- Front
- HHG
- Witching Well
- Fruit in ash
- Parts and pieces
- Operation Lemoncake
- Machine gun Parrot
- Green Sparkle Downgrade
- DreamSpikePhone
- Sensor-torium
- Dealers faith
- Broken Sword
- Operation Counterpoint
- Golden Demon
- Mengrito
- Creative Thought
- Map to death scythes
- Agent Fixer
- C. Haos walks
- The architect
- The numbers game
- Puppetdoc
- ATSSB
- Minor Tick
- Building Advances
- Web-Silver-Spoon
- CSF
- Serakir
- Blunt Edge
High and dry. Hell high ground is a reference to the saying: "Better to rule in hell than serve in heaven." It also implies that I won, for I have the high ground, with hell being a reference to a certain hot planet wide mining operation. It also marks some shift in power.
It also makes for a non-dated Halloween reference.
This might get a bit darker than usually, but it is Halloween, so what is the worst that could happen?
Item: | Witching Well |
Size: | >10000m³ |
Type: | Water reserve |
Living: | No |
Sentient: | No |
Potential/Current Hazards | context dependent poison |
Location: | Base 6-29459 |
Reported Anomaly: | mind altering, medicinal |
Usage
Application 1a: Blackmail (after)
The item is to be given out in quantities exceeding 250 milliliters, to unsuspecting subject. The area around the subject is than to be monitored for three days after deployment for missing children incidents or strange cases of child amputation. After such incidents were recorded, the subject is contacted with the claim that the deploying Insurgent works for someone who knows what the subject did and that the subject from now on has to annually pay a fixed sum towards an offshore bank account (height of payment is dependent on area of deployment and subjects wage and/or financial standing). If the money is not paid on scheduled, a note regarding suspicion towards the subject is to be send to the parents of the affected child or the responsible authorities (to be chosen on a case by case basis).
Application 1b: Blackmail (before)
Evidence of the items effectiveness is to be provided to the subject (suggestion: one or several tapes of item deployment/experimentation results or access to the "Witch Camp Report", see addendum 4). The subject is thereafter to be asked for there cooperation, with the threat of item deployment in there near vicinity (possibly to a member of there family). If subject does not comply, send sample of item to the family of the subject. Results are to be recorded for future study.
Application 2a: Medicinal (requested)
Insurgence may request quantities of the item for medicinal purposes, as long as there results can be documented.
Application 2b: Medicinal (conditionally)
Doctors and other medical staff of the Insurgency may prescribe the item at there convenience, as long as there patients can not reject treatment and the results can be sufficiently monitored and documented. This includes prescription to patients outside of Insurgency influenced facilities, if a request towards the prescription was made and payed in advance.
Application 3: Demonstrative
Removed. See addendum (3) and (4)
Report
The "Witching Well"1 is a mineral water repository with a pumping and filling station attached, as well as any water produced there in a manner as described below.
The well itself is a 2,5m diameter hole within the water packaging facility. The room itself is decorated with runes consistent with medieval symbols associated with witchcraft. The writing on the walls is mostly written in graffiti paint dated to around 1990. The last water officially produced by the well was extracted in 1987, with the station owners filling for bankruptcy the same year. Records indicate that the water produced by the well was not anomalous during its commercial availability from 1967 to 1988.
The anomaly is only present within the water if the well was provided with a mixture of ingredients as provided in addendum 1 in the last two months prior to extraction.
When water from the "Witching Well" is consumed in excess of 240 ml its anomalous properties activate immediately and last for about two days. Higher amounts of water increases effectiveness of all effects mentioned below. The water can also be introduced to the body via infusion or injection.
The effects, as listed here, are ordered by time of the discovery oldest to newest. It is possible that further effects might be added at a later date:
- Indiscriminate taste and hunger for human flesh of children between 2 weeks and 15 years old.
- Ability to wake comatose humans, 78% failure rate at 250ml, 35% at 3 liters without further improvement from increased dosage.
- Slow reversal of dementia (brain damage induced memory loss).
- Slowing cancer growth by 70%.
All effects are present without the actual consumption of human flesh or human parts. The desire to eat children never becomes compulsory, meaning all subjects affected by the anomaly must have made a conscious choice to give in to there hunger. The choice to consume human children is described as a "compelling" or "attractive". For further details see addendum 2.
There are no detrimental effects if no parts are consumed. The hunger induced by the anomaly is unaffected by physical hunger, although some subject claimed physical hunger as a defense for there actions.
While most of the machinery present in the station were sold when it came into the possession of the Insurgency in 2003, the facility is still capable of pumping and packaging 2000 liters in one hour (~5,55 l/s). The facility rarely reaches this capacity cap, with most fillings packaging only 20 to 50 liters a day every 2 weeks (at a speed of 0.01 l/s). This is done to preserve the installed machines and to keep down required maintenance cost. Larger quantities can be produced should demand increase or more quantities of the item are requested for a larger deployment (see addendum 3).
Water packaged at the facility can be packaged with bottles of several known water brands as well as special Insurgency bottles. Insurgency bottles are labeled with a white on black label describing the content as "Sulfer-di-hydrogen-oxyl" (SO2H2). When speaking to other Insurgency personnel it is encouraged to use this term for identification of the anomaly, as it is not a real chemical compound currently produced. Insurgency bottles are further marked as poisonous with the official poison symbol (GHS06). The packaged anomaly is only to be stored in Insurgency facilities in bottles marked as SO2H2, as the other bottles can only be identified as to be filled with anomalous water through a taste test. The anomaly is not detectable through chemical analysis and if the taste of the water that is supposed to be in the faked bottles of major brands is unknown, not even a taste test could identify it.
Holy-water neutralizes the waters anomalous properties in a 1 to 152 ratio (1ml holy-water reduces 152ml anomalous water into normal water). The effect of holy-water changes, if the priest that sectioned the holy-water has preciously molested or abused a child. In which case the water gains the ability to induce pedophilia or fantasy of violence towards children respectively, alongside all of its other effects. The ratio 1 to 152 is consistent. All effects of holy-water also apply if the holy-water is applied to the tissue of an affected subject. No other interactions between other religious symbols or foods was observed.
Addenda
(1) Recipe
These ingredients can not be detected in the packaged product and all measurements are approximations that have proven functional.
The following is to be thrown into the extraction hole in the Well-Opening-Room:
- 2 kg sugar or salt
- 1 freshly decapitated animal2 (preferably chicken) INCLUDING THE HEAD.
- 300 mg cocaine or 3 liters of distilled alcohol3
Variations and experiments are possible do to the water returning the same test results after every ritual reloading. There were not even trace amounts of the things thrown in detected.
(2) Subject statements
2003-03: Like biting ice cream. You know it is wrong, you know the consequences, but you do it anyway.
2003-06: Have you ever seen something so sweet and nice? How could I not?
2003-07: What ever you did, it did not work. No matter how smooth her skin is, no matter her brilliant eyes. I wont harm her and if it kills me.
2004-05: Well, I usually work with pork and beef, but this was a challenge and I think I beat the challenge hands down.
(3) Defunct Usage procedure
Application 3: Demonstrative
- Select a target meeting the following criteria:
- Multiple children in close living proximity (example: school, juvenile correctional facility, summer camp)
- Centralized standard water-supply (example: cafeteria, water-cooler, water-tower)
- No anomalous history
- Set up covered surveillance equipment.
- Replace the water supply of the target area with water from the "Witching Well".
- If necessary also supply tools for large scale cooking operations (cauldrons, spits and/or ovens).
- Document casualties and replace equipment and remaining anomalies.
- Leave a note reading "We are the Chaos Insurgency" in the area in an obvious location.
- Use the ability of the Insurgency to perform this set of instructions as a bargaining chip in future negotiations with civilian groups and governments. When it is clear that the other site knows about these incident(s), it needs not to be mentioned during the negotiations.
