We went straight from Innsmouth to the address we’d found. It was in the far northern part of Maine, near the Canadian border. Extremely isolated; don’t think there was another living person for miles around it. Just a lot of trees.
330 did some scouting beforehand, and
no I can’t, I can’t write this now, I just….
Alright, I’m back. Let’s try this again. 330 did some scouting beforehand. The place didn’t look like much from the outside. Barbed wire fence around a handful of small buildings that didn’t rise above the tree line. Not even very many guards around.
“So how are we going to get inside?”
“Simple. You’re going to infiltrate the place.”
“What? Me? Why me, I’m not the one who can teleport!”
No. Still can’t do this.
Alright. Alright. I can I can do this. I just just just need to focus. Third time’s a charm, right. I’ll pick up where I left off in the conversation.
330 was adamant in her decision. “I stand out too much. And as you’ve pointed out, I’m not terribly good at covert action. You get in, find Lupine, and then I’ll warp to you.”
“How am I supposed to get in?”
“I got you a guard’s uniform and a key card to get you access to most rooms.”
“If I ask how, are you just going to say time travel?”
“Yup.”
“What if they see through the disguise?”
“Just act like you’re supposed to be there, and they’ll ignore you. Always works for me.”
Surprisingly enough, when the time came, that advice actually did work. The people at the gate only glanced at the papers I showed them, and then waved me inside. Once in, 330 started giving me directions through an earpiece I was wearing.
“You’ll want to go into the white domed building in the northeast corner. Your keycards should give you access.”
No one challenged me as I went to the dome. Surprisingly few people on the grounds; a handful of guards, but apart from them, it was all empty. Really unnerving, because it looked like there should have been more people there. There were lots of military style trucks around, more than people it seemed, and the barracks I passed was large enough to house a decent sized force. But I only ran across eight, maybe nine, guards outside.
Inside the dome was designed like the research facilities I’d gone through before (except not underground, and for once there wasn’t death everywhere.) 330 gave me directions through the hallways, until I reached the elevator. Saw two people; another guard and a man in a lab coat. Both glanced at me, saw my uniform, and kept walking. Once at the elevator, I swiped the keycard again, and went to the top floor.
Elevator doors opened, and I was at the edge of a large semi-circle room. In the center, a strange star like (or was it a branch? I get a headache trying to remember…) symbol drawn onto the ground, with a glowing orb in the center and evil looking statues at five points around it. Standing over the symbol was a man in a lab coat with an ancient looking book, stumbling over the pronunciation of the words he was reading from it, his scientific outfit looking very out of place juxtaposed with the evil magical symbols of doom at his feet. Observing this was Lupine, flanked on either side by serious looking men in serious looking uniforms with lots of stripes, bars, and medals on them. Several more men in lab coats were at control panels along the wall, paying very careful attention to screens displaying rows of data on the walls.
Lupine saw me when I entered. “What the hell?” He said. “I gave the order that no one was to enter!”
330 appeared at my side. “Hi Lupine! Been a while, hasn’t it?”
I’ve never seen an expression like the one he had when he saw her. Two parts disbelief and one part “Oooooooh shit.” He reached for a pistol at his side, but by the time his hand got there, the pistol was gone and 330 was holding it.
“I think it’s about time we put an end to your crazy plan, Lupine.”
Lupine shouted at the men by the control panels, “Hit the switch! NOW!”
One of them listened to him, and suddenly the room was filled with light. It lasted only a second, and when it was gone, the orb which had been at the center of the sigil was broken in two. Above it, floating in the air, was a crack. A crack like the one under Research Facility 03, a crack that glowed both white and black at the same time. A crack made of nothingness….
It was small, barely the size of a fist, but Lupine seemed awful proud of it. He started laughing as soon as he saw it.
“That’s it?” 330 said. “You think a tiny crack in reality like that’s going to do anything?”
“This? On its own, no.” He said. “This was supposed to just be a test run. Making sure the principle was sound. But more importantly…. When we discovered the tear underneath Research Facility 03, I learned something very interesting. The Fears take a particular interest in rips appearing in the universe. Which means, if we wait for a little bit…. Switch to security footage!”
The screens on the walls stopped showing data, and changed to an image of the front gate. The guards there had collapsed, covered in huge sores which oozed black liquid. Above them stood a man in a black robe, with a white beaked mask. The image changed to inside the barracks, where a man was having his skin peeled off by a group of shadows which were swarming over him. Changed again, this time to a hallway. Two people ran by the camera, followed closely by the Rake. They were ought of the shot before we saw what happened to them.
“You see?” Lupine said. “You stand no chance to-”
He stopped when he realized that 330 was laughing. “Is that all?” She said. “You still don’t know who the hell you’re dealing with, do you? I’m going to kill you, and then I’m going to walk out there and take care of all your new friends.”
Lupine looked around for support, but everyone else seemed just as terrified by this mad woman who could laugh at such a situation. He stumbled backwards, nearly falling over one of the statues on the floor. “The hell are you talking about? You can’t… ‘take care’ of them!’ They’re… they’re the Fears! You’re mad!”
In reply, 330 smiled and aimed Lupine’s own pistol at him. The two uniformed men who had been at his side reached for firearms, only to find that they too were missing.
Every screen was suddenly covered with static, and white noise blared from every monitor, causing everyone in the room save 330 to clutch their ears in pain. The Slender Man had appeared in before us. It was taller than the last time I’d seen it, maybe 10, 12 feet high. It was looking down at the symbol which had created the crack; but without a face, there was no way to know what it thought of it. Then its eyeless gaze swept the room, passing over everyone without any interest, until it locked on 330.
Lupine looked at the tall being at first with surprise, and then with a mad glee. “You see?” Lupine screamed at us. “He won’t let you interfere with my plans!” Lupine looked towards the Slender Man, as if waiting for a reaction, or maybe acknowledgement. None came: the Slender Man remained focused exclusively on 330. When this became apparent, Lupine ran for the stairs, followed by the other personnel. I thought 330 was going to stop him, but she was staring at the Slender Man. Both of them were looking right at each other, neither moving, neither paying any attention to anyone else in the room.
“Lisa….”
“Yeah?”
“Run. Run out of here as fast as you can.”
“But-”
“NOW!”
Didn’t question her. Surely she knew what she was doing, I thought. I ran down the stairs, taking them two at a time. No matter how fast I went down, I didn’t feel like I was getting any closer to the bottom. The stairwell seemed to stretch, longer and longer. Eyes grew on the walls, from which black ichor oozed, and I could hear the sound of screaming all around me…. I covered my ears and ran faster. Finally reached the bottom. One of the guards I’d passed earlier was down there, shouting in pain as something writhed under his skin, and beetles crawled out of his mouth. Ignored him, ran to the door outside.
