangerous than ever. The character who gets the task is doomed to be tortured, literally and figuratively.

GOOOOOOOOOOD MORNING SUPERSTONKERS! HAHA. It's me again. Yeah, i slipped past the defenses again to drop this off so you can all refresh yourselves on the state of FUD and disinformation in this protracted fight against the legal larcenists doing their best to try and get you to sell. Please spread this amongst the holders, the more people know the less power they have over us holders. We don't sell until we get a call from marge, and that's always been the play.
TLDR: This is a set of tactics used by the Alphabet Boys(CIA, FBI, DEA) to control and manipulate us into drama to collapse our communities and movements. And should be read in full by anyone willing and wanting to learn how these things work.
I've come to notice recently, people keep asking me to repost this for the sake of keeping the new people abreast on what needs to be done to protect the holders of GME. Beneath here will be a detailed account on what you need to be aware of in your online interactions, to avoid being taken for a fool!
_______________________________________________________________________

1. COINTELPRO Techniques for dilution, misdirection and control of a internet forum
2. Twenty-Five Rules of Disinformation
3. Eight Traits of the Disinformationalist
4. How to Spot a Spy (Cointelpro Agent)
5. Seventeen Techniques for Truth Suppression

_______________________________________________________________________
COINTELPRO Techniques for dilution, misdirection and control of a internet forum..
There are several techniques for the control and manipulation of a internet forum no matter what, or who is on it. We will go over each technique and demonstrate that only a minimal number of operatives can be used to eventually and effectively gain a control of a 'uncontrolled forum.'
Technique #1 - 'FORUM SLIDING'
If a very sensitive posting of a critical nature has been posted on a forum - it can be quickly removed from public view by 'forum sliding.' In this technique a number of unrelated posts are quietly prepositioned on the forum and allowed to 'age.' Each of these misdirectional forum postings can then be called upon at will to trigger a 'forum slide.' The second requirement is that several fake accounts exist, which can be called upon, to ensure that this technique is not exposed to the public. To trigger a 'forum slide' and 'flush' the critical post out of public view it is simply a matter of logging into each account both real and fake and then 'replying' to prepositioned postings with a simple 1 or 2 line comment. This brings the unrelated postings to the top of the forum list, and the critical posting 'slides' down the front page, and quickly out of public view. Although it is difficult or impossible to censor the posting it is now lost in a sea of unrelated and unuseful postings. By this means it becomes effective to keep the readers of the forum reading unrelated and non-issue items.
Technique #2 - 'CONSENSUS CRACKING'
A second highly effective technique (which you can see in operation all the time at www.abovetopsecret.com
) is 'consensus cracking.' To develop a consensus crack, the following technique is used. Under the guise of a fake account a posting is made which looks legitimate and is towards the truth is made - but the critical point is that it has a VERY WEAK PREMISE without substantive proof to back the posting. Once this is done then under alternative fake accounts a very strong position in your favor is slowly introduced over the life of the posting. It is IMPERATIVE that both sides are initially presented, so the uninformed reader cannot determine which side is the truth. As postings and replies are made the stronger 'evidence' or disinformation in your favor is slowly 'seeded in.' Thus the uninformed reader will most like develop the same position as you, and if their position is against you their opposition to your posting will be most likely dropped. However in some cases where the forum members are highly educated and can counter your disinformation with real facts and linked postings, you can then 'abort' the consensus cracking by initiating a 'forum slide.'
Technique #3 - 'TOPIC DILUTION'
Topic dilution is not only effective in forum sliding it is also very useful in keeping the forum readers on unrelated and non-productive issues. This is a critical and useful technique to cause a 'RESOURCE BURN.' By implementing continual and non-related postings that distract and disrupt (trolling ) the forum readers they are more effectively stopped from anything of any real productivity. If the intensity of gradual dilution is intense enough, the readers will effectively stop researching and simply slip into a 'gossip mode.' In this state they can be more easily misdirected away from facts towards uninformed conjecture and opinion. The less informed they are the more effective and easy it becomes to control the entire group in the direction that you would desire the group to go in. It must be stressed that a proper assessment of the psychological capabilities and levels of education is first determined of the group to determine at what level to 'drive in the wedge.' By being too far off topic too quickly it may trigger censorship by a forum moderator.
Technique #4 - 'INFORMATION COLLECTION'
Information collection is also a very effective method to determine the psychological level of the forum members, and to gather intelligence that can be used against them. In this technique in a light and positive environment a 'show you mine so me yours' posting is initiated. From the number of replies and the answers that are provided much statistical information can be gathered. An example is to post your 'favorite weapon' and then encourage other members of the forum to showcase what they have. In this matter it can be determined by reverse proration what percentage of the forum community owns a firearm, and or a illegal weapon. This same method can be used by posing as one of the form members and posting your favorite 'technique of operation.' From the replies various methods that the group utilizes can be studied and effective methods developed to stop them from their activities.
Technique #5 - 'ANGER TROLLING'
Statistically, there is always a percentage of the forum posters who are more inclined to violence. In order to determine who these individuals are, it is a requirement to present a image to the forum to deliberately incite a strong psychological reaction. From this the most violent in the group can be effectively singled out for reverse IP location and possibly local enforcement tracking. To accomplish this only requires posting a link to a video depicting a local police officer massively abusing his power against a very innocent individual. Statistically of the million or so police officers in America there is always one or two being caught abusing there powers and the taping of the activity can be then used for intelligence gathering purposes - without the requirement to 'stage' a fake abuse video. This method is extremely effective, and the more so the more abusive the video can be made to look. Sometimes it is useful to 'lead' the forum by replying to your own posting with your own statement of violent intent, and that you 'do not care what the authorities think!!' inflammation. By doing this and showing no fear it may be more effective in getting the more silent and self-disciplined violent intent members of the forum to slip and post their real intentions. This can be used later in a court of law during prosecution.
Technique #6 - 'GAINING FULL CONTROL'
It is important to also be harvesting and continually maneuvering for a forum moderator position. Once this position is obtained, the forum can then be effectively and quietly controlled by deleting unfavourable postings - and one can eventually steer the forum into complete failure and lack of interest by the general public. This is the 'ultimate victory' as the forum is no longer participated with by the general public and no longer useful in maintaining their freedoms. Depending on the level of control you can obtain, you can deliberately steer a forum into defeat by censoring postings, deleting memberships, flooding, and or accidentally taking the forum offline. By this method the forum can be quickly killed. However it is not always in the interest to kill a forum as it can be converted into a 'honey pot' gathering center to collect and misdirect newcomers and from this point be completely used for your control for your agenda purposes.
CONCLUSION
Remember these techniques are only effective if the forum participants DO NOT KNOW ABOUT THEM. Once they are aware of these techniques the operation can completely fail, and the forum can become uncontrolled. At this point other avenues must be considered such as initiating a false legal precidence to simply have the forum shut down and taken offline. This is not desirable as it then leaves the enforcement agencies unable to track the percentage of those in the population who always resist attempts for control against them. Many other techniques can be utilized and developed by the individual and as you develop further techniques of infiltration and control it is imperative to share then with HQ.
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Twenty-Five Rules of Disinformation
Note: The first rule and last five (or six, depending on situation) rules are generally not directly within the ability of the traditional disinfo artist to apply. These rules are generally used more directly by those at the leadership, key players, or planning level of the criminal conspiracy or conspiracy to cover up.
1. Hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil. Regardless of what you know, don't discuss it -- especially if you are a public figure, news anchor, etc. If it's not reported, it didn't happen, and you never have to deal with the issues.
2. Become incredulous and indignant. Avoid discussing key issues and instead focus on side issues which can be used show the topic as being critical of some otherwise sacrosanct group or theme. This is also known as the 'How dare you!' gambit.
3. Create rumor mongers. Avoid discussing issues by describing all charges, regardless of venue or evidence, as mere rumors and wild accusations. Other derogatory terms mutually exclusive of truth may work as well. This method which works especially well with a silent press, because the only way the public can learn of the facts are through such 'arguable rumors'. If you can associate the material with the Internet, use this fact to certify it a 'wild rumor' from a 'bunch of kids on the Internet' which can have no basis in fact.
4. Use a straw man. Find or create a seeming element of your opponent's argument which you can easily knock down to make yourself look good and the opponent to look bad. Either make up an issue you may safely imply exists based on your interpretation of the opponent/opponent arguments/situation, or select the weakest aspect of the weakest charges. Amplify their significance and destroy them in a way which appears to debunk all the charges, real and fabricated alike, while actually avoiding discussion of the real issues.
5. Sidetrack opponents with name calling and ridicule. This is also known as the primary 'attack the messenger' ploy, though other methods qualify as variants of that approach. Associate opponents with unpopular titles such as 'kooks', 'right-wing', 'liberal', 'left-wing', 'terrorists', 'conspiracy buffs', 'radicals', 'militia', 'racists', 'religious fanatics', 'sexual deviates', and so forth. This makes others shrink from support out of fear of gaining the same label, and you avoid dealing with issues.
6. Hit and Run. In any public forum, make a brief attack of your opponent or the opponent position and then scamper off before an answer can be fielded, or simply ignore any answer. This works extremely well in Internet and letters-to-the-editor environments where a steady stream of new identities can be called upon without having to explain criticism, reasoning -- simply make an accusation or other attack, never discussing issues, and never answering any subsequent response, for that would dignify the opponent's viewpoint.
7. Question motives. Twist or amplify any fact which could be taken to imply that the opponent operates out of a hidden personal agenda or other bias. This avoids discussing issues and forces the accuser on the defensive.
8. Invoke authority. Claim for yourself or associate yourself with authority and present your argument with enough 'jargon' and 'minutia' to illustrate you are 'one who knows', and simply say it isn't so without discussing issues or demonstrating concretely why or citing sources.
9. Play Dumb. No matter what evidence or logical argument is offered, avoid discussing issues except with denials they have any credibility, make any sense, provide any proof, contain or make a point, have logic, or support a conclusion. Mix well for maximum effect.