- Should negotiations in which this bargaining chip was relevant fail, enact a strike on an area relevant to the negotiations in the next three months following the end of the negotiations.
(4) Addition to "Application 3"
In 2005 the Insurgency approved the use of application 3. The result was documented in the "Witch Camp Report". Insurgents tasked with supervision and documentation interfered with the running operation. Even with there interjection the event reached a 98% fatality-rate in involved children and a 70% fatality-rate in involved adults (including Insurgency operatives). After reviewing the documents regarding the "Witch Camp Report" several high-ranking members of Alpha command voiced there disgust about the procedure. Further usage of application 3 was put on hold and eventually removed from the Usage section of the report. Application 3 may be reinstated in the future should the Insurgency be in need of a much stronger bargaining position in future negotiations with civilian groups or governments. The result of the "Witch Camp Report" were covered up by the responsible government authorities and the Foundation. The coverup states that the incident was performed by a satanic cult that committed suicide after there operation had concluded.
2016, Australia
The white fire had claimed the city. A few smouldering buildings were all that remained of this community that had thrived only days prior. A little girl sat in the corner of one of the burned out ruins. She had drawn her knees to her head and was desperately trying to not exist. Before her lay three burned skeletons, her parents and one firefighter that had tried to remove her from the building as it was collapsing. Around her hands there were still these white flames. She could not stop it. Everything she touched would turn to ash and than the fire would just go on, unaffected by water or fire-extinguishers. Her home, her family, her clothes and finally her whole town. She could not even cry, as as soon as the tears escaped they evaporated and leaved only the salt in her eyes. She heard a almost inaudible thud beside her. Perhaps a part of the crumbling building had just missed her.
"Nice place you got here." The voice had something unnatural about it, but she could not pinpoint it. Who ever it was that had spoken she would burn him too. "No you wont. Here take one of these."
She heard another thud, as something far smaller hit the floor and rolled towards her. As it touched her foot she felt something cold. She had not feel cold ever since the day her hands had started to burn, the day the fire began. The girl looked down to her foot just to see a crimson apple next to it, shining against the the white ash.
"Take it. You must be starving. From how it looks here I would say you had nothing to eat in about 2 days."
The girl finally raised her head, just to see a man in a white suit sitting in the dirt almost one and a halve meters away from her. He wore a strange hat, like one a magician might ware, but he did not look like a magician, he looked more like a doll. Everything on him was more or less smooth. The white color against the charred black walls made her wonder whether he was even there. His tie had the same red color as the apple she had still not attempted to eat. She had tried to eat and drink before, how long had it been since then? Time in her mind was hazy. It felt like she had set here for days, weeks perhaps. When she had tried to eat, after she had started to burn, the food would burn to ash in her hands before she could take a bite. If he would not believe her she just had to show him. She reached for the apple, fire started to lick around it, but it would not burn.
Suddenly feeling her hunger she bit into the fruit, expecting to once again taste a mouth full of ash, but she did not. The apple was sour. Before the fire she would have stopped to eat immediately, spit out the piece she had in her mouth and had asked for another apple, but now this was the best taste she could imagine. She did not look up while she eat the apple whole, with core and stock.
She looked up. The man was still sitting there, his eyes fixed on the three skeletons. His mouth was moving and stopping from time to time, but no sound escaped his lips. The girl followed the mans line of sight. The skeleton oh her father was moving. His mouth opening and closing, as if he was chatting with the man in white.
"Your father is not sure what happened to you. This seems to have been a surprise. I asked him whether you had eaten something strange or someone had brought something new into the house. Both a no."
The man in the white suit looked over to the girl who had extended a hand towards her parents in a silent plea.
"I can fix them. I can fix the whole town. I can even fix you, if you want that." The man smiled at her. His teethe were square and fully gap-less, like pictures she had drawn of people smiling.
"If I do, I will take the fire with me, if that is okay with you."
The girl only nodded.
"Do not worry, I will fix your voice as well." From the strange man carpet emerged, wallpaper, wood, her house. It flew out of the strange man like a liquid. Than it touch her parents and skin and flash returned to them. She saw the windows reappearing, like lakes freezing shut. Her clothes were back, her fingers no longer burning. The firefighter was back as well. The girl ran to her father and mother and tried to shack them awake, slowly regaining her voice.
The man in the white suit rose, his left hand engulfed in a white flame. As he clenched his fist the fire was absorbed.
"If you ever want this back, just call."
The man produced a white business card. It had only a symbol and a phone number on it. A red, encircled Z, with three red arrows emerging from the circle.
The man walked over to the spot the girl had sat and picked up his red apple. He grabbed the large white crystal under his arm and went to leave. As the girl turned in happiness towards her savior, she saw herself, burned, just like her parents moments prior, still cowering, encased in a white crystal being carried away by the man in white. Her hollow burned eyes starring back at her through the milky crystal, as if frozen in salt. She tried to lose this picture from her mind as her father embraced her.
The town would be back to normal in time, with the white fire incident fading into forgotten memory. The girl had almost forgotten what had happened, but she still kept the card, hidden away like a treasure or a cursed item. To dangerous to see, to valuable to destroy. She would one day call that number to get answers, and the people that answered were happy to give them. That day she learned of the Chaos Insurgency. That day the white fire returned to her fingertips. This time she had people to teach her how to put it to use.
The alternative would have been to give her a white suit and take her with, but at this time, it is far easier for her if she thinks of 2016 as a year like any year else.
Have you ever stood before a problem, thought up a solution and than it wont work?
Do you start over with a new solution or do you push your old idea in a wrong direction to make it work?
You planed a nice suspension bridge. You reach for the boards that are supposed to be the floor of the bridge. They are not there.
A direct replacement could be found with some inconvenience, but there is a quick and dirty solution.
You just build the floor of your bridge out of severed arms and legs.
These people will now never cross your bridge, as that requires hands and feet, so they can be worked into the bridge as well.
All done.
You build a masterpiece of agony, but you stuck to the plan and avoided your own inconvenience. Mission successful.
You walk over the bridge, each step hoping that your creation would let you fail for your quick and dirty solution. You make it across. The end says the means were right. You look down at your feet, solid in blood and realize.
There was never a need for the bridge in the first place, as the chasm you just crossed is a shallow 30 cm deep.
Mission successful, is not an objective term anymore.
The Insurgency made several attempts to obtain large amounts of unrefined uranium/thorium. These amounts were purchased or otherwise obtained directly from the mines that produced them.
Lemoncake is the code for what we tried to get out of that. We discovered a light material with a similar mass to oxygen that was highly radioactive and meta-stable.
Lemoncake has 2 distinct states. In one it is a stable, non-radioactive, yellow gas.
If brought into it second stage it experiences rapid radioactive decay releasing massive amounts of energy. A few grams of lemoncake have comparable explosive power to several kg of refined uranium.
lemoncake is however unsuited for energy production, only energy storage.
To produce lemoncake large amounts of radiation need to be absorbed by a material designated lemonbutter.
The insurgency produces these amounts of radiation by extracting it from unrefined material, in a process called "backing".
The equipment required for the backing is under control of Cataclysm International, but if provided with the lemonbutter and the raw material, the institution will perform the backing for 15% of the produced lemoncake. This price has been deemed acceptable as lemonbutter has little to no value to the Insurgency as its only redeeming quality is that it can be backed into lemoncake.
Several offers to buy out all of the Insurgency supply of lemonbutter were put forth by Cataclysm International. The amounts offered seem to suggest another utility for lemonbutter the Insurgency is unaware of at this point.
Parrot that learned to make sounds of a machine gun. Whenever doing so the parrot leaves bullet holes in its surroundings. The sound as well of the number of holes is consistent with each other. Holes do not contain bullets. The parrot seems aware of its ability and has used it for self-defenses as well as several training exercises, that showed that the parrot controls the positions of the bullet holes and is (if sufficiently motivated) an above average marksman. Assassin training is ongoing.