Black clouds had covered the sky. It would have been darker were it not for the flames consuming the barracks. I ran for the gate, trying to ignore everything that was happening around me: trying to ignore the disemboweled corpses, the ice covered statues of guards frozen in an attempt to run away, the cacophony of screaming and voices which didn’t seem to come from any point of origin….
Then, amidst all the darkness and violence, I saw rose petals, floating down from the sky. It was such a strange sight that I nearly stopped running so I could make sure it was real. The rose petals were followed by chrysanthemum petals, then lilies, then flower petals of every kind and color, drifting down. One, bright orange, came close to me, and I held out my hand to it. My finger touched it, and I felt a sharp pain. Pulled my hand back, and the finger was bleeding. Another petal fell near, touching my arm. A cut opened where it landed, running down the arm. Then another petal cut my back. Every petal that touched me opened a new cut wherever it landed. Panicked once more, I tried to outrun them, but they only fell faster. I looked behind me and saw a cascade of petals pouring down, coming closer to me, faster than I could outrun. Still tried. Wasn’t enough. Had to shield my face and neck with my arms. Looked back again, and saw a man standing amongst the petals. I can’t remember anything about how he looked, except his smile, which was too wide for his face….
A petal cut deep into my leg and I fell. Couldn’t get back up fast enough, and soon the petals were raining down on me. Don’t know how many times I was cut, trapped beneath that colorful death.
Then, it stopped. The raining petals all began to turn black and crumble. A man was standing between me and the wall of petals; a man in a black hoodie, wearing a gas mask. Every petal which came near him withered and died.
Heard gunfire pick up, and felt someone pull me up. “Don’t worry, we got you!” Recognized the voice. Looked at the person who was helping me: Roy Makhno. And with him, his gang of Timberwolves. “Come on, ya sons of bitches!” He shouted. “You wanna look bad in front of the Boss? Show ‘em what we’re made of!”
Didn’t get to see what was going on with the fight. Makhno carried me to the gate, where another Timberwolf was waiting with bandages. The rest of the gang soon joined us, followed by the man in the gas mask. He looked at me, and I felt a chill run through my whole body. I couldn’t see any of his features beneath that mask, but felt… something, when I looked at him. Something terrible. He turned to the domed building, and I looked to see what had caught his interest. Just in time to see the building explode.
Rubble from the explosion flew towards us, but the gas mask guy held up a hand, and the rubble seemed to hit an invisible wall before it could strike me or any of the Timberwolves. A massive gust of wind followed the explosion, blowing the smoke away. At the center of the blast, silhouetted by the burning barracks, stood the Slender Man, dozens of tentacles coming out of its back. Opposite it was 330. Her whole left sleeve had been torn off, and her uncovered shadow arm writhed and twisted so that it only resembled an arm in its basic shape. Her eye glowed red, bright enough for me to see from the gate. And in her right hand, she held a sword made of fire. I felt like I should run to her, but… I was scared. That smile she had as she faced down the Slender Man…. She looked terrifying.
330 vanished, appeared right in front of Slender Man. Swung her sword at its chest, it blocked with a tentacle; another 330 appeared behind it and punched with her left arm, but that was deflected by yet another tentacle. Both 330s disappeared, two more appeared on either side. Tentacles shot out of Slender Man’s hands at them, but they were already gone, and now she was above him, swinging the sword down. This time Slender Man vanished, reappearing several feet away. She was waiting for it; fire and tentacle clashed again. Black hands shot out of the ground towards her, but she was in the air, three of her, four, back on the ground before any attacks could hit her. Another tentacles went towards her; she caught it with her left hand, swung the sword down at it, chopping it off. The tentacle regrew in an instant, but now she was behind the monster again, swinging, punching, tearing more tentacles apart as she fought towards the Slender Man.
She lunged towards its pale face; it had to take a step back to avoid the attack. Then another step back, and another, keeping away from the flurry of strikes. There were never fewer than two 330s at a time, attacking from every open angle. For a moment, she broke past the tentacles, coming inches away from the Slender Man. Arm was pulled back, ready for a punch to the face. Seconds before it hit, dozens more black hands ripped out of the ground, coming at her from every direction. Couldn’t tell whether her punch or the hands would connect first.
The hands were faster. 330 vanished just before they hit. The fight descended into a moment of calm; when 330 reappeared, there was only one of her. Slender Man withdrew its tentacles, once more assuming the look of calm and collection, and the two squared off. 330 was breathing heavily; Slender Man… looked the same as always.
For the first time in the fight, 330 looked away from the Slender Man. She seemed surprised when she saw me by the gate watching her. The red glow in her eye faded, back to her eye’s natural blue. She looked at me for the longest time…. I tried reading her face, but couldn’t. There was no emotion I could see on it, until the last moment before she turned away from me, when she smiled sadly….
Then… she let go of her sword. Held both her arms out, palms open and empty. The Slender Man pointed an arm at her. A single tentacle shot out of that arm, and went straight through her forehead.
For a moment, there was only a blinding white light. Then I saw 330 falling. Tried running to her, but Makhno kept holding onto me, even as I struggled. Slender Man’s tentacles caught 330 before she hit the ground, and slowly lowered her down. Another tentacle closed her eye, while another placed her right arm over her chest. Her left arm had vanished, along with the sword of fire. The Slender Man looked towards our group. It and the gas mask guy stared at each other for a long time. Then both vanished.
Makhno finally let me go. I didn’t care about my injuries. Didn’t care about the blood running down my legs. Didn’t care about the pain. I ran to 330 as fast as I could. Grabbed her, shook, her shouted at her, hoping for some kind of reply, hoping that the hole in her head would go away, that she’d open her eye, beating on her chest wanting to make her breath again….
None of it worked. Nothing could work. I-330… she’s dead.
Friday, April 13, 2012
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
Apply Mission Impossible Theme Liberally
330 hasn’t stopped with her Sean Connery accent ever since we got back from the ball. She’s got this James Bond imagining of what we did in her head, and I admit, excepting for the lack of beautiful Russian spies, it was a very spy flick-esque night.
We arrived at the ball “fashionably late” (how can a time traveler get late?) which I’ve learned is code for “330 wanted to wait until there were enough people there so we’d have an audience for our entrance.” Because being covert is a completely alien concept to her, even when the entire goal of our mission involves being covert.
The mansion stands prominently on a hill overlooking the reconstructed portions of Innsmouth. A large fountain is in front, shaped like a fish, around which most of the guests had parked. The front of the house is designed in a classical style: lots of columns and such. Kinda resembles the Greek Pantheon.