10. Associate opponent charges with old news. A derivative of the straw man -- usually, in any large-scale matter of high visibility, someone will make charges early on which can be or were already easily dealt with - a kind of investment for the future should the matter not be so easily contained.) Where it can be foreseen, have your own side raise a straw man issue and have it dealt with early on as part of the initial contingency plans. Subsequent charges, regardless of validity or new ground uncovered, can usually then be associated with the original charge and dismissed as simply being a rehash without need to address current issues -- so much the better where the opponent is or was involved with the original source.
11. Establish and rely upon fall-back positions. Using a minor matter or element of the facts, take the 'high road' and 'confess' with candor that some innocent mistake, in hindsight, was made -- but that opponents have seized on the opportunity to blow it all out of proportion and imply greater criminalities which, 'just isn't so.' Others can reinforce this on your behalf, later, and even publicly 'call for an end to the nonsense' because you have already 'done the right thing.' Done properly, this can garner sympathy and respect for 'coming clean' and 'owning up' to your mistakes without addressing more serious issues.
12. Enigmas have no solution. Drawing upon the overall umbrella of events surrounding the crime and the multitude of players and events, paint the entire affair as too complex to solve. This causes those otherwise following the matter to begin to lose interest more quickly without having to address the actual issues.
13. Alice in Wonderland Logic. Avoid discussion of the issues by reasoning backwards or with an apparent deductive logic which forbears any actual material fact.
14. Demand complete solutions. Avoid the issues by requiring opponents to solve the crime at hand completely, a ploy which works best with issues qualifying for rule 10.
15. Fit the facts to alternate conclusions. This requires creative thinking unless the crime was planned with contingency conclusions in place.
16. Vanish evidence and witnesses. If it does not exist, it is not fact, and you won't have to address the issue.
17. Change the subject. Usually in connection with one of the other ploys listed here, find a way to side-track the discussion with abrasive or controversial comments in hopes of turning attention to a new, more manageable topic. This works especially well with companions who can 'argue' with you over the new topic and polarize the discussion arena in order to avoid discussing more key issues.
18. Emotionalize, Antagonize, and Goad Opponents. If you can't do anything else, chide and taunt your opponents and draw them into emotional responses which will tend to make them look foolish and overly motivated, and generally render their material somewhat less coherent. Not only will you avoid discussing the issues in the first instance, but even if their emotional response addresses the issue, you can further avoid the issues by then focusing on how 'sensitive they are to criticism.'
19. Ignore proof presented, demand impossible proofs. This is perhaps a variant of the 'play dumb' rule. Regardless of what material may be presented by an opponent in public forums, claim the material irrelevant and demand proof that is impossible for the opponent to come by (it may exist, but not be at his disposal, or it may be something which is known to be safely destroyed or withheld, such as a murder weapon.) In order to completely avoid discussing issues, it may be required that you to categorically deny and be critical of media or books as valid sources, deny that witnesses are acceptable, or even deny that statements made by government or other authorities have any meaning or relevance.
20. False evidence. Whenever possible, introduce new facts or clues designed and manufactured to conflict with opponent presentations -- as useful tools to neutralize sensitive issues or impede resolution. This works best when the crime was designed with contingencies for the purpose, and the facts cannot be easily separated from the fabrications.
21. Call a Grand Jury, Special Prosecutor, or other empowered investigative body. Subvert the (process) to your benefit and effectively neutralize all sensitive issues without open discussion. Once convened, the evidence and testimony are required to be secret when properly handled. For instance, if you own the prosecuting attorney, it can insure a Grand Jury hears no useful evidence and that the evidence is sealed and unavailable to subsequent investigators. Once a favorable verdict is achieved, the matter can be considered officially closed. Usually, this technique is applied to find the guilty innocent, but it can also be used to obtain charges when seeking to frame a victim.
22. Manufacture a new truth. Create your own expert(s), group(s), author(s), leader(s) or influence existing ones willing to forge new ground via scientific, investigative, or social research or testimony which concludes favorably. In this way, if you must actually address issues, you can do so authoritatively.
23. Create bigger distractions. If the above does not seem to be working to distract from sensitive issues, or to prevent unwanted media coverage of unstoppable events such as trials, create bigger news stories (or treat them as such) to distract the multitudes.
24. Silence critics. If the above methods do not prevail, consider removing opponents from circulation by some definitive solution so that the need to address issues is removed entirely. This can be by their death, arrest and detention, blackmail or destruction of their character by release of blackmail information, or merely by destroying them financially, emotionally, or severely damaging their health.
25. Vanish. If you are a key holder of secrets or otherwise overly illuminated and you think the heat is getting too hot, to avoid the issues, vacate the kitchen.
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Eight Traits of the Disinformationalist
1) Avoidance. They never actually discuss issues head-on or provide constructive input, generally avoiding citation of references or credentials. Rather, they merely imply this, that, and the other. Virtually everything about their presentation implies their authority and expert knowledge in the matter without any further justification for credibility.
2) Selectivity. They tend to pick and choose opponents carefully, either applying the hit-and-run approach against mere commentators supportive of opponents, or focusing heavier attacks on key opponents who are known to directly address issues. Should a commentator become argumentative with any success, the focus will shift to include the commentator as well.
3) Coincidental. They tend to surface suddenly and somewhat coincidentally with a new controversial topic with no clear prior record of participation in general discussions in the particular public arena involved. They likewise tend to vanish once the topic is no longer of general concern. They were likely directed or elected to be there for a reason, and vanish with the reason.
4) Teamwork. They tend to operate in self-congratulatory and complementary packs or teams. Of course, this can happen naturally in any public forum, but there will likely be an ongoing pattern of frequent exchanges of this sort where professionals are involved. Sometimes one of the players will infiltrate the opponent camp to become a source for straw man or other tactics designed to dilute opponent presentation strength.
5) Anti-conspiratorial. They almost always have disdain for 'conspiracy theorists' and, usually, for those who in any way believe JFK was not killed by LHO. Ask yourself why, if they hold such disdain for conspiracy theorists, do they focus on defending a single topic discussed in a NG focusing on conspiracies? One might think they would either be trying to make fools of everyone on every topic, or simply ignore the group they hold in such disdain. Or, one might more rightly conclude they have an ulterior motive for their actions in going out of their way to focus as they do.
6) Artificial Emotions. An odd kind of 'artificial' emotionalism and an unusually thick skin -- an ability to persevere and persist even in the face of overwhelming criticism and unacceptance. This likely stems from intelligence community training that, no matter how condemning the evidence, deny everything, and never become emotionally involved or reactive. The net result for a disinfo artist is that emotions can seem artificial.
Most people, if responding in anger, for instance, will express their animosity throughout their rebuttal. But disinfo types usually have trouble maintaining the 'image' and are hot and cold with respect to pretended emotions and their usually more calm or unemotional communications style. It's just a job, and they often seem unable to 'act their role in character' as well in a communications medium as they might be able in a real face-to-face conversation/confrontation. You might have outright rage and indignation one moment, ho-hum the next, and more anger later -- an emotional yo-yo.
With respect to being thick-skinned, no amount of criticism will deter them from doing their job, and they will generally continue their old disinfo patterns without any adjustments to criticisms of how obvious it is that they play that game -- where a more rational individual who truly cares what others think might seek to improve their communications style, substance, and so forth, or simply give up.
7) Inconsistent. There is also a tendency to make mistakes which betray their true self/motives. This may stem from not really knowing their topic, or it may be somewhat 'freudian', so to speak, in that perhaps they really root for the side of truth deep within.
I have noted that often, they will simply cite contradictory information which neutralizes itself and the author. For instance, one such player claimed to be a Navy pilot, but blamed his poor communicating skills (spelling, grammar, incoherent style) on having only a grade-school education. I'm not aware of too many Navy pilots who don't have a college degree. Another claimed no knowledge of a particular topic/situation but later claimed first-hand knowledge of it.
8) Time Constant. Recently discovered, with respect to News Groups, is the response time factor. There are three ways this can be seen to work, especially when the government or other empowered player is involved in a cover up operation:
a) ANY NG posting by a targeted proponent for truth can result in an IMMEDIATE response. The government and other empowered players can afford to pay people to sit there and watch for an opportunity to do some damage. SINCE DISINFO IN A NG ONLY WORKS IF THE READER SEES IT - FAST RESPONSE IS CALLED FOR, or the visitor may be swayed towards truth.
b) When dealing in more direct ways with a disinformationalist, such as email, DELAY IS CALLED FOR - there will usually be a minimum of a 48-72 hour delay. This allows a sit-down team discussion on response strategy for best effect, and even enough time to 'get permission' or instruction from a formal chain of command.
c) In the NG example 1) above, it will often ALSO be seen that bigger guns are drawn and fired after the same 48-72 hours delay - the team approach in play. This is especially true when the targeted truth seeker or their comments are considered more important with respect to potential to reveal truth. Thus, a serious truth sayer will be attacked twice for the same sin.
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How to Spot a Spy (Cointelpro Agent)
One way to neutralize a potential activist is to get them to be in a group that does all the wrong things. Why?
1) The message doesn't get out.
2) A lot of time is wasted
3) The activist is frustrated and discouraged
4) Nothing good is accomplished.
FBI and Police Informers and Infiltrators will infest any group and they have phoney activist organizations established.
Their purpose is to prevent any real movement for justice or eco-peace from developing in this country.
Agents come in small, medium or large. They can be of any ethnic background. They can be male or female.
The actual size of the group or movement being infiltrated is irrelevant. It is the potential the movement has for becoming large which brings on the spies and saboteurs.
This booklet lists tactics agents use to slow things down, foul things up, destroy the movement and keep tabs on activists.
It is the agent's job to keep the activist from quitting such a group, thus keeping him/her under control.
In some situations, to get control, the agent will tell the activist:

• "You're dividing the movement."