The parrot from time to time seems to make the sounds just for fun, making standardized animal handling impossible. A specific cage was build and tested and is currently housing the bird in an underground facility.
hardware tls downgrade attack on legs
There is an aura across this man. What ever technik gets into his aura will be downgraded until it reaches the technical stand of 1990. It retains its functionality for as long as possible. This means security will always fail before communication and communication before functionality.
This comes wit a certain inconvenience, as the agents eyes seem to reflect green on black c code. Analysis of the code shows it to be a complex program that has not looped in over 10 hours of observation with 4 lines per second crossing the agents vision.
The agent claims to know the code and claims to read it where ever he goes and in his dreams he compiles it into thoughts.
According to our informatics division, the code is valid but without knowledge of some libraries the program seems to rely on, the insurgency could not compile a working code.
If you fall asleap next to it, you will dream to recive a call from said phone. It will tell you something prothetic. If you, in the dream attempt to answer you will cut the call short and wake up.
If you use the phone while awake parts of your nerve systems will turn into copper phone lines, impaling you from the inside. If death does not disconnect the call this transformation will continue untill your entier nerv system is replaced by copper wires and the wires punkture your skin to escape your body. At this stage another contiusness known as the proved will have taken over your body and may interface with the real world using your body, as your body sub-comes to copperpoisoning. If your body does not die the proved will continue to inhabit the body seemingly indefinitely or until all flesh on the body has been destroyed. Metal conversion only affects nervcells, but is contingent by touch of the prophet. The prophet wont touch you without you first contacting him/her/it verbally. Listening to the prophet does not invite him/her/it to touch you.
Possible source for refined copper, to be tested on large scale pigfarm with attached smelter.
Prophet does not like being smelted. Prophet can not resist being smelted once host has died. Smelted copper is noncontagious.
originally intended as a broken good zombie, this artifact of worship has found the deep-end of its existence and as long as copper remains valuable enough, this things suffering has no end in sight.
At first the room of the sensortorium shuts down your own senses, you will first notice your vision going dark, as if someone was dimming the lights into pure black, than the noises will just stop, as if cut out. There is little to nothing to smell in that chamber but if you brought the smell in this is the point were it cuts out. Taste is to go next. You could have the mouth full of salt and would not notice. Than your feeling tabs out. First you can no longer feel the floor beneath you or your own movements, than all pain gets dull until it is gone. Than you lose your body temperature. This is perhaps the cloesest you can be to non-existence without actually dying from it. Than it gives you access to all it has almost at once. You can see the whole electromagnetic spectrum. Your taste an smell can detect and recognize things into the parts per trillion. You can feel gravity from distant stars and recognize them from distanced vibrations. Than it gives you the senses we cant quit pin down. If you go mad during or after, this is what does you in. Some people don't want to go back into the confines of there limited senses, others can not comprehend how she could ever live without the things the chamber showed them. Others just see some cosmic horror and shut down while realizing there own insignificance. We once put an artifact in there that had claimed to be a god. That thing was so utterly shaken in its believes that it was silent for so long we started to believe the chamber broke it. We don't use it for long times, but if we need something found, that chamber can help us find it. Some things we find don't look so appealing anymore once viewed under our best sensor array.
A reluctant employee with the money to do some damage, but a comfy life accidentally throughts a school shooting. Realizing his position he takes in the two would be shooters and starts to train them up to maximize there damage. The life of the kids improves through the training as does there self confidence. After the two stand up to the bully they both wanted dead most and beat him up, the two are content with there new life as the confident fighters.
There benefactor sees his chance of getting these to to be his arms for destruction slip his control. He starts to rebuild the bully the two beat up and eventually convinces him to frame the two for a bombing on school grounds, but than he tips police off that the 3 seem to have been collaborating. All 3 are now wanted by the police and turn to the dealer for help. The dealer said to the police that he feels responsible as the threes common connection and the training he gave them. Police now thinks that he is on the side of justice. The dealer explains to the three that there is another party involved and that party set the bomb. The 4 go onto a quest to find the third party, which does not exist since bully set the bomb. This becomes complicated when a third party actually appears, interested in there work. The 4 make a deal with the man in the white suit and join the chaos insurgency. Police finds out that dealer crossed them but his old life seems to just be gone and not even his employer remembers him.
I just found this during maintenance of my files. Have not seen it in my sandboxes so here it is. I do not know why it was not posted sooner. File-title: neutralised-L0987
The broken sword
"Is it dead?"
"I believe so. The report said something about the attached being fading as soon as this sword was broken."
"Have they tried to reforge it?"
"Of cause. It is not dead if a few hammer strikes can bring it back."
"How did we get it?"
"We stole it from a scrapyard, where it was supposed to be melted into a solid iron brick."
"But if it is dead, why did they still wish to break it down further?"
"Exactly. And another thing, why have they not tried to melt it down before sending it out of there custody?"
"They tried it, and it did not turn out that well?"
"Ergo?"
"It is not dead. And i think i know why."
"Why?"
"This thing was called a traitors blade once upon a time. What if what gives it its ability is not even the sword, but the betrayal?"
"But who betrayed who? We have to little information."
"Say, what would you say this blade must have defended if it does not want to be melted down?"
"I don't know."
"Information. Its composition. That is what tells us who fought and betrayed who."
"You found it?"
"I did. This weapon is part of a 30 blade set made for the Vidatchi family in 956."
"What is with the other blades?"
"I found records of 15 others. All negative, in terms of attached specters."
"So if this is a traitors blade, ether a Vidatchi used it to betray there family
or someone who had nothing to do with them took up one of there blades against there supposed allays."
"So far the theory. I looked into the Vidatchi. The family died out in 1566."
"To late to have anything to do with the swords."
"So, i dug deeper. In 956 29 Veditchis were arrested for the slaughter of the Ichino family. The 29 got away. But the Ichinos died out in 958."
"So, the 30th blade was probably whiled against the Ichinos?"
"Correct. Guess why the Ichinos did not die out back than."
"Someone of them survived."
"The old Ichino father. He was 78 when his family was killed by the Vidachi."
"So, he probably cursed the whieler of the 30th sword as well as the family, but why did his curse only effect this blade?"
"This is where it gets interesting. He did not. He was one of the reasons the 29 got off the hook."
"So, we probably have our whilder of the 30th sword. It was him."
"But who could have spoken the curse than?"
"My guess is on a unnamed soul seeking justice after the 29 got off. Perhaps a local priest or wander folk. Someone who knew someone in the Ichino family and saw the legal system fail to punish there death."
"But why is only this one sword cursed?"
"What keeps this sword cursed?"
"You tell me."
"This blade is the only one with a specter. That means that if the others were cursed at one point, there specters were not tied to the blade. This thing defends its metal. It defends its history. I believe the specter does not want the story forgotten. The other presumed specters eventually let go, only this one did not."
"So it wants to be cursed and stay cursed?"
"Yes. Because it still fears hell. Someone who slaughtered there enemies eventually can let go, sure of there passage to heaven, for they did nothing unjust."
"Only the one betraying there family could not count on this, even if his motivation was just."
"So what do we do to get the thing reactivated?"
"We give it hell. Melt it down. The specter will stop us."
"But wont we die if the specter gets us."
"This is where this biutie comes in."
"No, you did not."
"I did. This is one of the 15 I could find. So what will it be Ichino? Hell or a new home?"
"Calling it home is to much. It has parts of my blood on it, but i am glade to have a blade again."
"Welcome back sir Ichino."