We went inside, arms together. The room we entered was huge, and filled with people dressed in their finest. 330 spoke with the greeter, and he announced, “Ms. Lucy Zamyatin and Ms. Elizabeth Wells!”
Wait. What.
“Lucy Zamyatin?” I whispered to 330. “Elizabeth Wells?”
“Yeah; we’re being incognito.”
“Do you even know what incognito means?”
“Course I do. I’m just not very good at it.”
I should have expected the stares. 330 stood out like fireworks inside a church. An eyepatch over one eye, scars on her face, long wild hair, and coming in wearing a tux with another woman on her arm. Whispers and stares followed us. I tried hiding from them behind 330, but given that she was the center of it, that didn’t help much.
We were soon greeted by Mr. Olmstead. I recognized him from his photo on the Foundation’s website, though upon seeing him in person, I had to wonder how many hours were spent touching that picture up to make him look halfway decent. He appeared nearly circular, with a bullet shaped head whose eyes seemed to be trying to escape in different directions.
“Ah, Ms. Zamyatin!” He said, taking 330’s hand. “I was just talking about the generous donation you gave to the Foundation!”
“What can I say? I have an interest in historical heritage.” She said.
Olmstead turned his face to me. How’s he able to look straight ahead, with his eyes so far apart? “And this must be Ms. Wells! A pleasure to meet you.” He offered his hand, and I shook it. It felt like sweat and seaweed….
330 and Olmstead began to chat small talk. I excused myself and dodged through the crowd into a hallway. Look around to make sure I was alone. Fancy place. Really big, too. When I was sure no one else was around, I put a receiver into my ear. “You there, 330?”
“Yup.” The voice came from behind me, not the receiver. She was standing right there with me.
“What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be in there talking to people!”
“I did. I mean, I am. Was. Whatever, you know what I mean. Past me’s still busy distracting them, so we’re good. Come on, let’s get moving.”
Followed 330 through the mansion. She seemed to know where we were going. At intervals we’d see security men in suits, but 330 always planned out route to keep out of their sight. We came to a locked door not much later. After shaking the doorknob failed to get any results, 330 vanished. Lock clicked, and she opened the door from the inside.
The room was an office, dominated by what at first glance looked like family portrait hanging over a desk. On second glance, I realized that the man in the suit standing behind the (younger) Jacob Olmstead had eyes much too large, a nose far too small, and teeth far too sharp. Also he had scales instead of skin, which is a little off putting. The desk was meticulously neat, bare of anything but a feather quill, a bowl of ink, and a small statue. The statue was of a hunched, greenish creature with tentacles coming from its mouth and dragon like wings from its back. Exactly like the one we’d found in that abandoned church so long ago.
330 started throwing open desk drawers and riffling through their contents. “Junk… junk… taxes… tax avoidance… cult activity… junk… junk….”
“Wait, cult activity?”
“Yeah, the Innsmouth Reconstruction Foundation’s a front for the Esoteric Order of Dagon. I thought everyone knew that.”
“I didn’t!”
“Oh. Well, it’s not important right now. This is what we need.” 330 held up a bundle of paperwork. “When in doubt, follow the money. Matthew was right about Mr. Olmstead sending our friend Lupine quite a bit of funding. Also some supplies and material from what I’m reading. Most of it’s all going to one place.” She pointed at an address on the paper. Someplace in Maine. “And look at this note here! Lupine’s going to personally be visiting this place pretty soon! Guess where we’re going next?”
That was the point when one of the patrolling security men realized that a door which was supposed to be locked was wide open, and two strangers were intruding inside. Have to give him credit; he didn’t shout any “Hey, you!” or “What are you doing here?” Soon as he saw the two of us, he reached for his radio and started to report our presence. Only managed two words before 330 knocked him out, though. “Time for us to go!”
Our escape could have been better planned. I had to lose my shoes and, after a lot of arguing with myself, tear part of my dress (necessary sacrifices, I suppose…) before I could run with 330. Nice as that outfit was, if I’m going to keep ending up in this sort of situation, I think I’ll need to stick with pants from now on. Two more guards tried to stop us, but 330 appeared behind them, disarmed them, and tossed them aside before they could do anything.
We went out through a window, but the grounds were covered with security men looking for us. Rather than try to get through, we climbed up the side of the mansion, onto the roof. No one was looking up there. We sat on that roof together, watching the stars over the town, while the people below us grew increasingly frustrated in their futile search. At some point I dozed off; woke up with my head leaning on 330’s shoulder and her telling me that it was time to leave. They’d given up looking, so we could sneak away. Almost didn’t want to leave that roof, but we’ve got things do to.
-Lisa
We arrived at the ball “fashionably late” (how can a time traveler get late?) which I’ve learned is code for “330 wanted to wait until there were enough people there so we’d have an audience for our entrance.” Because being covert is a completely alien concept to her, even when the entire goal of our mission involves being covert.
The mansion stands prominently on a hill overlooking the reconstructed portions of Innsmouth. A large fountain is in front, shaped like a fish, around which most of the guests had parked. The front of the house is designed in a classical style: lots of columns and such. Kinda resembles the Greek Pantheon.
We went inside, arms together. The room we entered was huge, and filled with people dressed in their finest. 330 spoke with the greeter, and he announced, “Ms. Lucy Zamyatin and Ms. Elizabeth Wells!”
Wait. What.
“Lucy Zamyatin?” I whispered to 330. “Elizabeth Wells?”
“Yeah; we’re being incognito.”
“Do you even know what incognito means?”
“Course I do. I’m just not very good at it.”
I should have expected the stares. 330 stood out like fireworks inside a church. An eyepatch over one eye, scars on her face, long wild hair, and coming in wearing a tux with another woman on her arm. Whispers and stares followed us. I tried hiding from them behind 330, but given that she was the center of it, that didn’t help much.
We were soon greeted by Mr. Olmstead. I recognized him from his photo on the Foundation’s website, though upon seeing him in person, I had to wonder how many hours were spent touching that picture up to make him look halfway decent. He appeared nearly circular, with a bullet shaped head whose eyes seemed to be trying to escape in different directions.
“Ah, Ms. Zamyatin!” He said, taking 330’s hand. “I was just talking about the generous donation you gave to the Foundation!”
“What can I say? I have an interest in historical heritage.” She said.
Olmstead turned his face to me. How’s he able to look straight ahead, with his eyes so far apart? “And this must be Ms. Wells! A pleasure to meet you.” He offered his hand, and I shook it. It felt like sweat and seaweed….