[Here, I have added the psychological reasons as to WHY this maneuver works to control people]
This invites guilty feelings. Many people can be controlled by guilt. The agents begin relationships with activists behind a well-developed mask of "dedication to the cause." Because of their often declared dedication, (and actions designed to prove this), when they criticize the activist, he or she - being truly dedicated to the movement - becomes convinced that somehow, any issues are THEIR fault. This is because a truly dedicated person tends to believe that everyone has a conscience and that nobody would dissimulate and lie like that "on purpose." It's amazing how far agents can go in manipulating an activist because the activist will constantly make excuses for the agent who regularly declares their dedication to the cause. Even if they do, occasionally, suspect the agent, they will pull the wool over their own eyes by rationalizing: "they did that unconsciously... they didn't really mean it... I can help them by being forgiving and accepting " and so on and so forth.
The agent will tell the activist:

• "You're a leader!"

This is designed to enhance the activist's self-esteem. His or her narcissistic admiration of his/her own activist/altruistic intentions increase as he or she identifies with and consciously admires the altruistic declarations of the agent which are deliberately set up to mirror those of the activist.
This is "malignant pseudo identification." It is the process by which the agent consciously imitates or simulates a certain behavior to foster the activist's identification with him/her, thus increasing the activist's vulnerability to exploitation. The agent will simulate the more subtle self-concepts of the activist.
Activists and those who have altruistic self-concepts are most vulnerable to malignant pseudo identification especially during work with the agent when the interaction includes matter relating to their competency, autonomy, or knowledge.
The goal of the agent is to increase the activist's general empathy for the agent through pseudo-identification with the activist's self-concepts.
The most common example of this is the agent who will compliment the activist for his competency or knowledge or value to the movement. On a more subtle level, the agent will simulate affects and mannerisms of the activist which promotes identification via mirroring and feelings of "twinship". It is not unheard of for activists, enamored by the perceived helpfulness and competence of a good agent, to find themselves considering ethical violations and perhaps, even illegal behavior, in the service of their agent/handler.
The activist's "felt quality of perfection" [self-concept] is enhanced, and a strong empathic bond is developed with the agent through his/her imitation and simulation of the victim's own narcissistic investments. [self-concepts] That is, if the activist knows, deep inside, their own dedication to the cause, they will project that onto the agent who is "mirroring" them.
The activist will be deluded into thinking that the agent shares this feeling of identification and bonding. In an activist/social movement setting, the adversarial roles that activists naturally play vis a vis the establishment/government, fosters ongoing processes of intrapsychic splitting so that "twinship alliances" between activist and agent may render whole sectors or reality testing unavailable to the activist. They literally "lose touch with reality."
Activists who deny their own narcissistic investments [do not have a good idea of their own self-concepts and that they ARE concepts] and consciously perceive themselves (accurately, as it were) to be "helpers" endowed with a special amount of altruism are exceedingly vulnerable to the affective (emotional) simulation of the accomplished agent.
Empathy is fostered in the activist through the expression of quite visible affects. The presentation of tearfulness, sadness, longing, fear, remorse, and guilt, may induce in the helper-oriented activist a strong sense of compassion, while unconsciously enhancing the activist's narcissistic investment in self as the embodiment of goodness.
The agent's expresssion of such simulated affects may be quite compelling to the observer and difficult to distinguish from deep emotion.
It can usually be identified by two events, however:
First, the activist who has analyzed his/her own narcissistic roots and is aware of his/her own potential for being "emotionally hooked," will be able to remain cool and unaffected by such emotional outpourings by the agent.
As a result of this unaffected, cool, attitude, the Second event will occur: The agent will recompensate much too quickly following such an affective expression leaving the activist with the impression that "the play has ended, the curtain has fallen," and the imposture, for the moment, has finished. The agent will then move quickly to another activist/victim.
The fact is, the movement doesn't need leaders, it needs MOVERS. "Follow the leader" is a waste of time.
A good agent will want to meet as often as possible. He or she will talk a lot and say little. One can expect an onslaught of long, unresolved discussions.
Some agents take on a pushy, arrogant, or defensive manner:
1) To disrupt the agenda
2) To side-track the discussion
3) To interrupt repeatedly
4) To feign ignorance
5) To make an unfounded accusation against a person.
Calling someone a racist, for example. This tactic is used to discredit a person in the eyes of all other group members.
Saboteurs
Some saboteurs pretend to be activists. She or he will ....
1) Write encyclopedic flyers (in the present day, websites)
2) Print flyers in English only.
3) Have demonstrations in places where no one cares.
4) Solicit funding from rich people instead of grass roots support
5) Display banners with too many words that are confusing.
6) Confuse issues.
7) Make the wrong demands.
8) Compromise the goal.
9) Have endless discussions that waste everyone's time. The agent may accompany the endless discussions with drinking, pot smoking or other amusement to slow down the activist's work.
Provocateurs
1) Want to establish "leaders" to set them up for a fall in order to stop the movement.
2) Suggest doing foolish, illegal things to get the activists in trouble.
3) Encourage militancy.
4) Want to taunt the authorities.
5) Attempt to make the activist compromise their values.
6) Attempt to instigate violence. Activism ought to always be non-violent.
7) Attempt to provoke revolt among people who are ill-prepared to deal with the reaction of the authorities to such violence.
Informants
1) Want everyone to sign up and sing in and sign everything.
2) Ask a lot of questions (gathering data).
3) Want to know what events the activist is planning to attend.
4) Attempt to make the activist defend him or herself to identify his or her beliefs, goals, and level of commitment.
Recruiting
Legitimate activists do not subject people to hours of persuasive dialog. Their actions, beliefs, and goals speak for themselves.
Groups that DO recruit are missionaries, military, and fake political parties or movements set up by agents.
Surveillance
ALWAYS assume that you are under surveillance.
At this point, if you are NOT under surveillance, you are not a very good activist!
Scare Tactics
They use them.
Such tactics include slander, defamation, threats, getting close to disaffected or minimally committed fellow activists to persuade them (via psychological tactics described above) to turn against the movement and give false testimony against their former compatriots. They will plant illegal substances on the activist and set up an arrest; they will plant false information and set up "exposure," they will send incriminating letters [emails] in the name of the activist; and more; they will do whatever society will allow.
This booklet in no way covers all the ways agents use to sabotage the lives of sincere an dedicated activists.
If an agent is "exposed," he or she will be transferred or replaced.
COINTELPRO is still in operation today under a different code name. It is no longer placed on paper where it can be discovered through the freedom of information act.
The FBI counterintelligence program's stated purpose: To expose, disrupt, misdirect, discredit, and otherwise neutralize individuals who the FBI categorize as opposed to the National Interests. "National Security" means the FBI's security from the people ever finding out the vicious things it does in violation of people's civil liberties.
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Seventeen Techniques for Truth Suppression
Strong, credible allegations of high-level criminal activity can bring down a government. When the government lacks an effective, fact-based defense, other techniques must be employed. The success of these techniques depends heavily upon a cooperative, compliant press and a mere token opposition party.
1. Dummy up. If it's not reported, if it's not news, it didn't happen.
2. Wax indignant. This is also known as the "How dare you?" gambit.
3. Characterize the charges as "rumors" or, better yet, "wild rumors." If, in spite of the news blackout, the public is still able to learn about the suspicious facts, it can only be through "rumors." (If they tend to believe the "rumors" it must be because they are simply "paranoid" or "hysterical.")
4. Knock down straw men. Deal only with the weakest aspects of the weakest charges. Even better, create your own straw men. Make up wild rumors (or plant false stories) and give them lead play when you appear to debunk all the charges, real and fanciful alike.
5. Call the skeptics names like "conspiracy theorist," "nutcase," "ranter," "kook," "crackpot," and, of course, "rumor monger." Be sure, too, to use heavily loaded verbs and adjectives when characterizing their charges and defending the "more reasonable" government and its defenders. You must then carefully avoid fair and open debate with any of the people you have thus maligned. For insurance, set up your own "skeptics" to shoot down.
6. Impugn motives. Attempt to marginalize the critics by suggesting strongly that they are not really interested in the truth but are simply pursuing a partisan political agenda or are out to make money (compared to over-compensated adherents to the government line who, presumably, are not).
7. Invoke authority. Here the controlled press and the sham opposition can be very useful.
8. Dismiss the charges as "old news."
9. Come half-clean. This is also known as "confession and avoidance" or "taking the limited hangout route." This way, you create the impression of candor and honesty while you admit only to relatively harmless, less-than-criminal "mistakes." This stratagem often requires the embrace of a fall-back position quite different from the one originally taken. With effective damage control, the fall-back position need only be peddled by stooge skeptics to carefully limited markets.
10. Characterize the crimes as impossibly complex and the truth as ultimately unknowable.
11. Reason backward, using the deductive method with a vengeance. With thoroughly rigorous deduction, troublesome evidence is irrelevant. E.g. We have a completely free press. If evidence exists that the Vince Foster "suicide" note was forged, they would have reported it. They haven't reported it so there is no such evidence. Another variation on this theme involves the likelihood of a conspiracy leaker and a press who would report the leak.
12. Require the skeptics to solve the crime completely. E.g. If Foster was murdered, who did it and why?
13. Change the subject. This technique includes creating and/or publicizing distractions.
14. Lightly report incriminating facts, and then make nothing of them. This is sometimes referred to as "bump and run" reporting.
15. Baldly and brazenly lie. A favorite way of doing this is to attribute the "facts" furnished the public to a plausible-sounding, but anonymous, source.
16. Expanding further on numbers 4 and 5, have your own stooges "expose" scandals and champion popular causes. Their job is to pre-empt real opponents and to play 99-yard football. A variation is to pay rich people for the job who will pretend to spend their own money.
17. Flood the Internet with agents. This is the answer to the question, "What could possibly motivate a person to spend hour upon hour on Internet news groups defending the government and/or the press and harassing genuine critics?" Don t the authorities have defenders enough in all the newspapers, magazines, radio, and television? One would think refusing to print critical letters and screening out serious callers or dumping them from radio talk shows would be control enough, but, obviously, it is not.

As the title says, I haven’t been here is 316 days. The last time I posted was upon returning from a foreign holiday, expressing my desire to return to sobriety, after a week long binge that I hated myself for. Some good news is that I did. I spent the best part of 9 months sober, I enjoyed every day of it. As someone who has always had issues with mental health, achieving longer periods of sobriety, exercise and routine are the only things that keep my mind in check.