The insurgency at the height of its power had several hundred shell companies that dealt in generating money through air-bookings, meaning to simulate business transactions that never happened. These firms could be used to launder money or to take the fall for certain failed operations. They were sometimes used as safe-house providers and alibi generators. Some companies that actually conducted business were even profitable enough to stand on there own and eventually break off from the chaos insurgency. Following the shrinking of the insurgency several of these operations were given up. In most cases that meant that these shells would stay dormant for some time until authorities would come knocking, see nothing happening and remove the company from the books. Other places staid empty, but were never truly closed. Than in 2016 many of these companies were integrated into Cataclysm International. Operation Counterpoint hopes to find clues of abandoned anomalies and perhaps insurgency personal through the absorption of these companies. Certain members in the insurgency know by now that cataclysm international was founded as a shell for the operations of the Zeta Cell, by Meta W. in 2016, but has by now acquire parts of the insurgency records that go back to 1943. The company has been investigated by the GOC and deemed a non-threat. The Foundation used the GOC report to justify not conducting there own investigation. Only the Insurgency and C. and Dark ltd. currently sees Cataclysm International as a player in the business of the abnormal. The discovery of Cataclysms operation counterpoint lead to the insurgency operation Sweet-heard that aims to rediscover these lost assets and secure them before cataclysm can extract information from them.
Imagen the world has gone down the drain and is now a totalitarian wasteland. There is only one group currently running the opposition. Lead is the rebelion by a robot with a golden glowing, heated armour. That guy is completely unbound by law and a believer in "might makes right". What makes his rebellion so appealing is his inherits to free markets and free economy. The guy literary runs on capitalism, the unbound kind. He is violent he is brutal and he is perhaps the last shot for a free world. He is bad in comparison to that what was lost, but better than the current alternatives.
Now Imagen the world was fixed and the rebellion and its leader no longer needed or appreciated. In a functioning society the resolve of a golden robot is severely limited by the now once again existing highly armed military and paranormal inclined organisation. This guy fought the remnants of almost all of them, but he can not take out the Foundation or GOC head-on when they are at full power. So he sought out some old friends. These friends had been fixed as well, just that fixing in this case just meant that they were no longer in charge of the planet. No longer the enemy the bot had fought against. The golden demon found something way more to his liking when he looked up the fate of his enemy. He found a new rebellion to turn into his personal army. The insurgency was very intrigued by the machine and his story, as they seemed to know of a world in which the Insurgency ruled the globe.
Meta looked out about the desert. The golden needle in his suit was vibrating. Something had happened. A bitter victory perhaps?
"You are already better than them. But not enough to make me one of your people. They are not like you and even you don't know why I am doing what I am doing."
Meta quenched his fist. So close. He could have won a real asset.
Meta Wonderrat was never part of the outreach missions. His way with people was questionable on a good day.
"You are right. I don't know you. That kind of bugs me. I actually don't know. When I took over here, I did so with the intent of knowing everything relevant for the Insurgency. You are relevant and I just don't know."
Under all the ways humans have described creativity, these i find most telling.
creativity as a dream
a reflection of ones own surroundings filtered through something we can not quite understand or control (surrealism)
creativity as a world behind glass
carefully constructed for a specific purpose. The parts seen are carefully curated and almost nothing is left to chance. It is here we find formulaic writing, from magazine covers to high fantasy.
creativity as a virus
Spreading and mutating, becoming something else while it goes from mind to mind. Highly interactive and almost fully outside of the control of the original creator. Memes and various other parts of internet culture fall here.
The Foundation and therefore the Insurgency have clearly shifted through these forms.
The original article was more of a dream than a formula. This is true of the Foundation and the Insurgency. Than came the adaptation. The meme like quality were the plot expanded rapidly in directions never intended or implied by the original. Than both sites hit the hard quality wall, where nether dreams nor memes can flourish, giving weight to the highly planed pieces of almost completely non-interactive art currently dominating the sites. My knowledge on whether the foundation changed since i last looked is incomplete at best, so maybe they shock that problem. The Insurgency is slowly coming back to the more dream/meme like qualities that made the phenomenon appealing in the first place.
What does happen when you take something behind a window and introduce it to dreams?
At first we thought it to be a dumb prank. Someone going around vandalising shopping displays. Than one of our guys rightfully pointed out that they were doing so through solid glass, without actually breaking in.
Are we cool yet? Is a group of anomalous anarchists utilising art. They too sometimes combine anomalies to devastating effects, making us kindred spirits in a sense. There colorsplash series of anti-capitalist messages in windows of several large retailers is subject of todays proposed acquisition.
Staff exposed to the message expressed interest in working without payment. This is to be considered as a cost-cutting measure once we figure out how to get the other transplanted ideas out of the message.
Also of interest is the method of deployment of memetic art through solid glass. Once the limitations of the technique are known the insurgency has proposed to use it for other times of data transfer through solid matter.
Map to death scythe weapons stash
We knew he would have more.
After agent Ferat gained control over the death crystal in 1960 he was briefly gifted with the power of universal death. One of these powers included the creation of death weaponry. Being under the influence of the crystal Ferat refused cooperation and abandoned the insurgency. He was seen with several different death weapons after, apparently fighting a personal fight while losing himself more and more to the crystal. As he died we obtained the map were he hid his arsenal, but its code is only cracked to 10 %.
While technically employed by the insurgency, fixer made clear that he is not exclusively bound to the insurgency. Fixer displays the ability to quickly learn and forget information in a given field. Fixer charges by the hour. The longer he studies a subject the more proficient he gets, making him a temporary expert in almost all fields. Fixer was instrumental as a researcher, ground soldier, linguist and artefact specialist. Fixers ability became even more prevalent with the emergence of the internet. Some believe that if paid sufficiently and given enough preparation time, fixer could solve almost all global problems. In one instants of the display of his ability Fixer decoded an alien language and became an expert in there culture and costumes within 2 weeks. This possibly prevented an alien invasion, although that usually costs extra and was not part of fixers contract.
A plan to test fixers ability to escape highly secured facilities was conducted, in which he was task to escape insurgency confinement and forced labour. Fixer was blindfolded most times in custody and was kept away from information relevant to prison escapes. Personal contact was also prohibited. At first it seemed that the insurgency had found a way around his high business expenses, until Fixer escaped during a research project, which fixer assisted in. As contractually agreed Fixer returned to the Insurgency after 2 months in which the insurgency was unable to recapture him. As fixer does not seem to retain the knowledge he gained for longer than a few weeks the insurgency made it a habit to repeat this contract, in order to finally force fixer to work for the insurgency full time and without fee. Fixer to this day has never failed to fulfil a contract he accepted.
There were many strange figures roaming Base Six. Most of them, self made experts, doctors with revoked licenses, discredited academics, escaped convicts, conman that pulled the wrong strings or not human at all.
Most of them thought everything was in order, but everyone with at least a beta clearance knew different. The base was currently held hostage, by something that might one day had resembled a human. This creature was walking through the halls as if it owned the place. There were really not many reasons why it might as well not own the place. This creature just walked around the halls, cleaning out trash, fixing lights and from time to time cleaning the floors with a broom and a mop. Under all the many colorful beings that walked this halls, this janitor was nothing at first glance. Something easily missed by thous unaware of the threat others felled emanating from him.
Him. What a high praise. It. It. It. That thing was never human, never a person. This creature was a threat. A mind-washing parasite. People around it changed. It had most likely killed the bulk of the team that was trying to investigate it. There were other theories of cause.
Wipers from an apocalypses that had happened outside of the base. Sure, reports of a virus were bad, but in this line of work, the line "A virus did it." just would not cut it. It had to be something paranormal, and something powerful at that. It was big, if the foundation was not able to cover it up. Than during the year 2020, the awful year that saw this creature set into Base Six, the truth slowly broke through. This was a normal virus. No demon eating children, no containment breach. This was a fluke of nature, like any normal thunderstorm, just global, without a chance of stopping it. Everyone in the CI agreed that the Foundation or GOC could handle it, but after seeing the year 2020 pass by, most members were glad that Base Six was on lock-down. Nothing in, nothing out.
They might have been a lot more concerned if they knew that the "nothing in" was referring to outside help, and the "nothing out" was referring to them and was not at all a decisions of the people that supposedly held control over Base Six. It was this thing. That thing that was slowly eating its way through the brains of everyone in this tin can. What base-command needed to get the situation back under control was a mayor game changer. Something so monumental, this creature could no longer eat its way through the brains of everyone in here.