330 and Olmstead began to chat small talk. I excused myself and dodged through the crowd into a hallway. Look around to make sure I was alone. Fancy place. Really big, too. When I was sure no one else was around, I put a receiver into my ear. “You there, 330?”
“Yup.” The voice came from behind me, not the receiver. She was standing right there with me.
“What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be in there talking to people!”
“I did. I mean, I am. Was. Whatever, you know what I mean. Past me’s still busy distracting them, so we’re good. Come on, let’s get moving.”
Followed 330 through the mansion. She seemed to know where we were going. At intervals we’d see security men in suits, but 330 always planned out route to keep out of their sight. We came to a locked door not much later. After shaking the doorknob failed to get any results, 330 vanished. Lock clicked, and she opened the door from the inside.
The room was an office, dominated by what at first glance looked like family portrait hanging over a desk. On second glance, I realized that the man in the suit standing behind the (younger) Jacob Olmstead had eyes much too large, a nose far too small, and teeth far too sharp. Also he had scales instead of skin, which is a little off putting. The desk was meticulously neat, bare of anything but a feather quill, a bowl of ink, and a small statue. The statue was of a hunched, greenish creature with tentacles coming from its mouth and dragon like wings from its back. Exactly like the one we’d found in that abandoned church so long ago.
330 started throwing open desk drawers and riffling through their contents. “Junk… junk… taxes… tax avoidance… cult activity… junk… junk….”
“Wait, cult activity?”
“Yeah, the Innsmouth Reconstruction Foundation’s a front for the Esoteric Order of Dagon. I thought everyone knew that.”
“I didn’t!”
“Oh. Well, it’s not important right now. This is what we need.” 330 held up a bundle of paperwork. “When in doubt, follow the money. Matthew was right about Mr. Olmstead sending our friend Lupine quite a bit of funding. Also some supplies and material from what I’m reading. Most of it’s all going to one place.” She pointed at an address on the paper. Someplace in Maine. “And look at this note here! Lupine’s going to personally be visiting this place pretty soon! Guess where we’re going next?”
That was the point when one of the patrolling security men realized that a door which was supposed to be locked was wide open, and two strangers were intruding inside. Have to give him credit; he didn’t shout any “Hey, you!” or “What are you doing here?” Soon as he saw the two of us, he reached for his radio and started to report our presence. Only managed two words before 330 knocked him out, though. “Time for us to go!”
Our escape could have been better planned. I had to lose my shoes and, after a lot of arguing with myself, tear part of my dress (necessary sacrifices, I suppose…) before I could run with 330. Nice as that outfit was, if I’m going to keep ending up in this sort of situation, I think I’ll need to stick with pants from now on. Two more guards tried to stop us, but 330 appeared behind them, disarmed them, and tossed them aside before they could do anything.
We went out through a window, but the grounds were covered with security men looking for us. Rather than try to get through, we climbed up the side of the mansion, onto the roof. No one was looking up there. We sat on that roof together, watching the stars over the town, while the people below us grew increasingly frustrated in their futile search. At some point I dozed off; woke up with my head leaning on 330’s shoulder and her telling me that it was time to leave. They’d given up looking, so we could sneak away. Almost didn’t want to leave that roof, but we’ve got things do to.
-Lisa
Sunday, April 8, 2012
History Lesson and Clothes
Innsmouth, Massachusetts. Used to be a small fishing town of no importance. Vanished off the map in 1928. Several decades later, in the early 80s, the government completely filled in the bay. The EPA threw a big fit over the whole deal, which is the only reason anyone’s heard of the place these days.
That’s the history lesson. A few years ago some people got together to rebuild the town as part of a heritage project. The man behind the idea was the millionaire, Jacob Olmstead.
Who, according to Matthew, is evil.
The question then is how we’re going to find the connection between him and Lupine.
Olmstead owns a large estate in the rebuilt portions of Innsmouth, which would be the best place for snooping around. The difficulty is going to be getting inside. I assumed that all we needed to do was have 330 teleport in there, grab whatever we needed, and then pop back out. But that, according to 330, wouldn’t be “fun” enough.
She has what she considers a better idea. While looking at the Innsmouth Reconstruction Foundation website, she found that Mr. Olmstead is holding a charity ball at his estate. Now she wants us to sneak into the ball and use that as a chance to go snooping, rather than doing it at a time when there will be less people and security.
And so, without much input on my part, I found myself receiving an invitation to a social event which will be attended by some of the wealthiest historically interested philanthropists in the country. Not sure how 330 managed to get us on the list. I suspect time travel.
It didn’t really hit me what I was getting involved in until 330 showed up with the blue dress.
“I picked this up for you. Thought you’d like to wear it at the ball.”
Didn’t know what to say. It was like something off the celebrity runway. I’ve never owned anything so beautiful. When I tried it on, I couldn’t help but admire it in the mirror. To think, I was actually wearing this….
Didn’t admire for long, because 330 quickly lost the ability to restrain herself and tackled me for cuddling. I’m assuming that means she also likes the dress.
Once she’d been calmed, I got the chance to ask her what she was planning to wear. After seeing my dress, my imagination was getting very creative with all the possibilities. She said she’d show me, and left the room. Moments later, she walked back in. Wearing a tuxedo.
“What.”
“You like it? It’s based on the outfits worn in Doctor Who: Voyage of the Damned.”
“Do you own anything that isn’t based on something David Tennant wore?”
“Well… not really. No.”
Oh well. I guess I can’t complain too much. She does look good in it.
-Lisa
That’s the history lesson. A few years ago some people got together to rebuild the town as part of a heritage project. The man behind the idea was the millionaire, Jacob Olmstead.
Who, according to Matthew, is evil.
The question then is how we’re going to find the connection between him and Lupine.
Olmstead owns a large estate in the rebuilt portions of Innsmouth, which would be the best place for snooping around. The difficulty is going to be getting inside. I assumed that all we needed to do was have 330 teleport in there, grab whatever we needed, and then pop back out. But that, according to 330, wouldn’t be “fun” enough.
She has what she considers a better idea. While looking at the Innsmouth Reconstruction Foundation website, she found that Mr. Olmstead is holding a charity ball at his estate. Now she wants us to sneak into the ball and use that as a chance to go snooping, rather than doing it at a time when there will be less people and security.
And so, without much input on my part, I found myself receiving an invitation to a social event which will be attended by some of the wealthiest historically interested philanthropists in the country. Not sure how 330 managed to get us on the list. I suspect time travel.
It didn’t really hit me what I was getting involved in until 330 showed up with the blue dress.
“I picked this up for you. Thought you’d like to wear it at the ball.”