Well, if you view my last couple of posts here, you will see there’s quite the pattern. Drinking on holiday. Twice this month I have trips outside of my country and both times I have slipped up. The first time I was away for 4 days with my closest friends. None of them pressured me to drink, they understand and offer me support in my issues. However, I cannot expect them to stop me, as I am a grown adult apparently. I made it through the first day fine, the second day started amazingly, I got to tick off visiting somewhere special to me and despite it not being that interesting to my friends, they all tagged along and had a great time too. After that we went for lunch and around a few bars, I started getting the itch to drink. We were out for around 3 hours, them enjoying a leisurely drink, me feeling envious but not showing it. I walked to the bar and saw a selection of my old favourites and lied to myself saying I could just have a few afternoon drinks and be back to our hotel for the evening and all would be fine…
Obviously, we all know how that story goes. 4 hours later, I am completely blackout drunk, vomiting in a family friendly bar, ruining other people’s day with my obnoxious behaviour and getting kicked out. Most of my friends had returned to our hotel before this point to relax before evening plans, one friend had stayed with me, also someone who has an issue with alcohol. We walked for a while before finding somewhere else to let us in and continued drinking until I was vomiting again. You would think this would be enough to get me to call it a night but once back at our hotel after 9 hours of drinking, I proceeded to stay in the hotel bar until closing. Luckily my pace had slowed by this point but I was still acting extremely obnoxiously, the bar was empty and the only employee was very understanding when I apologised for my behaviour the next day.
My 3rd day away was ruined. I managed to get up for a few hours for prearranged plans, but other that I was bed bound. On one hand, at least I wasn’t drinking, on the other what a waste.
I got home, got back to normal life and hoped it was a one off. However, I was due a week abroad again, which I am currently 5 days into. It is a family holiday, no big drinkers, siblings, cousins and their children at a family friendly resort. Surely, I could manage this? Wrong, of course.
The first day, the first hour we arrive and I’m ordering alcohol. My excuse? I didn’t have much sleep, a few won’t hurt to take the edge off. As history repeats itself, 10 hours later I have been drinking all day and I’m asking if anyone wants a night out, by this point I can already taste vomit coming back up on me.
Well my brother in law, a notorious light drinker takes me up on the offer to go out. After drinking rum all day, we head out at 10pm, I continue to drink for another 4.5 hours (at an increasingly fast pace, like I always do) before he heads back to our hotel. I didn’t realise he was leaving at the time and I was quite angry when I figured it out. Looking back, we had a miscommunication and I forget that despite his limited time drinking, he was also very drunk. I felt he had abandoned me, drunk, somewhere I did not know and figured my only solution was to find a club that was open until morning. As it turns out, nowhere was open that late, so I wonder the streets asking people for an after party. During this period, I managed to lose my phone, my hotel key card and my credit card. I don’t realise this until I have found someone going back to party so my drunken mind says who cares, I may as well carry on now.
I got back to their hotel, where let’s just say we all indulged in other things beyond alcohol. I don’t usually do this and it caused me to go off at the deep end, they said I lost my mind a little, accused them of trying to keep me against my will and then start kicking all the doors on their floor until they calmed me down. Somehow these people were still fine with me afterwards and as the alcohol wore of we talked all night and I explained my issues with alcohol and how I’m so embarrassed by my behaviour. I was so grateful for these people taking me in because I could have ended up in a very dangerous situation without them. They helped me get home the next morning and I wasted another day of another holiday in bed.
I came round on the 3rd day and of course, I need something to take the edge off. I have 3 drinks, I start talking myself into going out again, just for a quiet one. Luckily my siblings called me on my bull shit and shut that possibility down. I stopped at 3 and now hopefully I can see the rest of the week out. My mindset has changed back to how it was before this month now, I am ready to get back disciplined and I feel like I have managed that in day to day life now but my next trip away is in 4 months and I know I need to improve my mental strength and discipline before then. I can’t not travel for the rest of my life, it is the thing I enjoy most each year but I need to find a way to stop it leading to these downfalls.
I appreciate you all and well done if you have made it this far. I mainly have wrote this to refer back to when I have any thoughts on drinking again, to hold myself accountable and remind myself how I behave when under the influence. It obviously has not helped the last few times but I suppose it does not hurt to keep trying. I can put previous successful streaks down to actively reading here everyday and that’s something I am going to commit to doing again.

***Lily***
“Stupid gnome prejudice. I may not be the biggest fan of gnomes but, just because we are small doesn’t mean we can’t cause some damage.” Mogsten says as he walks over, kicks the fishman, and picks up the horn and dusts it off. “I’m hesitant to admit this since, when he regains consciousness, he will do what he could to ruin my business even more but, still, thank you Wabbajack.” He says.
“Don’t mention it Mogsten, this guy’s haggling game was all over the place.” Wabbajack responds.
“Indeed, he has no understanding of value.” Mogsten says with a smirk on his face.
“Well, unless he knew that you had about another sixty of those in the back that is.” Wabbajack says as he chuckles.
Mogsten quickly turns around as he says, “Shh. That’s a trade secret.” He then lets out an “oh ho ho” chuckle. He then looks down and yells, “Gourdsten! Clean up!”
Just like that, Gourdsten comes out from the back and drags the body off. Soon after the body disappears towards the back, Gourdsten reappears with a spray bottle, gloves, and a sponge.
“What happened to him?” I ask Mogsten.
“Don’t worry, I can’t afford a bloody reputation. He is just in stasis until the authorities get here.” Mogsten answers with.
“Stasis?” I ask.
“She really is new to all this huh? Stasis is basically freezing someone in a state of time. In this state however, while nothing can happen to them, they can’t function. Depending on the state they are in when they go under, they may be aware of the environment around them. Sometimes, certain criminals may undergo such punishment for their crimes.” Mogsten explains, looking at Wabbajack for some reason.
Mogsten then looks at me and asks, “So, did you find all the ingredients?”
I nod my head.
He then rubs his temple as he asks, “And you Really intend to go through with this?”
“There’s no other option!” I exclaim.
“Well, there are quite a few, just that they would take a LOT longer.” Wabbajack points out.
I look at him in annoyance and he responds with, “What? Just saying.”
I sigh and look at Mogsten and hand him the “ingredients”.
“Let’s see what we have. A fur scarf, a pistol, a lantern that looks like a child tried to make it, a… rubber duck. And what the world is this?” Mogsten asks pulling out the leg.
“It’s a prosthetic leg for a dragon-sized crocodile. Well, a smaller scale version at the very least.” I explain.
“Who would put a prosthetic leg on a Dragon-sized crocodile?” he asks.
“Right?” I ask in return.
He then looks back at the leg, strokes his fake beard, and says, “Well, when you put it like that, makes sense you would want to use it as an ingredient.” He then looks back at me and asks, “Are these the ingredients that you Really want to use?”
“They fit the descriptions that you gave me.” I point out.
He then looks at the ingredients again and says, “Yes… this may actually work then.”
“Come again?” I ask him.
“Well, one of the Biggest reasons, after that whole dark nature I mentioned, that this fails is that people try to influence their familiar by using ingredients that don’t inspire these feelings.” He explains.
“Because of this disconnection between the host and the familiar, that may also cause the familiar to go berserk as well.” Wabbajack then explains.
“Exactly!” Mogsten exclaims as he points towards to Wabbajack. He then looks back to me and asks, “With that in mind, are you one-Hundred percent sure that these ingredients are correct?”
I nod again and explain, “I can explain my reasons if you want.”
“No. As long as you are certain, then follow me to the back.” He says as he picks everything up again and starts waddling towards the back.
“Would you like some help?” I ask.
“No, I have to prepare everything anyways so it’s best I handle most things from here.” He explains.
Wabbajack walks past me but, I notice he is holding his banjo-thing upside-down. But, its neck is awfully long. Long enough to reach the ground and have the base be about level to his head. Which is pretty impressive since he is not that much taller than me. I want to ask about it but, I figured that is better left for later. Besides, I could probably guess that it can switch between a staff and an instrument. So, I shrug and follow them towards the back.
As I pass the flaps, I let out an audible, “Wow” because the room is massive! There is so much stock in here. I would have never guessed it from the gypsy-sized tent I see from the outside.
I guess Mogsten hears me as he says while putting the items in a pattern, “Spatial compression spell. It’s like that bag you are probably holding. It’s a pocket of space that you can mess with everything as long as it’s registered to you. Any merchant worth his salt at least attempts to lessen the target on his store to wannabe burglars. For example, there was a tannery that was completely torn apart for scrap. I hear the owner left it unattended And unlocked. I hope he can recover from that, it’s a pretty costly mistake.”
I look off towards the side and say, “Oh, I hear he is doing alright. Hehe.”
He pulls out a spray can and says while he shakes it, “That’s good.” He then starts spraying the ground.
I look over towards Wabbajack, who is standing sideways towards the thing Mogsten is working on. He has his free hand about chest level, fingers-spread, and it looks like he has a weird circle thing again like when I think I have seen him do before when he casted magic. Like when he summoned that ghost thing. I guess he is on guard duty.
I look back at Mogsten and see he is about halfway done at this point. He works fast since the design is very intricate. Now that I think about it, it looks like that circle Wabbajack has but… different. I think I remember reading about this. These must be magic circles. While they look similar, they must be different since each magic circle represents something different. Kinda like snowflakes. I can’t help but ask, “What’s that you are spraying to make that magic circle?”
“Ah, someone has been studying. It’s a mixture of compounds for creating the familiar summoning circle. I kept a few around just in case that someone managed to convince me to do this.” He explains. He then stands up and shakes it some more as he says, “I thought it was unlikely but, a smart businessman looks at every opportunity.” He then goes back to spraying and says, “Now, no offense, but mind letting me focus? I got to make sure I get this perfect. I want to lessen the margin of error as much as possible.”
“Oh! Sure. Sorry.” I say. Now that I think about it, I look towards my bag and think about what he said, “Like my bag.” I open it and it looks like a normal bag. Either it needs to be activated or it doesn’t have that spell yet. I’ll have to ask about that after we are done.