Base Six, as all bases had something in reserve. Something they could use to crush any and all internal opposition. The anomaly that powered this last, ultimate weapon of the insurgency was not all powerful. It would not even prevent the one using it from being shot.
It was a tranche coat, old and warren. Its muddied yellow still pristine, like the day it was cranked out of a factory to serve in a world war. This was one thing.
Then there was the red armband, a simple loyalty booster, a mask to hide behind. This thing was a failure from a bygone era. The symbol that once adorned it, long since replaced with the three inward pointing arrows of the Insurgency. Not the Chaos Insurgency. This red band, as a symbol still hated, once fought for the Foundation on the losing side of one of the biggest mistakes of mankind. It had failed in its day, but only because the Insurgency never figured out how to use it. It took the Chaos Insurgency to find that use.
The third part of the anomaly was a book, not 60 pages long. There was nothing anomalous with this book. It could freely be reprinted and under any other circumstances could be dismissed as a mediocre read.
Than there was the fourth part. Someone. Just someone. It actually did not matter who. From a starving peasant to a fat and bold 90 something. The suit, the armband and the book, would make them whom the Insurgency needed them to be. The book and the armband were enough to create the illusion of an idealist, a perfect soldier for the Insurgency. The coat would than remove everything else. The armband was temporary, the coat was one time only, but the message of the book would start to walk and talk, decide like the Insurgency, be the Insurgency to its very core.
Than someone changed the ending of the book. That was the day that imprint of ideals found new words. No longer just the dogs of the Foundation, the Chaos Insurgency had found there leader, there voice.
I remember who I was before I went into character. I knew the briefings, the old life. I still believe that what ever the coat took from me was not me. There were millions of these coats during the war. We believe 0,05% of them to have the properties we are using. There are 510 armbands with anomalous imprinting ability known to the Insurgency, 365 currently in Chaos Insurgency possession. These books, in one variant or the other, exists hidden in libraries and museums all around the world. Sorted under a falls cover, hidden in dusty draws.
There is a reason nether the Foundation, nor the Insurgency were ever ride of me. Even the Chaos Insurgency keeps on trying to get me out of there administration. I never set foot into a conference hall with the big leagues leaders. But I know how they think. I was to good of a propaganda tool. To high a standard to measure up to. Had they gone through with the original plan, I could be millions. They were wise not to try. For I am there greatest hope. There undying allay. There greatest fear. I was not until a few minutes ago, but now I am. I will get this Ghost of Base Six under control for you. Call me Chaos is you want, but in the Insurgency, I go by another name. It takes people a while to realize that this face no longer belongs to there coworker, they had lunch with yesterday, but they will get it eventually. They always do. This is now one of the faces of the true Chaos of the Insurgency.
The world around him just changes into buildings. We found him in en over constructed castle that had so many clashing designs that it looked like a pile of trash, thrown together from different model buildings. We gave him a way to apply his powers constructively. Mainly building temporary bases or cover. He could be a mayor disaster if deployed in areas that already have buildings. The result was seen when he turned a 2000 people town into a giant monster of a town with mismatched architecture and skyscrapers. We found enough cellars under the thing that we must estimate the resulting single structure to be able to house upwards of 20000 humans, including there workplaces. This all sounds not to bad at first, but once you read that his constructions use all available building material, including humans, animals, cars and even lakes, you get a feel for what this guy can do if is limiter ever stops working.
The office was dimly lit by countless monitors. On each of them there were numbers, lines of code, market graphs. It all would have been annoying, but not for Ferdinand. he had managed accounting and a few programming jobs for the Insurgency. He actually understood what was going on. He had stepped into the office only a few moments ago, but in that time the this person had made 4 times the annual budget of the Insurgency. The only other thing in the room was a chair that whose high back completely concealed the figure sitting in it. The screen this chair was facing showed a number that continually increased with only minor setbacks along its meteoric rise. Everyone else would have paid it no mind but Ferdinand knew what that number was. It was a life ticker. A life view of available funds in a single persons control, distributed over banks and accounts all over the globe. Ferdinand was sweating cold sweet. The number had just passed the trillion mark. According to this mark, the person in this room was worth more than the highest estimates were at the time the insurgency was at its absolute peek. The smoke coming from the person in the hair crackled with a blue lightning, than the chair turned. This was not a guy mobbing floors. The brilliant white suit reflected the light of countless running operations, each one highly profitable. Ferdinand tried to focus on the head of this inhuman amassion of wealth. His sight only went over the red tie and than got stuck at the smile with the perfectly square teeth. He could not raise his gaze further. For all he knew this being had no eyes, no hair and only a faint nose. The cigarette in the white gloved hand still spewed blue sparks but it seemed as if the suit itself was absorbing most of them. "What… Who are you?" Ferdinands voice was almost inaudible. The figure on the chair seemed to be far away. Almost as if the amount of space separating the two had grown with the number behind the creature. The creature raised a gloved hand. Ferdinand followed the motion. Than the creature snapped its fingers. All screens in the room turned red. Gone, all gone. This creature had just destroyed an amount of money a nation would produce over years. The O on the big screen behind the chair flashed three times, than all screens went black. Only now did Ferdinand noticed that the suit itself emitted a faint light. In the almost complete darkness he could see the creature rising from its chair. "How may I be of assistance?" The screens were gone. This was a normal caretaker office. The person before him was only a caretaker, so why had he this chill in his soul. He feared this person, almost as if he knew something horrible happened with this creature. "One of the power outlets in my office is dead. I checked the fuse but it has not triggered." "I will make sure the problem gets fixed." Ferdinand hurried out of the office after whispering a quiet thanks. From the corner of his eyes he saw the door close, no longer closing on a normal office but an endless dark pit, with just a single being in the darkness. A monster he refused to believe existed. There was nothing in this room. No caretaker, no power beyond human. The room was empty, wasn't it? The door closed. The last thing her saw within was a number that had no end, easily past the Quintillion. He hoped that he had just imagined it.
We believe he is a serial killer. That is what we originally hunted him for. His method was fascinating to us. His victims died weeks, sometimes months after contact with him. All of his victims were classified as accidents or suicides. The only reason all these persons were linked in a case we could investigate was his case file. Apparently someone tried to nail him down, but was unable to. That person that signed the reports with P.H. than send these files to us through a arranged dead drop. It is not the first time civilian police contacted a shady organization for help with "wired" cases. I do think they believe that drop goes to the GOC or Foundation, but here we are.
We connected all the victims to one person they all had direct contact with. We first thought we hit a dot. A psychiatrist with dead clients is nothing to suspicious. There might actually not be an anomaly at play here at all, but when we were just about to close the case, send it back to the police and get paid, someone took a deeper look at the guy.
The guy was a fraud. No medical training whatsoever. Even dropped out of high school. But everything about his business seemed legit. We send one of our agents there, just in case this guy was using an anomaly. Game, set, match. The doctor had something worth our time. Our agent actually believed to have talked with a professional. This guy ether was a conman that could fool an actual professional or had something mind-altering.
We found out what it was pretty nicely. Hand-puppets and some form of mind altering roll-play. This guy could make everyone believe they were in a specific situation. His hand-puppets became people in a persons memory and in time the fact that they were puppets to begin with would just be forgotten. He even managed to roll-play his words into it, making it less about words being communicated but ideas.
Strangely people actually get better when he uses this method to low-key mind-control someone. Some memories actually have a time delay. They don't appear as seemingly real memories immediately, but will start out as puppet roll-play, get forgotten and than reemerge as modified memories. We even found out what actually doomed his victims. The effect reverses if not reapplied. Real memories start to appear as puppet roll-play. The backlash seems to be in a 1:2 ratio. One fake memory costs 2 real. In some cases suddenly remembering that certain events with there surroundings were not real but than everyone insisting that they were real actually causes a lot of stress. Our agents know the risk when they meet our Doctor Puppet. That is how we keep the effect below fatal.