Didn’t know what to say. It was like something off the celebrity runway. I’ve never owned anything so beautiful. When I tried it on, I couldn’t help but admire it in the mirror. To think, I was actually wearing this….
Didn’t admire for long, because 330 quickly lost the ability to restrain herself and tackled me for cuddling. I’m assuming that means she also likes the dress.
Once she’d been calmed, I got the chance to ask her what she was planning to wear. After seeing my dress, my imagination was getting very creative with all the possibilities. She said she’d show me, and left the room. Moments later, she walked back in. Wearing a tuxedo.
“What.”
“You like it? It’s based on the outfits worn in Doctor Who: Voyage of the Damned.”
“Do you own anything that isn’t based on something David Tennant wore?”
“Well… not really. No.”
Oh well. I guess I can’t complain too much. She does look good in it.
-Lisa
Thursday, April 5, 2012
Arm
This isn’t usually the sort of thing I’d post publically about… but it’s related to some of the things which happened last time.
330 and I… well, we’re sharing hotel rooms now, and… that’s not what I’m trying to talk about. The bandages on her left arm…. They don’t just cover the arm. They go all the way to her shoulder, as well as part of her chest. I… I asked to see it. She didn’t say anything as she took off the wrapping.
Her whole arm, made of that darkness, with tendrils snaking towards her heart…. The place where it met skin looked unnatural. As if someone had taken a picture of her, then covered part of that picture with black ink.
I reached toward the arm, and when she didn’t pull away, touched it. I felt… nothing. No heat. No cold. The only reason I could tell that I was actually touching her arm was that I could see my fingers meeting the blackness, even if those fingers weren’t registering any sensation.
As soon as I pulled my hand away, she rewrapped the arm. We haven’t spoken about it since.
-Lisa
330 and I… well, we’re sharing hotel rooms now, and… that’s not what I’m trying to talk about. The bandages on her left arm…. They don’t just cover the arm. They go all the way to her shoulder, as well as part of her chest. I… I asked to see it. She didn’t say anything as she took off the wrapping.
Her whole arm, made of that darkness, with tendrils snaking towards her heart…. The place where it met skin looked unnatural. As if someone had taken a picture of her, then covered part of that picture with black ink.
I reached toward the arm, and when she didn’t pull away, touched it. I felt… nothing. No heat. No cold. The only reason I could tell that I was actually touching her arm was that I could see my fingers meeting the blackness, even if those fingers weren’t registering any sensation.
As soon as I pulled my hand away, she rewrapped the arm. We haven’t spoken about it since.
-Lisa
Sunday, April 1, 2012
The Wooden Girl
“The wooden girl is one of the Fears. It takes the appearance of a living puppet,” 330 explained. “and it uses strings to take control of people, forcing them to work for her.”
“Like mind control?”
“Sometimes. Other times it’ll keep the mind conscious, and only control the body. And if it really likes you, it won’t use the strings at all. It can be extremely persuasive when it feels in the mood.”
We spent the drive discussing the Girl’s interference. Well, 330 and I did. Lucy remained silent in the backsteat.
The conclusion we came to was just a confirmation of what we’d been suspecting. The Wooden Girl had been active in the city, and the CIA was taking advantage of the chaos for a political play. They just hadn’t counted on the Wooden Girl having an attachment to one of their targets.
“What do you think the CIA will do now?” I asked.
“Depends. If they want to be reasonable, they’ll settle with what they’ve gained now. I can’t imagine many FBI agents survived the initial attack; so long as they don’t try anything too insane, they’ll be the ones calling the shots on the supernatural here. If they’re going to ignore sanity in favor of dramatics, they might try to completely purge the region of all opposition….”
330 looked back to Lucy, who seemed surprised at the sudden attention. “What? You mean they might come for me? But I’m not important!”
“That would make sense when arguing with a sane person, but… last time I heard Lupine talking, sanity wasn’t the impression I got from him. Trying to summon Slender Man and rule the world, remember?”
“What should I do?” The realization of the threat to her life seemed to have at least temporarily brought Lucy out of her grief.
“We’ll get you out of the city. Somewhere you can safely get in contact with your superiors, maybe get a transfer to someplace nice. Like Wyoming. Ask if you can get transferred to Wyoming, nothing bad happens there. Lisa and I have stayed too long in this city anyways. Time we moved on.”
Before leaving the city, we made a quick stop at Matthew’s safehouse to grab anything we’d need. 330 filled the trunk of the car with as many guns as she could, while I searched for any food or money we could use. Lucy came out of one of the rooms holding a suitcase.
“Mr. Larsen always had this with him. It seemed important to him.” She said. “I don’t know the combination to open it, but I can’t leave it here….” We put it in the backseat with everything else.
“That should be everything.” 330 said. “Now let’s get movi-”
A pair of headlights appeared from up the street and barreled towards us. I was blinded by the sudden light so I couldn’t see, but I heard screeching tires followed by automatic gunfire. Lucy and I were pushed behind the cover of our car while 330 ran into the fight. Men in urban camo were running at us from every direction, shouting orders to each other, firing at 330, who was all over the place, vanishing before the bullets could hit her then appearing behind the soldiers. She made the fight look effortless: every shot she fired from her rifle hit someone. In less than a minute, it ceased being an attack and turned into chaos.
“Get into the car!” 330 shouted to us. Lucy complied immediately, jumping right into the backseat. I opened the passenger door, but paused to look to 330. I could see her by the headlights, firing at targets hidden in the darkness. Then, another silhouette rose behind her. It pointed a gun at her, and I waited for her reaction, for her to spin around and shoot first, protect herself, but… she didn’t move. Didn’t look back. Didn’t realize there was someone behind her about to fire.
All that training I’ve been going through for months now… it all kicked in before I could think. Pulled out my pistol, aimed, and fired four shot straight at the silhouette. It wasn’t until the body had fallen that I realized what I’d just done.
Without regard to safety, I ran out into the firefight towards the man. Wasn’t thinking. Just… had to do something. There was so much blood, everywhere…. I tried to stop it, tried stopping the bleeding. Stupid, panic driven actions. Putting your hands over a bullet wound isn’t going to save someone. Had to try, couldn’t let someone die because of me….
Lucy had gotten back out of the car and was trying to pull me away. I fought at first, but didn’t have the will to resist. Too focused on that body. The man I’d killed. Even after the car was driving away from that spot, I could still see him in my head. Couldn’t focus on the drive. All I saw was the lights of the city flashing by, with the sounds of pursuit behind us.