“Before I forget, leave your bandolier and bag over by Wabbajack there. We don’t want to add unnecessary items to the circle.” Mogsten says as he shakes the can again.
“Oh! Alright!” I respond. I take off my bandolier and put it down by Wabbajack.
“Don’t worry. If worse comes to worse, I’ll protect you. And come whatever may, we’ll figure out what to do next.” Wabbajack says.
I feel a little relief hearing him say that. Next thing I know, Gourdsten runs up to me with a simple white robe. “Oh, what’s this?” I ask.
“It’s a robe.” Wabbajack says.
As I look at him, annoyed, Gourdsten says, “Robe! Wear Robe!”
Mogsten then explains, “You’ll have to take off the rest of your gear as well and wear just that robe. Like I said, No unnecessary items. Only simple clothes.”
I look at the robe and say, “Oh… There is a changing room, right?”
“This way! Here, here!” Gourdsten says as he pulls my arm.
“Alright! Calm down.” I say.
I follow him to a wooden stall. “I guess I change in there, huh?” I ask.
“Yes! Correct!” Gourdsten says.
I sigh and open it up, step inside and change. Afterwards, after I step out in the robe, Gourdsten then says, “Shoes! Too!”
I look down and sigh. I then ask, “Can that wait till we get back?”
“Shoes! Shoes! He repeats.
I then puff my face in annoyance as I sit down and take off my shoes. “Happy?” I ask.
He just jumps up and down and starts walking back.
All I can think is that it’s a good thing that the floor is at least wooden. I then get up, grab my stuff, and chase after him.
As we get back, Mogsten appears out of nowhere and points behind him as he says, “Circle is done. All that is left is the blood of the subject.”
“You’re not going to slit my wrists, are you?” I ask with a meek chuckle.
“Heaven’s no!” He says as he pulls out a syringe. He then grabs my wrist under these large sleeves and asks, “On three. Ready?”
I nervously nod my head. Just as he opens his mouth, I quickly say, “Wait! Why do we need blood again?” Trying to delay the inevitable.
He looks at me and explains, “A familiar is an extension of yourself. Quite literally. In order to cement that bond, it needs the blood of the host. That bond will allow you and your familiar to share experiences but, still allow autonomy for individual thought. You can live without it but, for it to retain its presence, it needs you alive.”
“Fascinating. Mind going into more detail?” I say with a weak smile.
He then stabs the syringe into my wrist as he says, “No.”
“Ow!” I yelp.
Just like that, he pulls the syringe out and empties it out into a bowl. “Alright, here you go.” He says as he hands me the bowl.
As I stare into a small bowl of my own blood, I ask, “What am I supposed to do with this?”
“Now, You stand at the center of the circle. As I activate the circle, the blood will start sloshing around in that bowl. Do NOT let a SINGLE drop fall out until the last item is floating. When the last item does start floating, pour the blood in the center and take four steps back. Got it?” he explains.
I look over back to the circle and then look back to Mogsten and repeat, “Don’t let it spill until the last object starts floating. When it does, pour it all out and take four steps back, right?”
He nods and says, “Correct.” I think I then hear him mumble, “I can’t believe I was convinced to do this.” As he walks away.
I then take my place at the center of the circle. I am somewhat trembling at this point.
“Are you sure, you want to do this?” Mogsten asks again.
“Just do it already!” I yell back.
He lets out a sigh and starts mouthing something as he levels out his arms towards me.
I could feel the energy around me shifting and moving. I start seeing the objects that were placed start floating one by one. Slowly but surely. I then look down at the bowl and it is sloshing around. So far, not too bad. Around the time the fourth object starts floating, the blood really starts flying around to the point I have to actually adjust to make sure it doesn’t go flying out.
After a few more minutes the last object starts flying up. As soon as it stops moving, I pour the blood and take four steps back. The blood stops midair and forms a bubbling ball. It then rises up about level to my face. It stops bubbling and then a flash of blinding light envelops the room and I try to shield my eyes.
After a minute, I slowly open my eyes and lower my arms. What I see before me is something pretty weird.
It’s in the shape of a sphere with a detached fox tail. The floating tail matches the fur of the body of the “familiar”, I guess. Its fur is a golden yellow with a white tip. The body looks like it has a line down the middle, with Very sharp fangs from the top row. It has fox ears and tiny fox paws and a fox nose. It’s got lines for eyes? Either that or they are just closed. Between its ears, it has a lantern dangling from a line, kinda like an angler fish. The other side of that line looks like white gator leather and it has two tiny gator feet. As it yawns, I guess, it opens its massive mouth, showing all its fangs, top and bottom rows, and stretches its fox paws, revealing some nasty looking barbed claws. It’s only as tall as, from the floor, up to my knee.
[First] [Previous]

Usually, my Gardyn’s light is on by the time I get downstairs. It wasn’t on this morning. So I turned it off and on again. A few minutes later, the lights turned back on. Was I supposed to do that? Or are there times when the plants need a break from the lights and I need to reset it to be off again? The thing is, the light on the Gardyn turned off last night preceded by 2 bright flashes. It hasn’t done that before. There was no power outage last night. There’s nothing on the app that has helped. As a matter of fact, I keep being told by the app that I’m 4 days past due on my evaluation of sprout growth even though I keep telling it that they’re not ready. And the app does say it’s online. Any insights would be helpful

Im glad y'all liked the last chapter. I'm going to continue this story and see where it goes. As usual, if you like this then make sure to like and comment: I really value your feedback. I'm also thinking of going back and editing some things, as I thought of some cool ideas that might make the story more interesting, mainly some Meta ideas to increase the depth of this litRPG. So make sure to go back and read the last chapter in a bit: some things may be different.
First
I gripped the rough leather hilt of my new sword tightly as I walked down the newly lit hall within this strange labyrinth. The air was dank and musty, and cobwebs hung from every corner. The dented blade glowed in the firelight, as did the breastplate, and I was just starting to warm up.
I didn't like this place: it made me feel uneasy. The loneliness was also crushing, but for some reason I was used to it. The weight of all my gear was also heavy, with all the weapons and rations causing my shoulders to ache, but I pressed forward. Something inside me insisted that this was familiar, and if I could do it before then I could do it now.
At first, the hall seemed unending, but after what felt like hours I finally reached a large, open room with a humble wooden throne in the center. The edges of the vaulted ceilings held great tapestries that had faded over time, the once magnificent artistry lost forever. Candelabras, urns, and braziers all forged from bronze and inlaid with different gems and precious metals were strewn about, and there was a gigantic bronze brazier at the center of the room, just in front of the throne.
On the throne sat a withered corpse wearing a crown of twisted branches, as well as rusted armor that had fused with flesh long ago. Simple wooden coffins lined the walls, six in total, each likely containing another corpse.
Then I noticed the brazier in the middle: it had long gone cold, the coals dead and waiting to be given life again by flame. But what worried me more was the burnt remains of the skeleton in the center: it was a reptilian thing, tall and robust judging by the size of the femurs, and it gripped a sword much like mine…
Okay, I didn't like this place at all, not one bit. Whoever was here before me obviously met some horrible fate, maybe even burnt alive within the brazier, which was a fate I had no desire to experience.
Next to the throne was a chest, and anyone with common sense knew that opening the chest would probably be a bad idea. So I looked for something far more valuable: an exit. At the far end of the room we're a pair of double doors made from polished slate, and soni approached them. I ran my scaly hands across it and admiring the beautiful masonwork: engraved with elegant images of all sorts of events, such as men slaying giants, terrifying dragons burning down villages, great treasures hidden away, and a large mead hall with a boat as it's roof nestled on a hill, it was something out of legend. But that didn't matter, I just needed them to open so I could leave. They didn't budge from me pushing them, nor did they possess any handles or bars, so something else has to activate them.
I decided to see if I could get some answers out of the magic note turned journal. I pulled it out and began writing with the quill, the tip seemingly possessing an endless supply of ink. How do I open the doors?
Once again, my good hand began moving if it had a mind of its own, scribbling out a minimalist sentence that would probably be of no use to me. Open the chest.
I grumbled and wrote down another response. Will bad things happen if I open the chest?
More furious scribbling against my will. Bad things will happen either way.
Well, that was reassuring.
What will happen when I open the chest?
Bad things. I wanted to punt the book across the room. I just stuffed it back into my bag and growled again, the depth of my reptilian voice startling me. I was sure I wasn't supposed to sound like that, but I did. Maybe I was just overthinking this, and it was just a side effect of some kind of amnesia, but I really felt like I was in the wrong body.
I turned back to the throne and the chest next to it. It was a simple wooden thing with no lock, so it wouldn't be challenging to open at all. I walked towards it, sword in hand, anxiety shooting through me like electricity, and as I bent down to open it up I couldn't help but look behind me as I did so.
Then, with one simple motion, I opened it. There was more than I expected, but still not much, just a small pile of rough gold coins and a few assorted gems. I dipped my hand into the gold and pulled out a handful, the coins each easily the width of a golf ball and decently hefty too. Then I looked for a place to put them: if I was going to be put in danger for opening this damn chest, then I was going to get something out of it.
As I stuffed the gold into my pack, I heard creaking next to me, and I instinctively dropped my pack onto the ground and kicked it to the side before rolling away. The withered corpse lifted itself up from the wooden throne, a faint hissing escaping its lips as if its vocal chords no longer worked. Then it turned to me, eyes glowing red with hatred and jaw clenched. It balled its fists and deeper its hateful gaze before pointing at me and unleashing an ear-splitting hiss like that of copper pipes coming apart. I lifted up my longsword and held it in a defensive stance, backing away slowly as my ears rang. Then I felt a bony hand on my shoulder.
I spun around and swung the blade, vivisecting another corpse halfway. All the other coffins were bursting open, and the angered dead were hobbling out, some holding rusted and chipped weapons, others simply meandering towards me with the same hatred in their eyes as the first. I was surrounded.