This guy is a bit better than a normal doctor and 25% cheaper, so he has a fixed staff position now. One could call the therapy he gives out as slightly addictive, but after a sufficient amount of time after the last memory turned into a fake one, his patrons usually are back on there feet.
Using his talent as a soft mind-wipe has also shown effective. If enough puppet roll-play is applied, eventually a person will lose more and more of there real memories. If enough real memories are believed to be fabricated a persons personalty might change, as will there outlook on life. The chance that the backlash will hit an important memory decreases with the amount of memories a person holds, with the highest amount of sessions needed being 24 (highly observant, near perfect recollection subject).
Was a second tier member of the puppethouse, lead by "Mad Hat 6" a tier 6 mindbender. MH6 had collected several mind-benders, studied there ability and told them how to refine them. MH6 was very capable in regards to mind-manipulation, as such he dominated all these mind-benders. Few actually managed to break away from the Puppethouse. The puppet doctor got out when he accidentally deleted all memories regarding MH6 from his own mind. He agrees that the reason why he cant remember MH6 was another mindbender, but considering how concealed the organization was and how major the powers of MH6 over its members, he still believes that there was an accident that allowed him to break free of there influence. He said that the puppethouse had several members that could alter minds over long distances without direct contact, including MH6. So the doctor believes that his break-off is somewhat approved by them. Research into the doctors past revealed that he was part of some secretive organization in 2016, but whether that organization was as powerful as as the puppethouse the doctor described could not be confirmed. If the organization or even just MH6 is as powerful as the doctor described the puppethouse could be a major ally or enemy, but since there existence could not be confirmed no GOI entry was filled.
Tier 1: Direct contact AND less time manipulated than time of direct contact
Tier 2: Direct contact OR More time manipulated than time of direct contact
Tier 3: Indirect contact OR manipulated time exceeding normal human lifespan (100 years)
Tier 4: Real-time alteration in excess of 25 targets AND more than 5 days of altered time
Tier 5: Real-time alteration in excess of 1000 targets OR no contact manipulation
Tier 6: Lies to realty, target more than 50% of a population including records
This was for a long time held back by its superstructure outlined in part 2.
As a fix I will only hint at that part in the report.
Item: | Howard Krakenbrueck (Doctor with puppets) |
Size: | 1,77 meters, 109 kilogram |
Type: | Human |
Living: | Yes |
Sentient: | Yes |
Potential/Current Hazards | Privilege Escalation, Staff Contamination |
Current position | Psychiatrist, Base 7, Advanced Medical Staff |
Reported Anomaly: | memory fabrication and memory delegitimization |
Usage
Howard Krackenbrueck is able to manipulate memories by applying hand-puppet role play. Scenarios that were originally remembered as such puppet role play by his patients are eventually remembered as if they had actually occurred. Depending on the scenario this might have positive health effects and studies show this as an effective form of therapy for Insurgency personnel. Howard Krackenbruecks presence can no longer be detected in these new memories.
A certain drawback occurs one to two weeks after the last such new memory was implanted. Certain real memories start to appear as puppet roll play in the patients mind. This can have serious negative health consequences if important memories suddenly appear fabricated. The real memories are replaced with a factor of 2:1, as for each false memory that appears real, two real memories will appear as fabricated. The negative effects of this can be wholly circumvented by telling agents that undergo the puppet-memory therapy about the drawback beforehand and reassuring them that all there memories are real after the sessions with Howard Krackenbrueck have concluded.
Should personnel notice4 there memories turning to puppet role play and they do not remember meeting Howard Krackenbrueck for therapy are to report to a superior immediately. Howard Krackenbrueck is to be detained until such events have been thoroughly investigated by an external investigation team from Base 2, Base 3 or Base 5.
While detaining Howard Krackenbrueck he is to be continuously observed by an automated system of heat sensors and photos taken in 15 second intervals as well as two guards. Everyone interacting with him while he is detained has to carry an audio recording device that is to be checked by a previously and secretly determined other member of staff. This is to ensure that no unwanted "therapy" was conducted on the guards or other persons that interacted with him.
Sessions with Howard Krackenbrueck can last from 20 minutes to 4 hours. The amounts of memories affected is 1:1 to session time. While Howard Krackenbrueck has demonstrated that he can produce the effect in as short as 1 minute such memories usually do not survive into long term memory.
Howard Krackenbrueck has an affinity for humanoid foam puppets and has utilized custom sock puppets in the past, but has demonstrated that he can use any object as a puppet for the purposes of his therapy. He demonstrated this using an unmodified bottle cap and a pebble from a public parking lot. The real memories affected by these sessions mirrored the reduced quality of the puppets and were described as "ridiculously and obviously fake".
Report
What is the item? What does it look like? What's the size? What does it do? Is there something we should be aware of? What are its anomalous properties? How'd we find it? When? How do we store the item safely? How do we protect it?
The Report portion should describe the item, provide the protocols for storing it, etc.
And the silence screams back
What if you don't belong here anymore? What if you have taken the seat of someone else? Is it possible that there is nothing more to give?
Irrelevant. Dibs. Sure.
Meta Wonderrat stood on a high balcony. His back was turned towards the empty conference room. "They are not ready. Well, not to be me. They could probably do it." Meta leaned forward. The pull of gravity was continually sucking him closer to the drop from the balcony, yet his feet still stood firm. "Have I won? Could they now run without me?" Meta leaned forward just a bit more. The pavement below the balcony looked almost comforting. "Has it been my time and I just never went?" Metas feet left the ground. He was hanging on the balcony, perfectly balanced. His suit did not even dent. "I have done my part. Should I not let go while I am winning?" Meta finally kipped over the balcony. The fall was only a few seconds, than the body hit the pavement. At first it seemed that nether the pavement or the body had taken damage, than Meta rose back to his feet and dusted off his suit. He had left a Meta sized hole in the pavement. Even his cylinder had leaved a dent in the asphalt. Metas feet once again left the floor, this time Meta hovered back up to the balcony. A sliver of silver metal flew out of Metas sleeve and patched the hole in the pavement by converting air into asphalt. After the almost liquid metal was done it flew back into Metas sleeve. Meta took out a glass bottle from under his head and checked the label. "Self-loathing? Why do I even drink this?" Meta put the bottle back into his collection of human emotions. "Well, perhaps I am getting old." A purple mist escaped Metas ears as his system cleared out the poison. Meta turned around and was gone. Than a series of bodies hit the pavement, as more and more people from the floor above came into contact with the stuff Metas body had rejected. Non of those falling bodies left a dent in the pavement, instead opting to do the normal thing and popping like water-balloons. Like leaking raindrops the building emptied out. The police knew what they had on hand when they heard that the gutters were running red. The Foundation looked up the whole area. The Insurgency operative keeping taps on the man in the white suit with the red tie just barely managed to slip the Foundations net.
Is it funny to give a child a gun? It is a story, a tragedy waiting to happen. What changes, between giving a child a gun and giving an adult one? I guess the implication is that the adult will not produce a tragedy accidentally and have more control over themselves. You become an adult and somehow the same action no longer brings as effective a story. You most have lost some of your story potential than. So you are suddenly less valuable. Self-restraint is therefore a negative modifier. A penalty to get rid of to regain your power. An adult values a good life, consistent pay and a certain tomorrow. All these things are not good story motivators, if there is not an external force that opposes these goals. One such opposing force could be a child with a gun.
The name Meta does normally not associate well with students. I had some, all of which I lost track of. I have accidentally or on purpose ruined so many lives, made myself the opposing force in so many stories, yet the world goes back to a certain tomorrow. I don't know what is keeping me down. That is frustrating. I still hold on, pump water out of a well that once upon a time overflowed all by itself. I am still here. Still have ideas. Ideas of great pain and sorrow, of happiness and anger. Yet I never understood man kinds emotions. Even if i make myself fell them, they are as wrapped in plastic. Sometimes I touch on something interesting and in the next moment I remember where that was done before. It is frustrating.