Came back to my senses when our car flipped over. 330’s reckless driving finally came back to bite us. We’d ended up in a junkyard filled with old cars, which 330 was using as cover in her fight with the men chasing us. More and more kept coming, storming towards us.
“This is insane!” Lucy shouted. “They’ve gone insane! They can’t cover up something like this!”
She was right, I suppose. Subterfuge no longer seems to be a concern of Lupine’s.
As the battle was reaching a pitch, light illuminated the junkyard. Took a while for my eyes to adjust to the change; when it did, I saw at each corner, searchlights had been brought in, all pointed towards us. The shooting had stopped. Seemed like the soldiers were just as confused as us.
Then, the voice of a girl came through my head. “Oh no, don’t stop just on my account! Things were getting so exciting!”
Four people entered the junkyard, wearing masks that hid all features and carrying a stretcher. Lounging on that stretcher was the Wooden Girl. Soon as the soldiers saw her, one shouted for them to fall back, and they ran. None of them made it two steps before suddenly freezing in place.
“No, you can’t leave now! You don’t want to miss out on any of the fun!”
The soldiers marched back in perfect unison to the Girl’s side. She jumped off the stretcher, and with her hands behind her back in a girlish pose, spoke to us. “Now which one of you is Lucy Parsons? Come on, don’t be shy. Matty’s told me so much about you.”
330 fired, and the bullet hit the Girl directly in the forehead. No effect. The Girl waved a hand, and one of the junk cars went flying forward. It landed on 330’s left arm, crushing the limb underneath it and pinning her to the ground.
“You stay there until it’s your turn, okay? Now back to my question….”
I tried to run towards 330, but my legs wouldn’t move. Looked down, and saw strings coming up from the ground, holding my legs in place. More strings were holding down Lucy’s legs as well.
“Still quiet? That’s alright, I have a better way of dealing with this anyways! Matty, you can come out now!”
Matthew stepped out from the night so he stood at the Girl’s side. He was only wearing a rag draped over his shoulders, which barely hid the bruises covering his body and the dirty bandage over his stump of an arm.
“You know what to do, Matty!” The Girl said, giving him a kiss on the cheek.
He started to walk towards us, his working arm holding a gun. He pointed it at Lucy, and fired a shot; it missed, hitting the car behind her.
“Mr. Larsen! It’s me! Lucy!”
He fired again, hitting the ground at her feet.
“Come on Mr. Larsen, it’s me!”
The Wooden Girl began to laugh as Matthew fired another shot. “I don’t know how long he can keep missing you! What are you going to do?”
A bullet grazed Lucy’s arm, and she pulled out her own gun. “Don’t… don’t make me, Mr. Larsen! I’ll… I’ll shoot!”
He ignored her warning and fired again. Lucy yelped as the shot went past her cheek, drawing blood.
“Are you just going to stand there?” The Girl said. “I know for certain his next shot will hit you right in the heart!”
There were tears in Lucy’s eyes, and her arms were shaking. “Please, Mr. Larsen…. I don’t want to….”
Another shot echoed in the junkyard. And Matthew Larsen fell dead.
The next sound was so strange, so unexpected I almost didn’t believe it. 330 was… laughing. I looked at her, arm still trapped underneath the car. Her free hand was holding the smoking gun which had killed Matthew. “I just figured it out.” She said to the Girl. “From your perspective, this is the first time you’ve met me. Which means….” Maybe it was just the way the searchlights were reflecting on her, but I swear I saw a flash of red in her eyes, “you’re not at all prepared for the things I can do.”
The car which had held her down flew away with such a force that it smashed the truck it landed on. 330 jumped to her feet, holding her somehow left arm aloft. For the first time, I saw it without a glove, sleeve, or bandages covering it. And I saw… blackness. Not a black arm. But blackness in the shape of an arm.
The Wooden Girl looked annoyed, but not troubled by the development. Then 330’s gun arm blurred for a moment; I only heard a single shot, but every person in that junkyard controlled by the Girl all fell over simultaneously, a bullet hole in their heads. 330 looked at me, with the largest smile I’ve ever seen on her face.
“Pay close attention, Lisa! You get to see how a time traveler REALLY fights!”
The Wooden Girl sent strings towards 330. She reached forward with her black arm, and… she caught the strings. Even on the Girl’s painted face, you could see surprise.
“You can’t do that.”
330 began laughing, even as she spoke to the Girl. “It has been so long since I just allowed myself to let loose. I am going to enjoy this.”
She pulled on the strings, and they snapped in half. Then she started to run towards the Girl, pulling her black arm back as if in preparation to swing.
Before the Girl could launch more strings at 330, another 330 appeared to her right, and opened fire. The bullets had no effect, but it caught the Girl’s attention. She sent strings at the new 330, tearing apart the cars in the way, but 330 vanished before she was hit, and another appeared in a new location, firing more shots at the Girl.
330 appeared and disappeared over and over, firing more and more weapons at the Girl; guns, grenades, one even shot it with a rocket launcher. The Girl was sending her strings everywhere, destroying everything around her but still not hitting 330. And all the while, the original was getting closer.
At the last moment, the Girl remembered the original, and attacked her. Just as the strings were about to hit, 330 disappeared, reappearing right behind the Girl. 330 swung her black arm, and it connected with the Girl’s head. The fist tore through the wood, creating an explosion of splinters. The Girl’s body stood for a few moments, then collapsed.
Dead silence in the junkyard as the body fell. Had she… had she really….
“Well this certainly explains why you were so mad at me every other time we met….” 330 mumbled.
I could move my legs again. Lucy ran straight to Matthew’s body. I thought about running to 330, but… was hesitant.
“330… your arm….”
The exultation of victory dropped from 330’s face when she looked at me. Quickly she turned so that I couldn’t see her arm. “It’s nothing….”
“That’s not nothing!”
“It’s nothing. Just forget about it.” Already she was tearing off parts of her coat so she could rebandage the arm, hiding it from sight.
I took the hint. Pointed at the unmoving wooden body. “Is she… it… dead?”
“No. That was just a physical form it took. Destroying it’s like cutting off a strand of hair.”
Well… darn. I suppose it was too much to hope that we’d won….
“He’s alive!” Lucy shouted.
Ran back to Matthew. She was right, he was alive. Barely.
“Never thought… I’d be able to talk again.” Matthew whispered as we huddled around. “You guys beat the Wooden Girl?”
330 nodded. “Decked her right in the face.”
Matthew laughed, which caused a bout of coughing. “Damn, I wish… I could have seen that. Least I’ll die with… that thought in my head.”
“You can’t die, Mr. Larsen! We’ll get you to a hospital! You’ll be fine!”
“Heh… sorry, Lucy. Bit late for that. The broad’s… too good a shot. I’ll bleed out soon.”