I swung my sword and cut one’s head off, the otherwise dry and leathery flesh of its neck giving way to my old longsword. Then I sliced through the knee of another, sending it sprawling to the ground before I stomped its head into pieces. That left four, including the one on the throne. That one stood back, glaring at me and waving its hands as if conducting an orchestra, its armored robes flowing despite the lack of ventilation. It must be the one controlling the undead.
I matched forward, sword lifted again and swung at the leader of the undead. It blocked the strike with its armored bracer and swiped at me, bony hands scraping against my breastplate but also imbuing me with an overwhelming weakness to the touch, as if I hadn't slept for days. With a grunt, I kicked him back and onto the floor, but the rest of the dead seemed to fall into a frenzy, charging at me as if they were rabid ghouls. I needed to end this, and I needed to end it now.
I impaled the first undead and kicked him off alongside their ringleader, then slammed the pommel of by sword into the forehead of the next with a spiteful roar that seemed to charge the air with static, crushing the undead’s skull inward and releasing the energy trapped within as if crumbled to the floor. The third swiped at my arm, causing an intense cold to run through me and a horrible pain to erupt from the deceptively small laceration, as if maggots were chewing on my flesh. I roared again and swung diagonally, vivisecting the decrepit thing all at once.
That left the composer. It stood back up and seemed even angrier than before, as if it had actually cared for those skeletons. Then I heard a voice behind its bestial whispers, a voice that almost sounded… pained. “Hadvar, Børge, Aegilief, Gunhild, Halfdan, Ivar! Do not fall, not to this dragon’s bastard!” It seemed to exclaim, but its cries seemed to fall on deaf ears as the corpses were no more, what remained of the flesh disintegrating into nothing more than ash, leaving only dirty bones behind.
“You shouldn't have attacked me.” I said behind grit fangs, my body still recovering from the effects of their icy touch. But no matter how much I tried to justify it to myself, it always felt like a weak response: I was probably plundering some poor guy's tomb, and then proceeded to kill all his friends to boot. I was in the wrong here, but I wasn't just going to be trapped in this shit hole of a tomb forever.
Then I looked at the brazier, which was now lit and burning, the otherwise bleached white bones of the reptile thing within coated in fresh soot. They would've killed me, or I would've starved. And they were already dead, anyway: for all I knew the undead here were held together by nothing more than old memories and whatever terrible magic possessed this place. I wasn't going to die yet, I at least wanted to see the sun one last time.
“Sorry about you and your friends, but I'm not going to die here today,” I said, trying to seem apologetic, “I've only got one shot, or so I've been told.” I matched forward again, unwavering, and busted him in the head with my pommel before slicing off his arm at the joint when he tried to reach out for me again, hissing with anger. Then, as I bullied him backwards to put some length between us, I finally kicked him one last time and jammed the end of my sword into his empty eye socket, sending the blade through his rotting head and out the back. He let out one last hiss before going limp, whatever magical nonsense holding him together dissipating as his body crumpled and his bones unknitted themselves.
I dropped the sword with a grunt and sank to my knees. My head felt like it was stuffed with cotton, and my stomach was churning. The horrible sickness the undead gave me when it swiped at me seemed to be winding down, the pain in my arm dull and more distracting than painful, but the unbearable cold and discomfort was still coursing through me. I needed to get out of this wretched place. This was a tomb, right? Maybe that door led to some kind of exit to the outdoors, or at least a pathway to it.
I forced myself back up on my feet, retrieved my bag and filled it with the rest of the treasure from the chest, and strapped everything on my back once again. I would probably want to find some kind of civilization, maybe a place where this gold would hold some value, because then maybe I could use it to find some answers.
Behind me, the doors began to crumble with a glowing purple light, as if the magic that has sealed it had been broken with the death of the undead on the throne, and I could see some semblance of light. I rushed towards it, only to find myself in an even colder area than before. The air was frigid and filled with a thick, looking fog that seemed to sap the strength out of me. It felt like an early spring morning, when it would go just above freezing and the rain had come in droves overnight, leaving behind the mist. Spruces, pines and other evergreen trees towered around me, and the forest floor was coated in thick roots, mossy rocks, vines, and dead evergreen needles. A dirt path that had long been overtaken by the forest stretched away from the tomb I had emerged from, leading me away from this place.

I sit alone in my room on the seventh floor, writing what will surely be my last will and testament. The heroin which allowed me to forget and to sleep for the last couple of years has lost its power to keep the screaming terrors away. The drug destroyed my body and mind, gradually eating away at them like a corrosive acid. Now I have become a slave to it. And yet, without it, I do not sleep for weeks, but instead continuously see the scenes from that terrible night running through my head on repeat as worsening waves of madness crash on the shores of my consciousness.
In the caverns under the town of Frost Hollow, I found the meaning of true madness. Ever since I escaped that den of horrors, it is difficult to tell what is real and what is only the feverish delirium of an unhinged mind.
Even now, they wait behind the door to this cheap, bare rented room. They drag their claws over the wood. I hear them hissing in that strange, ancient tongue, the one I first heard in the tombs of rock that had been undisturbed for countless millennia.
***
I had first heard rumors of an unexplored cavern from my friend, an experienced caver named Sonia who had explored caverns all over the world. I had been looking for some excitement in my life, some break from the constant monotony and boredom of simply working and sleeping. I had gone caving quite a few times over the year leading up to the trip, but I was not nearly as experienced and had never explored a supposedly virgin passageway of cavern before.
“How do you know no one’s gone down there?” I asked, curious. We sat across from each other at a local diner, getting some early breakfast before our planned descent. The sunrise was still another half-hour away, the sky flat and dark. We would be joined by Sonia’s husband, Phil, who would meet us there shortly after sunrise. I repressed an urge to yawn, chugging half of the steaming hot coffee in one long swallow. Sonia leaned close to me, her nearly colorless blue eyes reminding me of chunks of ice floating down a muddy stream.
“Phil’s friend just found it randomly,” she whispered before glancing around conspiratorially, as if she feared someone would care enough to eavesdrop on a conversation about a cave. “Well, it’s in the middle of a farm, and Phil’s friend, Jack Graysole, owns the entire property and surrounding woods. Jack says he noticed the cows kept going over to a certain spot in the field when it got really hot during the summertime. They would all gather around this little indentation in the grass. After seeing it a few times, Jack got curious and went to investigate what the cows were doing.
“He found a small hole in the ground, almost entirely covered by weeds and grass. He said he felt a cool breeze constantly blowing out of the hole, a breeze that smelled like burning matches and charred metal. After bringing out some shovels and digging down a couple feet, Jack realized that the hole wasn’t a hole at all, but the beginning of a steep passageway leading deep into the bowels of the earth.”
***
The owner of the land decided to unofficially call the newly-discovered cavern Graysole Caverns. Out of respect for him, this is also the name we all used. This is the story of how I found myself in the bowels of a strange subterranean tunnel, a tunnel where creatures beyond my comprehension slunk and hunted, skittering monstrosities who would be more at home in a nightmare.
After grabbing a couple coffees to take with us, Sonia drove over to Graysole Farms. Cows stood out in the grassy fields, huddled in tight circles as they repetitively chewed. The thin silhouette of Jack Graysole waited for us next to the herd. He had a face like a raisin, I thought to myself. I watched his thin, shaking body standing in the middle of an overgrown grassy field. Jack stared down blankly at something only he could see. Sonia and I started unloading some equipment from the car while we waited for Phil.
Once we had the backpacks loaded with some simple supplies, such as water, food, headlamps, rope, a couple extra batteries, some buck knives, and radios, we headed over to accompany Jack. We weren’t taking much, as we didn’t really expect to be down there for more than six or seven hours at the most.
Jack Graysole’s withered old face was as slack and expressionless as that of a corpse. He stared down at the ground as if he were in a trance, waving back and forth slowly on his feet like a plant in a light breeze.
“Jack?” Sonia called out as we approached. I could hear the man’s teeth chattering as we got nearer.
“Hey, what are you doing over here this early? You interested in accompanying us down there?” Sonia joked. But Jack might as well have been totally deaf for all the reaction he gave. Sonia glanced over at me with an anxious expression. I wondered if the old man was having a stroke.
I quickly walked over to where he stood, staring down at a black circular hole about three feet across directly in front of his feet. The entrance to Graysole Caverns stared up at us like a sightless pupil. As I drew within a few feet of Jack and looked straight into his blank eyes, I noticed something alarming.
His pupils were quickly dilating and constricting before my eyes. They would shrink to tiny pinpoints, then, a couple seconds later, rapidly expand until they became dark and serious. I could see his thready, rapid heartbeat pulsating in a vein on the side of his temple. Alarmed, I reached forward and put my hand on his shoulder.
Instantly, he came to life, like a man waking up from a nightmare. Shrieking, he looked at me with fully dilated pupils, reminding me of a panicked deer surrounded by wolves. His quavering old man’s voice shook with ineffable existential horror and mortal fear.
He took a step back away from us, seeming to realize where he was and what he was doing. He looked around, confused, then straight at me and Sonia. His eyes focused with anger and fear, as if we were demons here to drag him down to Hell. His eyes flicked back and forth between us constantly. Jack raised a trembling hand and pointed it straight at my heart.
“It’s you,” he said, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. His teeth chattered despite the warm spring air. His skin looked deathly pale. “You’re the one who will bring an end to humanity, who will release the ruler of nightmares upon us.” He continued to point accusingly for a long moment at me, his face turning chalk-white. Then his eyes rolled up in his head. Slowly, he stumbled and fell backwards onto the soft grass of the field.
“Jack!” Sonia cried, running over to the old man. Jack’s breaths had started to come in slow, drawn-out gurgles, like a man with a slit throat trying to breathe. Frothy blood bubbled from his lips as they turned blue. Staring up at the endless expanse of cloudless sky, he exhaled one last shuddering breath and died.
***
Phil showed up only a couple minutes later. He found me and Sonia in a state of utter panic, both of us bent double over the still body of Jack. Sonia was on the phone with 911, and I was trying to give Jack chest compressions. The way his fingernails and lips shone with that cyanotic blue cast made me feel sick and weak. I knew it was futile, that I was simply playing with a corpse at this point, but I didn’t know what else to do. I felt if I didn’t do something, I might explode.