Imagen for example that I give everyone in a school great power. How long do you think would it take for one of them to kill the rest? Accident, ill will, or just blowing the lid on the secrecy of the whole thing and attracting the wrong attention? I still have chain-reactions to start and fires to light. But even such simplest of task now take energy. I can only sit here and watch as my power seems to meld away, my story potential being swallowed by moral restrains emburdened on me by the roll of leader.
Someone might look at me for leadership and initiative and finds a relict past its prime. The disconnect between my lives becomes more noticeable. Lived for longer than humanity exists, a few decades perhaps or even just half a decade. I see my age as measured by many a ruler, most of them inconsistent to the dedicated observer.
One day I will write something that goes to far. One day I will lose the creative spark for good. One day, I might put the pen down for the last time.
Ha, laughable. I should visit those one days sometimes. The persons that do stuff like that sound troubled, as if in need of extreme power, a gun or perhaps some childish accidental tragedy. If my well is dry, I can just get my water somewhere else. If my leadership becomes a problem, someone will eventually have to solve me or I take down the entire ship with me. Both fates sound utterly tragic and would probably make for a good story.
Start with an empty space. Don't worry, you will find one. What constitutes as empty is debatable. When I start from empty I start from a text prompt or a fresh page. Build on a mind-construct you can not take all into account. A crossroad in a town could be your empty space, a boat on a large body of water, a room in a new building. Than go with what this place needs to feel more than empty. Show that something happened here. A lot of nails in the wall, a dried bloodstain hastily pasted over with spray paint, floorboards so creaky that its hidden space almost screams to be discovered. Here you build the room. Like an investigator you look around, find oddities, make deductions. From the stuff you "find" in the empty room, you can find events. Through events you find persons, through persons you find stories.
You explain what happened, which event made it happen. Than you start to color in. A few details there, a few emotions, a few memories, references to places outside of your empty space. Things that only exist because you used them as window-dressing. You reason why things are like they are, once you made them. It is easy for a brain to collapse possibility. In setting it up it needs to collapse something else, mostly. Your actions destroyed the empty space, its unlimited potential collapsed into a tangible something.
You are the one responsible for the madness that ate them. You made them try to hide there dead father. You put there hands through the motion with every nail you wanted to see in that wall. All misery that has befallen them is your fault. They did not exist before you started to dress up the empty room and use them as an explanation. How many families did you destroy when you "found" a throne made from human bone, still not fully stripped of the flesh that once held them warm? You need the eyes of a cold creator, a cool weaver of fate. You were given power and with this power you craft fear, than call it horror. You pack all of it up, strip away the humanity and feelings, remove everything but the anomaly, the part you wanted to cause this human tragedy. You pick it up, hold something so terrible and put it in a box, for it to be tested on and than used for some purpose. You walk away, leaving the street corner filled with dead bodies and metal rods, leave the boat warped in thick cobwebs dripping with alien superglue, leave the room in the new building painted with rainbow colors extracted through human sacrifice. You go home and write the report. If you are a merciful creator you just let the tragic past of your items die. Let the families never have existed or at least give them the help they needed. If you are the other kind of creator you forget them, let them fade from your mind, back into the nameless mass of unformed humanity. What a creator you are. Was what you got worth it? Yes, for the dead humans are just in your mind. You tell yourself that, but you know that some world exists where the thoughts of a creator are law, black on white, edged in stone. You just throw them away, because treating humans as anything other than tools or garbage would make a good person stop and eventually despair. To stay a good person in your mind you wont do that, you will find excuses. What are you doing? Killing the narrator, I no longer need you, a tool that surfed its purpose. How childish… of you. You…. coward…..
Remember, dead man tell no tales, except if they wrote them down. An author is not bad for the harm that he causes its creation, for they do not feel pain. They are not human. They are food. Food for thought, food for progress.
I have killed for millennia. I have seen humanity change, but I have not changed a bit. A silver spoon, encased in gold, concealing something deeper. Humans hung by there own solidified blood. A web i build a new once i hit the floor. Than they put me in a box, object level "safe". You utter fools. I sat in my box, watching humans store things next to me. From my box i reached out, broke myself off some pieces. I sampled my neighbours, piece by pieces. Than they noticed. Anomalies getting weaker. They had to drop me, to find out if i had gotten weaker as well. I gave them the most pathetic show i was capable off. I was according to them, the worst affected. They decided to monitor me further to see how I would develop. Next time i got dropped i did not build my net, just gave one of there sacrifices some itchy skin. In the next test, I did nothing. Classification, neutralised. They tried to find what had taken my powers. They even gave me access to some other anomalies. I believe my sampling of those remained undetected. Than i was shipped off in my box. I recognised my surroundings as a graveyard of the anomalous. I started eating corpses. So much power, even if disbursed leaves a crater, and i was slowly gaining all that i could. My last thing needed to do was get out there. I knew a regular customer from a grave-keeper. I called out. Nothing so loud as to alert my unwitting warden, or my potential means of escape. The person took one look at the content of my box, than he had stolen me. I cracked open his mind, spun webs around his thoughts, flowed through him with every beat of his heard. He threw me out of his vehicle on the way home. As I hit the floor i started to weave the biggest web that i could. I must have killed hundreds, thousands and then I escaped. I had imagined to land in a box for good after this last hurray, but it was not so. Some interesting people picked me up. They have dropped me multiple times since, but always come back. I guess in a sense this is the first time someone employed me. As long as they keep dropping me, I keep killing and they pick me up again, i will continue to play the roll of the spoon. By now i do have enough amassed power to shed this form, but why rush. I can end humanity anytime i fall to the ground. One web, one death of everything and my employers will wonder why they triggered the end of the world, during a standard deployment. Perhaps I leave some alive, to witness my biggest piece of blood art. The last move in a game I started to play long before humans invented spoons.
Coffin Sword Fight
A child funeral. A man steps towards a griefing mother, ready to make a deal. A cane hits him in the leg. It almost trips the devil. A man in a white suit retracts his cane.
"This one is mine. This is my turf. I killed that brat myself."
"Creating a problem and then selling the solution."
The man in the black suit turns to walk towards the mother when the cane trips him. This time he falls flat on his face. A cane digs into his back.
"I am actually currently doing the same. How convenient."
The attention of the entire griefing family is now on the two man. "Looks like there wont be a deal here." The man in the white suit retracts his cane. He tips his cylinder hat and turns to leave.
The man on the floor rises up, still fuming. A minor setback. He would get her at home. He goes to leaves the funeral, but before he made a second step the cane trips him up again. He falls flat on his face, again. The man in white stands beside him.
"Screw the vale of secrecy, screw the deal. I now just want you dead, now." The man in white smiles a smile with square teeth as the man on the floor turns cherry red and sprouts horns and rises like a cloud of smoke. The grieving party turns pale. Than the two canes of the man in white and the red thing cross mid air. The two creatures are fencing. One of them now looks like the cover from a rock-band, the other seems to always be kind of out of focus. The fight is fierce. The priest trying to stop the show gets hit and is send flying into a church-window. By now the funeral is chaos. People running in panic as the two creatures battle on top of the casket. The mother, her eyes still flushed with shock is coming to her senses. She pushes the red panic button in her pocket. The hidden security vehicles of the Foundation burst forth, surround the area. The woman has aerial support less than 2 minutes after the button was pushed. A heavenly armoured mobile task force is moving in to get the VIP out. By now the duelling weapons of the two fighters no longer resemble canes. The man in white holds a stick covered in silver semi-solid liquid. The red man is holding a sword with a black blade burning in blue flames. The fighters by now are faster than the bullets that fly through the air. In the back of there heads the two know that the outside might become a hassle soon, but for now the two just fight. The man in white brings his stick down, the silver liquid blade cutting through his opponent. "Why? Why me?"
"I wanted to fight on a casket."
"You… You set me up. You set this whole thing up."