“But-”
“Don’t worry. You got… that suitcase of mine?” Lucy nodded. “Good… good. The combination’s… 2586…7130. Left a note in there… for you. It’ll tell you what to do next. And… I’m sorry about this. Looks like… I lied when I told your dad… I’d watch over you.” Having said that, Matthew closed his eyes, and his breathing started to slow. Lucy shook him, shouting at him not to die. It didn’t work.
After Matthew died, the three of us just sat in that junkyard. Surrounded by bodies on all sides. I was exhausted. All that adrenaline, the fighting, so many people dying, and then it was all over. Didn’t know what I was supposed to be doing.
330, of course, recovered first. She threw open the car’s trunk and examined the guns we’d collected there. “Anyone remember which ones I shot the Girl with?” Neither of us could. “Alright, I’ll just figure it out. Usually works out in the end.” She picked up the first she grabbed, and vanished. Reappeared a moment later, tossed the gun aside, grabbed a new one, then vanished again. Process went on for a while, until she’d gone through almost the entire trunk.
As she did that, Lucy and I got the suitcase out of the car. When we opened it, the first thing that fell out was an old photo. A much younger Matthew, standing next to a woman holding a baby. Lucy said she didn’t recognize the woman. There was also a note in the suitcase, addressed to us three. Lucy read it aloud.
“Don’t have much time to write. This is in case I don’t make it back. Which is really likely. Yeah, I knew the Wooden Girl was behind the call. Sorry for not telling you. But the two of us have some history that needs settling, and I doubt she’ll leave us alone until I deal with it. If I’m lucky everything will be fine and I can tell you all of this in person. But I doubt that.
Lucy, there’s enough money in here for you to make it to Maine. Go to the address I’ve written on the back of this. The man who lives there’s named Colton. Tell him I sent you, and he’ll take care of you, until our bosses get their heads out of their ass and do something about this.
I-330, Lisa, sorry I didn’t trust you to when you first came. I’ve kept some tabs on the Scoobies through the years, even after they stopped calling themselves by that name. Might be helpful. I don’t know too much, except that they’ve been getting a lot of off the record money lately, coming in from private donors. Their biggest contributor is Jacob Olmstead, head of the Innsmouth Reconstruction Foundation. If you’re looking for answers, that’s the best place to go. Good luck.
And one last time. Lucy, I’m sorry. Maybe if I’m lucky the Plague Doctor will jump out at the last moment and kill me, so I can spend the afterlife kicking back drinks with your dad, just like the old days. Though he might be a bit mad at me for how badly I screwed things up in the end.”
Lucy sniffled when she read the last line, and wiped her eyes. “What did the end mean?” I asked. “About the Plague Doctor and the afterlife?”
“There’s rumors,” Lucy said, “that whenever someone is killed by a Fear, or dies while under the control of a Fear, their soul is taken by that Fear.”
“It’s not a rumor.” 330 said. “It’s the truth. And anyone who dies from any other cause is taken by the Archangel.”
More heavy news to take in. Everyone who dies? “All the people who died tonight…?”
“Are going to spend the rest of eternity being tortured by either the Archangel or the Wooden Girl.”
I thought back to the man I’d shot. I’d killed him, and as a result, he….
Too much. Too much for me to think about.
I’ll skip ahead to the present. We’re on the move again. Destination, Innsmouth, Massachusetts. We offered to give Lucy a ride eastward, but she said that she’d make her own way. Wants some time to herself to think over things.
I’m trying to push everything out of my mind, but it all keeps coming back. I killed a man. 330’s got her arm… thing. Matthew died.
Maybe 330 has the right idea. Just drink until it stops hurting.
Heh, I’m starting to sound almost like an alcoholic….
-Lisa
“Like mind control?”
“Sometimes. Other times it’ll keep the mind conscious, and only control the body. And if it really likes you, it won’t use the strings at all. It can be extremely persuasive when it feels in the mood.”
We spent the drive discussing the Girl’s interference. Well, 330 and I did. Lucy remained silent in the backsteat.
The conclusion we came to was just a confirmation of what we’d been suspecting. The Wooden Girl had been active in the city, and the CIA was taking advantage of the chaos for a political play. They just hadn’t counted on the Wooden Girl having an attachment to one of their targets.
“What do you think the CIA will do now?” I asked.
“Depends. If they want to be reasonable, they’ll settle with what they’ve gained now. I can’t imagine many FBI agents survived the initial attack; so long as they don’t try anything too insane, they’ll be the ones calling the shots on the supernatural here. If they’re going to ignore sanity in favor of dramatics, they might try to completely purge the region of all opposition….”
330 looked back to Lucy, who seemed surprised at the sudden attention. “What? You mean they might come for me? But I’m not important!”
“That would make sense when arguing with a sane person, but… last time I heard Lupine talking, sanity wasn’t the impression I got from him. Trying to summon Slender Man and rule the world, remember?”
“What should I do?” The realization of the threat to her life seemed to have at least temporarily brought Lucy out of her grief.
“We’ll get you out of the city. Somewhere you can safely get in contact with your superiors, maybe get a transfer to someplace nice. Like Wyoming. Ask if you can get transferred to Wyoming, nothing bad happens there. Lisa and I have stayed too long in this city anyways. Time we moved on.”
Before leaving the city, we made a quick stop at Matthew’s safehouse to grab anything we’d need. 330 filled the trunk of the car with as many guns as she could, while I searched for any food or money we could use. Lucy came out of one of the rooms holding a suitcase.
“Mr. Larsen always had this with him. It seemed important to him.” She said. “I don’t know the combination to open it, but I can’t leave it here….” We put it in the backseat with everything else.
“That should be everything.” 330 said. “Now let’s get movi-”
A pair of headlights appeared from up the street and barreled towards us. I was blinded by the sudden light so I couldn’t see, but I heard screeching tires followed by automatic gunfire. Lucy and I were pushed behind the cover of our car while 330 ran into the fight. Men in urban camo were running at us from every direction, shouting orders to each other, firing at 330, who was all over the place, vanishing before the bullets could hit her then appearing behind the soldiers. She made the fight look effortless: every shot she fired from her rifle hit someone. In less than a minute, it ceased being an attack and turned into chaos.
“Get into the car!” 330 shouted to us. Lucy complied immediately, jumping right into the backseat. I opened the passenger door, but paused to look to 330. I could see her by the headlights, firing at targets hidden in the darkness. Then, another silhouette rose behind her. It pointed a gun at her, and I waited for her reaction, for her to spin around and shoot first, protect herself, but… she didn’t move. Didn’t look back. Didn’t realize there was someone behind her about to fire.