I heard the faint wailing of sirens approaching as Sonia’s panicked voice continued babbling to the 911 operator. Phil stood by her side, his tall, dark features searching and lost.
“Oh God, I think he’s dead!” Sonia cried over and over to the operator, as if she thought the operator could do anything about it. I didn’t hear what the operator said in response. As the ambulance pulled in, I gave up on chest compressions. I stood up and took a step back, looking sadly down on the kindly old man’s dead body.
The paramedics ran over. Phil, Sonia and I stood back while they worked on the corpse, trying to shock the heart back into life. But Jack’s open eyes stayed glazed as they stared sightlessly up into eternity.
***
The paramedics left. A couple police officers stayed behind to ask us a few routine questions. Eventually, after an hour or so, they left, too.
“What a fucked-up day,” Phil said, shaking his head grimly. “Do you guys still want to do this? Maybe it’s an omen from God telling us to go home.” Sonia and I exchanged a glance, then we both nodded at the same time.
“Definitely,” she said. “It’s sad what happened to Jack, but realistically, we don’t know what’s going to happen to this property now that he’s passed away. It might get sold or taken by the bank for all we know. This could be our one and only chance to explore this cave.”
“I don’t believe in omens. I’m still down,” I said, feeling slightly sick from the experience. I still remembered how Jack’s body had cracked under the weight of my chest compressions, how his ribs had snapped like bones shattering in greedy hands. “We’ll do it in memory of Jack. I plan to put this up on YouTube.” I pulled my GoPro out of my bag, turning it on. Phil groaned at that.
“Do we have any idea how far down this cave goes?” Phil asked. I felt a sense of relief now that the topic had changed from the death of the old man.
“I sent a little camera down on a rope, but it only went about a hundred feet,” Sonia responded. “It’s pretty steep at first, then it levels out. I couldn’t really see much after it leveled out, but it looks like it should be easy to climb down. There’s plenty of handholds, lots of jutting rocks.”
Phil put on his headlamp and small pack. As he crawled down into the hole, his tanned face looked up at us and gave us one last devilish grin. Once he had gone down a few dozen feet, Sonia started descending. She looked excited and happy. I noticed how she couldn’t stop smiling as she disappeared from view.
I watched their lights grow smaller and dimmer in the circular tunnel. I marveled at how perfectly circular the entrance was. It almost didn’t even look natural.
Taking a deep breath in, I followed my friends down into the dark.
***
“This isn’t too bad,” I said as I climbed down. The jutting rocks gave plenty of handholds and footholds for us. It wasn’t so tight that it felt like a coffin, either.
“It only gets easier from here!” Sonia called up.
“How do you know?” I asked. “You said you’ve never been here before.” She laughed.
“I know. Probably just wishful thinking,” she said. Far below us, Jack’s voice drifted up, faint and weak. He had already reached the bottom.
“The tunnel really opens up down here, guys,” he called. “It’s somewhat… bizarre, though.”
“What do you mean by that?” Sonia asked. I looked down, seeing Sonia and I would reach the bottom in seconds. “Forget it, I’ll let it be a surprise.” I heard her drop down. Slowly and carefully, I lowered myself down the last few feet. There was a short fall onto a smooth granite floor. I looked up, seeing what Phil and Sonia were so mesmerized by.
“Oh, wow,” I said, speechless. I blinked rapidly, wondering if the image would clear like a mirage. The tunnel was cut into a perfectly triangular shape, each side about seven feet long. The ceiling met in a point above our heads.
All along the smooth walls of gray rock, I saw thousands of black orbs peeking out. They looked similar to obsidian, but they were perfectly smooth and circular, each about the size of an orange. They were formed into interlocking diagonal patterns and followed the tunnel straight down as far as the eye could see.
“What is this place?” Sonia asked, taking a tentative step forward. I looked up, seeing the distant pinpoint of sunlight far above our heads. Our voices continued to echo off down the massive tunnels, disappearing in eerie waves into the thick curtain of shadows.
“Are you recording all this?” Phil asked me. I laughed, giddy.
“Of course! This is internet gold right here,” I said. “No one’s going to believe that this isn’t man-made, however. I can’t even believe it. Do you think Jack was playing a joke on us or something?”
“Jack had the sense of humor of a wet paper towel,” Phil whispered, shaking his head. “No, he wouldn’t do something like this.”
“Well, let’s go check it out,” Sonia said, taking a step forward. Her headlamp bobbed up and down rapidly, throwing dancing shadows through the triangular tunnel. It continued straight ahead, without the slightest deviation or curve, disappearing off into a dark point in the distance.
***
We walked as fast as we could, excited to see where, if anywhere, the strange tunnel led. Phil, always the conspiracy theorist, babbled excitedly.
“This has to be aliens, man,” he said, running his fingers through his dark hair. “I bet that scientists will find out this shit is millions of years old when we get back up and tell everyone. Maybe aliens came to earth in ancient times and made a bunch of stuff underground.” Gradually, as we walked, I noticed the tunnel opening up. The pointed triangular ceiling rose up higher above our heads and the walls moved outwards, as we were walking up a triangular funnel. At first, it was so subtle that I didn’t believe it when Sonia pointed it out.
“No, look,” she said, raising her hand above her head. “When we first started down this weird tunnel, my fingers were only maybe a foot away from the top. Now it’s a couple feet.” I was about to respond when our headlamps illuminated something standing in the middle of the tunnel.
“What the fuck is that?” I whispered, stopping cold in my tracks. Phil and Sonia looked up at the abomination at the same time. Its back was to us. It stood nearly as tall as the tunnel, which was now about twenty feet high.
The bottom half looked black and spidery with dozens of long, jointed legs. A bloody, white spine rose out of the mass of legs. Inhumanly long, skeletal arms stretched out in front of it. Its face was pointed away from us, but the back of its head resembled an enormous pointed skull with deep fissures like the cracks of an earthquake running through the bone. The abomination stayed as still as a statue, and for a long moment, I wondered if we were looking at some macabre work of art.
Then, suddenly, one of its insectile legs twitched. A moment later, the other legs started jerking and twisting. There was a sound like bones shattering as it rose up to its full height, turning around to face us.
Its face was like something from a nightmare, melting and reforming constantly like dripping candle wax. I would see a black eye appear on its forehead, then a grinning mouth on its chin, then the features would get sucked back into the folds of melting flesh. After a few moments, two enormous eyes appeared on its face, dark and cold like craters on the surface of the Moon. The mouths and noses disappeared back into the dripping skin, and only the two lidless eyes remained, emanating a cold, reptilian consciousness beyond the ability of my mind to comprehend. I felt terror radiating from its body like freezing waves.
“Free me,” it cried in a gurgling voice that seethed with insanity. It had a shrieking, metallic ringing behind every word that gave it an alien quality. “Free me, and I will give you the waters of eternal life. Within me, I contain the seeds of immortality. Within the nightmares, we live forever, always together, never alone.”
“Who are you?” I asked, terrified. The black reptilian skin of the enormous beast glistened as it knelt down, its massive face drawing near to mine. A sideways mouth burst out of the liquified flesh, showing hundreds of fangs growing like tumors from its white, bloodless gums. The fangs varied in size from only a couple inches to long, sword-like projections that stabbed into the creature’s flesh, causing white blood glittering with rainbows to fall like raindrops all around me.
“I have many names,” it hissed, its thousand voices rising and falling in crashing waves of sound. “I was present at the beginning, when this planet was no more than dead cliffs and endless freezing oceans. Those holy ones who search for us, the ancient ones, call me Niralahoth.”
“How do we free you?” Phil asked, looking terrified. He held Sonia’s hand tightly.
“By letting me into your mind and body,” Niralahoth cried, shaking the cavern. “I was thrown down here, cursed and forgotten. I cannot leave this place of shadows within this body. But in the body of another, my consciousness can be free, and the seeds of new life can spread beyond this prison.”
“There’s no way anyone’s going to do that,” I said, my eyes widening as Niralahoth’s reptilian skull turned towards me in fury. “I mean, you’re asking one of us to give up our individuality, our lives, right?”
“I am asking you to become one with me and gain power undreamt of by mortals,” it cried. “I have within me the fountain of life, the waters that send death away screaming.” I glanced anxiously at Phil and Sonia, wondering if we would have to run.
“The answer is no,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, we can’t do that,” Phil said, backing me up. “But, anyways, I think our trip has ended. It’s time to turn around…”
“You will never return,” Niralahoth cried, skittering away from us. “If you will not accept salvation, then you must accept death.” Within seconds, it slunk away from us, backpedaling on its many skittering legs into the shadows.
***
All around us, a rumbling started.
There was a pounding that crashed through the rock tunnel, as if an insane blacksmith were hammering on a massive anvil. The ringing of crashing rock started off slowly, with a few stones smashing down around us with heavy blasts of sound. Within seconds, the cacophony sped up, rising into a constant stream of destruction. The black orbs were spinning in place all up and down the tunnel, their glossy obsidian surfaces flashing with sparks of blue light.
“It’s collapsing!” Phil cried, running back in the direction we came, holding Sonia’s hand as she tried to keep up with him. I could only stare for a long moment, not sure what to do. It seemed that the direction Phil was heading stood closer to total collapse.
“Wait!” I cried, but my voice was drowned out in the destruction all around us. I felt a rock smash into my shoulder, sending me down to my feet. I heard Phil give a scream of pain, then another stone came down and smashed into my forehead. I remember seeing everything spinning around me as the world went black.
***
I awoke to find my headlamp still shining straight up in the dusty tunnel. Large chunks of the tunnel had slid out of place and crashed to the stone floor. The granite chunks that had fallen looked unnaturally smooth, most of them in the shapes of cylinders or cubes and varying in size from that of an egg to that of a small car.
My head throbbed. It felt as if a tight belt of fire were wrapped around my temples. Groaning, I put my fingers up to my forehead. They came away slick with blood.