The silver wound starts to eat through the red man.
"By now the kid is home as well. I don't need another like you after this one."
The MTF ceases fire. The thread analysis is in. They came prepared, but they are not equipped to deal with this thing. On a tablet in the temporary mission control tent the frame of a picture of the man in the white suit and red tie flashes red-black. Keter, Meta Wonderrat, Administrator Chaos Insurgency. In the next moment the tent shakes. It is empty. The graveyard is empty. Everybody is home. Why would the Foundation be on a graveyard if no one died and there is no funeral?
Pawn takes Pawn. An anomalous event is registered in the Foundation database. A reality shift happened, self-erasing hyper-hypothetical. Something that happened or could have happened never happened.
Meta pushes the captured tower over. A devil wakes up from a nightmare.
Pawn takes Pawn. Efforts are made to try to figur out how realety changed. There is a hole in the filesystem.
The king is set checkmate. There is no mention of a Meta Wonderrat anywhere in the Foundation database.
Game, Set, Match.
The easiest way out, is just to pay someone, to do the thing you cant do. But what if everyone that could do it said it was impossible or a charlatan? It is hard to find out who set across that table. But what if a god wants you dead and you don't want to die? Normally in such a case you just die and nobody cares. If you manage to take the first hurtle and get access to people that actually, seriously consider the possibility that gods want people dead you need to find someone willing to stand in a gods way. Than you need to find out what they want out of them stepping there. Some want to capture a god, some want to destroy it. You can breath free. They know what they are doing. Than they fail. The cage broken, the bullet stopped in mid-air. Than you see your death approaching and in the last second you see a golden flash and death is averted. A red tie on a suit as if made from gold and than that figure says it can help you. You still see death behind it. Would you say no, if it asked for a blank check of everything you could give it? I can not save my body and my soul from a god. Maybe this golden thing can. It said it would no longer try to kill me after I agreed. I believe I just gave a god my everything. He put me in a white suit, a red tie and a white cylinder hat, than send me on my way. I would be a decoy for him. Something other people would look for when they searched for him. I felt the chill on my neck as i recalled the cage and the bullets that ware employed against this entity and the damage it had done to those that tried to hurt it. All I can do now is to act as if I have this power as well. My life is save as is my soul, but now I need to survive my previous lifelines. The being in the golden suit gave me a new name. Now I am Serakir. The pretend god.
"So, why would you come to me? By now you must be really high up. You never showed interest in me other than as a step on your career leader."
"You were my student, with a crush on me. You know that would not have worked out."
"I got over you. Now, why are you here? There is nothing left here. I have not touched a blade in years."
"Please, ever since we regained interest in you we know that you have started to training again. 2016 was it i believe. You had a family for far longer, but something in 16 changed your life."
"Answer the question. Why has the Insurgency dug me up?"
"Your name fell in an ongoing DIA investigation."
"So, you are working through cold cases now?"
"The case i am talking about is actually quite hot. One could say vital."
"So, has one of my students gone and doomed humanity?"
"No, it is more like someone picked through old files in search for Insurgency with questionable relationships to the Insurgency, MIA, Hospitalized, presumed dead, neutralized, imprisoned by a GOI. Someone is making a list."
"Let me guess, someone with a strange fashion sense and stinking like an anomaly?"
"So, you know about who put you on a list?"
"He contacted my daughter in 2016 i was ready to leave our house the vary same night she told me. I secretly guarded her bedroom for 4 monthes after."
"Sounds like you don't know him then."
"Was it one of your dogs? I thought it must be. The Foundation would not have contacted me, they would have come with a taskforce through my roof. Euclid and all that."
"We are not clear on his motives, but if someone like him believes that there is still fight in you i needed to check."
"You checked, now leave. I will go under again and this time i will be out for good. My knowledge is years outdated at this point. You did not even care when it was fresh."
"Something with access to insurgency files has you on a list. Like it or not that makes you part of this case now."
"Than what should i do?"
"What ever it takes to keep your famaly save."
"Do you want to use me as bait and put me in a trap for the anomaly?"
"No, we want you back. Firmly off his list of possible candidates."
"How do you think that will work? My strikes have trouble with 3 cm non-harden steel by now."
"If you are willing to give it a shot, we might have something that can bring the blade back into action."
"Have you found a working youth-fountain? The thing in Utah does not count. Tricky bastard."
"As a matter of fact we have. It is not pleasant or fast, but yes, by now we have something that can get you back in the game."
"I am not doing mind-transplantation, operation or cloning."
"Still worried that we would steal your brain?"
"What, now you are denying that you steal brains of you employees on occasion?"
"I never said that i would. Rest assured, you will be fully contius through the process."
"How painful is it? Must be quite something for you not to be the first in line. A girl and her looks, wasn't it like that?"
"I am no longer as vain as i once was. Do you think you can drink multiple litres of battery acid, if it would not kill you?"
"One last thing before I come back. You keep my daughter out of this."
"We wont approach her, but we wont lie if she asks. If the thing has already approached her i would be more comfortable if she hears from us first."
"Why are you so afraid of it? Do you want to spin the truth that there is a lot of blood on all our hands?"
"We tell the truth, in do time and small dosages. You can predict the view someone has regarding the Chaos Insurgency, by the speed by which they learn of it."
"Few become friends if the first thing they know about someone is that they kill people on the regular."
"My name was always a warning label, but that never stopped you. You learned of the Insurgency and me that we are your friends and willing to help you."
"Until you lose your worth, you forgot to add."
"So, are you back in?"
"Same as it was when i left?"
"For the start, than as your powers come back, we can add your older responsibilities back on."
"You got yourself an Insurgent, Pink."
"Nice to hear, Edge."
Do we tell him about the post?
No need to. It had some nice revelations though. The little blade is on his list as well.
So the list we have was incomplete from the start. That makes a forgery or a plant far more likely than an oversight.
Have we found out what destroyed there house in 2010?
We think it was her mother, Spike-jump Overpressure.
Have we confirmed this?
No. It is still just speculation, but knowing her temperament, loyalty to the Insurgency and the time she went MIA for 9 monthes, things would line up.
Had these two not hated each others guts? They where on each others throats all the time.
You know the phrase, fighting like an old-couple?
I still dont think that the two had something and ofcause a child of Spike-Jump was speculated to exist somewhere, but she would have never allowed her kid to grow up outside of the Insurgency. She would have told us.
Perhaps we should attempt to resurrect her again? Her death in 2011 was a harsh setback.
After 2010 her power started to fail together with her mental state. When she died she was an emotional wrack.
Perhaps Edge tricked her into believing she killed her own child when she attacked him? If he wanted to hide the child that would probably be his only option.
But why would she let her daughter alone directly after birth?
Perhaps she was really MIA during pregnancy and not AWOL? When we picked her up from the small mountain town, we made a full check-up. She was confused and some of her memories were erased, but we found no evidence for a pregnancy. The hole in her memory was also not 9 months.
Specific alteration of memories, just to hide the pregnancy combined with a biological reshuffle that went completely undetected after a MIA-check-up?
Do you think the WSC had its hands in play even back than?
If we take Overpressure as the mother than we must assume a powerful mindwarper in play. We have one in play already.
How ever we turn this things don't line up. WSC hands no record of being involved in insurgency affairs prior to 2016.
What if it was the archive?
The archive is like saying, what about god?
We need to consider the possibility. If Ms Trumis is indeed more born of the archive than her parents than that would make the whole thing a message.
I have the power of the universe, but I just use it to fuck with you guys.
I think we have gone of topic. We still have not found the mother. It could just have been a random civilian for all we know. We have no solid idea who broke into that house. It could have been a Foundation MTF for all we know, hell perhaps some pies really just burst.
We should leave it as that. I will note too that the way we found edge was also very much not standard. Finding notes with detailed information without clear origin is never a good sign. Edge was good in covering his tracks. We could have spend months looking for him, but that note shortened the time down to hours after the list was found.
I think we are being played.