Slowly, I started pushing myself up on my feet. I was relieved that nothing seemed broken. I had a deep gash running from the center of my scalp down to my left temple and some shallower cuts on my shoulders and back, but I knew none of that was life-threatening.
“Sonia?” I whispered, my voice coming out weak and strained. I reached into my pack and found a bottle of water. I chugged it quickly in one long swallow.
“Phil?” I cried again, this time stronger. I heard a soft weeping nearby. Staggering, I followed the sound.
Sonia was bloody and covered in cuts and scrapes, sitting next to Phil’s prone form. I saw Phil’s right arm pinned under a massive slab of granite. His arm disappeared from the elbow down in a spreading puddle of thick, dark blood.
“Oh God, Max, I think he’s hurt really bad,” she wept. Phil’s eyes rolled wildly in his head, his face pale and bloodless. I looked down the way we had come, seeing the entire tunnel blocked by large slabs of stone, many with strange, black orbs peeking out like the lenses of cameras.
***
I don’t know how much time passed. My phone died after a day, and then we were counting the endless darkness in breaths and tears.
Phil swam in and out of consciousness as his arm putrefied and blackened around the crush site. After a couple days, Sonia and I agreed that something had to be done. We told Phil we would need to amputate his arm. He was half-delirious, but he came back long enough to understand us and nod weakly.
We made a fire with Phil’s pack, trying to find fuel to throw in it to get it roaring. As it grew, I saw one of the black orbs near the flames abruptly ignite, as if it had been covered in gasoline. Blue, almost colorless flames rose from its surface. We started throwing the small black orbs on the fire until it rose high in the air. I sanitized the buck knife with the flames and pulled a rope tourniquet tight around Phil’s arm. He was conscious but seemingly insane, talking to himself more than anyone else.
“How are we going to get the car started without a key?” he gurgled to someone only he could see. “We need to look around. It has to be here somewhere.”
“Phil, can you hear me, bud? We need to fix your arm. We need to get you out of this mess. OK?” I said as comfortingly as I could. Phil’s eyes rolled wildly, but they didn’t meet my own. I sighed and looked over at Sonia.
“Let’s do it,” I said, giving a grim nod.
I pulled the buck knife out, slicing quickly down through the flesh next to the tourniquet. His veins throbbed like fat worms as the blackened, necrotic skin split easily under the blade, releasing a rancid-smelling gas that hissed out of the wound.
I couldn’t believe how hard it was to slice all the way through the arm. It felt like I was stuck in that hellish task forever. Phil’s eyes rolled in his head as his skin turned the color of clotted milk.
“God, Jesus, make it stop,” Phil whispered over and over, exhaling ragged, pain-filled breaths. The blood spurted from the blackened, dying tissue all over the dust-covered cavern floor, covering my hands in its warm, slick embrace.
After what was probably only three or four minutes, but felt like hours, I had sliced all the way down to the bone. The infected tissue of his arm spurted great gouts of orange pus mixed with rivulets of blood. The hard part was over.
Standing up, I took my steel-toe sneaker and stomped down on his arm as hard as I could. Phil cried out in a powerful voice, as if all the agony and suffering in the world was contained in that one shriek. The bone snapped under my weight with a sound like a tree branch cracking. A moment later, Phil rolled away from the rock that had pinned me in place for so long. Something alien and spongy was shoved into my face, a mass of destroyed red tissue pulsating in time with a runaway heartbeat. At first, shell-shocked and revolted, my mind couldn’t comprehend that I was looking at the stump of Phil’s mutilated arm. I hardened my heart and forced the giddiness and madness to the back of my mind. The time had come to cauterize the wound.
“Sonia, give it to me,” I said with a tremor in my voice. I reached out a hand towards her, a hand stained with Phil’s blood. It looked as if I were wearing a wet, crimson glove. Sonia only stared blankly at me for a long moment, however. A surge of anger ran up my chest.
“Sonia, toughen the fuck up! He’s going to die if you just sit there!” I swore at her, hearing my deep, angry voice bounce around the caverns. Sonia pulled back, as if she were struck. Inwardly, I cursed having a woman as my only able-bodied companion in this situation. She was a competent enough caver, but what would happen if violence and blood came over us? What would happen if, or more realistically when, we needed to fight?
Grimly, Sonia leaned forward and yanked the burning black orb out of the roaring fire, handing it to me on the end of a buck knife that had just barely pierced its hard, strange exterior. The handle of the knife felt coarse and splintery under my filthy skin. I put it to the spongy stump of Phil’s arm. The stump twitched violently. Phil tried to pull away as black smoke rose from the burning flesh.
There was a smell like bacon sizzling. The searing meat of Phil’s arm blackened and crisped under the heat of the orb, which had become no more than a cylinder of glowing blue embers by this point. I felt simultaneously sick and giddy. I didn’t know if I wanted to laugh or vomit. I felt like I was on the verge of some kind of madness, that the stress and insanity of the experience had started to shatter my mind.
His eyes rolled back in his head and he appeared to go into a seizure for a few seconds. With a long exhalation of breath, he finally, mercifully, lost consciousness. It’s hard to admit it, even this close to the end, but a small, sick piece of me was jealous of Phil. Most likely, he would be dead soon, maybe within hours, while Sonia and I would slowly starve and dehydrate like animals over a period of weeks. I looked at her lithe body and soft skin, seeing the feminine curves of her hips and chest. She was a beautiful woman. I knew Phil to be a lucky man. At least, before this trip, he was.
I watched her body, wondering if I had what it took to eat her or Phil if I had to. Did I have an iron heart that would allow me to slice into my friends and consume their raw, cold flesh? Perhaps, by that point, it would be hunger and madness driving me forward, and I wouldn’t even hesitate. I shuddered at the very thought.
***
I fell asleep that night, having strange dreams of massive gods with melting faces sitting in judgment in a circle around me. We had very little food or water left. No one knew we were down here. Rescue was not coming.
When I awoke, I found myself alone. Phil had died from his injuries while I slept, the black streaks of septic shock spreading up his arm towards his heart. His eyes stared sightlessly up at the rock ceiling.
“Sonia?” I called out, my heart racing as I sat up. “Where are you?” My headlamp was growing dim. I looked in my pack, realizing I was on the last of my batteries. I saw a silhouette walking out of the darkness, the thin, pale form of Sonia. She was trembling badly.
“I saw them,” she said. “Niralahoth and its priests. The priests aren’t human. They look reptilian with sideways mouths and too many eyes.” She shuddered.
“Why would you do that?” I asked. Her eyes grew distant.
“You know we’re not getting out of here alive,” she said. “Not on our own. I wanted to see what it offered. It says that if we take a piece of its nightmare into us, we will gain the power to leave this place, that it simply wants to see the surface and spread its nightmares there.” I shook my head.
“Insanity,” I muttered. “We’d be better off dead.” Sonia nodded.
“My thoughts exactly,” she responded grimly. I didn’t realize what she meant until the next day, when I woke up and found her hanging next to Phil’s body, her tongue swollen and blue as it poked out of her cyanotic lips. And then I was truly alone.
***
Soon after Sonia committed suicide, the last of the batteries for the headlamp died. I had run out of food and had only a small sip of water left. I don’t know how much time passed in the darkness, starving and raving, following the tunnel by running my hands over the walls. I heard many things skittering in the darkness, and a few times, I heard the demonic voice of Niralahoth as it split and distorted.
“You are on death’s door,” it hissed. “Will you not drink from the fountain of life?” I couldn’t tell where the voice came from in the maddening blackness. It seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. I had lost nearly all of my sanity in that pit of shadows by this point. I tried laughing constantly to keep my spirits up, and when that failed, I simply cried.
“I’ll do it,” I wailed. “I’ll do it. Just let me see the sky again. Get me out of here, Niralahoth.” Everything went deathly silent all around me, then a laugh rang out like the grinding of glass.
In front of me, I saw a tornado of fire descending from the ceiling, surrounding the massive, spidery form of Niralahoth. It rose its skeletal arms upwards, as if it were Zeus calling down lightning. In the sudden brightness, I saw the fiery form of snakes slithering and centipedes skittering forwards in that tornado, each massive creature sculpted from flames in the spinning cyclone of energy. Niralahoth reached into the tornado of fire with its sharp points of fingers and plucked something small from it. The fire instantly dissipated. In its hand, I saw a tiny, swirling orb that looked like it contained a firestorm within it.
“The nightmare seed,” Niralahoth gurgled as it skittered forward towards me. I could only stare, open-mouthed and starving. I hadn’t slept for days, it felt like, and everything seemed slow and unreal.
In a blur, its skeletal arm shot out and forced the orb into my mouth. Despite the fire raging within it, it felt freezing cold. As it touched my tongue, it gave off a sensation like frostbite all throughout my mouth. I screamed and tried spitting it out, but it seemed to have a mind of its own. It started liquifying, dripping down my throat.
I felt something cancerous and sick spreading throughout my body, radiating out from my heart and stomach to every inch of it. I tried to scream, but it caught behind my teeth. I fell to my knees, clawing at my face as that insane, alien laugh continued resounding all down the tunnel. I fell unconscious and woke up under a beautiful sky in the fields of Graysole Farms.
***
Soon after, I realized that my life would never be the same. Everywhere I went, I could hear the wailing voice of Niralahoth. Behind the trees, I always saw skittering shadows, creatures with long, spidery legs that stalked me every day and night. I slept with every light in the house turned on, yet when I woke up, they would all be shut off, and I would find myself in darkness, next to something in the bed with far too many legs and a face that dripped like burning wax.
I sold everything I owned and tried to move far away, to give as much distance between myself and those cursed caverns as I could, but the nightmares followed me like a shadow. I realize what a fool I was in those ephemeral moments of madness. Sonia was much wiser than myself; I should have killed myself or died rather than allowing that thing inside of me.
Even now, I can feel it creeping through my heart, spreading through my blood. I feel it trying to crawl its way out of my throat, the thin, black legs peeking out at the back of my esophagus.
I only hope that, when I finally jump and feel my bones shatter against the concrete far below, I will kill whatever is inside of me. For I fear the consequences for the world if it were to escape.