All that training I’ve been going through for months now… it all kicked in before I could think. Pulled out my pistol, aimed, and fired four shot straight at the silhouette. It wasn’t until the body had fallen that I realized what I’d just done.
Without regard to safety, I ran out into the firefight towards the man. Wasn’t thinking. Just… had to do something. There was so much blood, everywhere…. I tried to stop it, tried stopping the bleeding. Stupid, panic driven actions. Putting your hands over a bullet wound isn’t going to save someone. Had to try, couldn’t let someone die because of me….
Lucy had gotten back out of the car and was trying to pull me away. I fought at first, but didn’t have the will to resist. Too focused on that body. The man I’d killed. Even after the car was driving away from that spot, I could still see him in my head. Couldn’t focus on the drive. All I saw was the lights of the city flashing by, with the sounds of pursuit behind us.
Came back to my senses when our car flipped over. 330’s reckless driving finally came back to bite us. We’d ended up in a junkyard filled with old cars, which 330 was using as cover in her fight with the men chasing us. More and more kept coming, storming towards us.
“This is insane!” Lucy shouted. “They’ve gone insane! They can’t cover up something like this!”
She was right, I suppose. Subterfuge no longer seems to be a concern of Lupine’s.
As the battle was reaching a pitch, light illuminated the junkyard. Took a while for my eyes to adjust to the change; when it did, I saw at each corner, searchlights had been brought in, all pointed towards us. The shooting had stopped. Seemed like the soldiers were just as confused as us.
Then, the voice of a girl came through my head. “Oh no, don’t stop just on my account! Things were getting so exciting!”
Four people entered the junkyard, wearing masks that hid all features and carrying a stretcher. Lounging on that stretcher was the Wooden Girl. Soon as the soldiers saw her, one shouted for them to fall back, and they ran. None of them made it two steps before suddenly freezing in place.
“No, you can’t leave now! You don’t want to miss out on any of the fun!”
The soldiers marched back in perfect unison to the Girl’s side. She jumped off the stretcher, and with her hands behind her back in a girlish pose, spoke to us. “Now which one of you is Lucy Parsons? Come on, don’t be shy. Matty’s told me so much about you.”
330 fired, and the bullet hit the Girl directly in the forehead. No effect. The Girl waved a hand, and one of the junk cars went flying forward. It landed on 330’s left arm, crushing the limb underneath it and pinning her to the ground.
“You stay there until it’s your turn, okay? Now back to my question….”
I tried to run towards 330, but my legs wouldn’t move. Looked down, and saw strings coming up from the ground, holding my legs in place. More strings were holding down Lucy’s legs as well.
“Still quiet? That’s alright, I have a better way of dealing with this anyways! Matty, you can come out now!”
Matthew stepped out from the night so he stood at the Girl’s side. He was only wearing a rag draped over his shoulders, which barely hid the bruises covering his body and the dirty bandage over his stump of an arm.
“You know what to do, Matty!” The Girl said, giving him a kiss on the cheek.
He started to walk towards us, his working arm holding a gun. He pointed it at Lucy, and fired a shot; it missed, hitting the car behind her.
“Mr. Larsen! It’s me! Lucy!”
He fired again, hitting the ground at her feet.
“Come on Mr. Larsen, it’s me!”
The Wooden Girl began to laugh as Matthew fired another shot. “I don’t know how long he can keep missing you! What are you going to do?”
A bullet grazed Lucy’s arm, and she pulled out her own gun. “Don’t… don’t make me, Mr. Larsen! I’ll… I’ll shoot!”
He ignored her warning and fired again. Lucy yelped as the shot went past her cheek, drawing blood.
“Are you just going to stand there?” The Girl said. “I know for certain his next shot will hit you right in the heart!”
There were tears in Lucy’s eyes, and her arms were shaking. “Please, Mr. Larsen…. I don’t want to….”
Another shot echoed in the junkyard. And Matthew Larsen fell dead.
The next sound was so strange, so unexpected I almost didn’t believe it. 330 was… laughing. I looked at her, arm still trapped underneath the car. Her free hand was holding the smoking gun which had killed Matthew. “I just figured it out.” She said to the Girl. “From your perspective, this is the first time you’ve met me. Which means….” Maybe it was just the way the searchlights were reflecting on her, but I swear I saw a flash of red in her eyes, “you’re not at all prepared for the things I can do.”
The car which had held her down flew away with such a force that it smashed the truck it landed on. 330 jumped to her feet, holding her somehow left arm aloft. For the first time, I saw it without a glove, sleeve, or bandages covering it. And I saw… blackness. Not a black arm. But blackness in the shape of an arm.
The Wooden Girl looked annoyed, but not troubled by the development. Then 330’s gun arm blurred for a moment; I only heard a single shot, but every person in that junkyard controlled by the Girl all fell over simultaneously, a bullet hole in their heads. 330 looked at me, with the largest smile I’ve ever seen on her face.
“Pay close attention, Lisa! You get to see how a time traveler REALLY fights!”
The Wooden Girl sent strings towards 330. She reached forward with her black arm, and… she caught the strings. Even on the Girl’s painted face, you could see surprise.
“You can’t do that.”
330 began laughing, even as she spoke to the Girl. “It has been so long since I just allowed myself to let loose. I am going to enjoy this.”
She pulled on the strings, and they snapped in half. Then she started to run towards the Girl, pulling her black arm back as if in preparation to swing.
Before the Girl could launch more strings at 330, another 330 appeared to her right, and opened fire. The bullets had no effect, but it caught the Girl’s attention. She sent strings at the new 330, tearing apart the cars in the way, but 330 vanished before she was hit, and another appeared in a new location, firing more shots at the Girl.
330 appeared and disappeared over and over, firing more and more weapons at the Girl; guns, grenades, one even shot it with a rocket launcher. The Girl was sending her strings everywhere, destroying everything around her but still not hitting 330. And all the while, the original was getting closer.
At the last moment, the Girl remembered the original, and attacked her. Just as the strings were about to hit, 330 disappeared, reappearing right behind the Girl. 330 swung her black arm, and it connected with the Girl’s head. The fist tore through the wood, creating an explosion of splinters. The Girl’s body stood for a few moments, then collapsed.
Dead silence in the junkyard as the body fell. Had she… had she really….
“Well this certainly explains why you were so mad at me every other time we met….” 330 mumbled.
I could move my legs again. Lucy ran straight to Matthew’s body. I thought about running to 330, but… was hesitant.
“330… your arm….”
The exultation of victory dropped from 330’s face when she looked at me. Quickly she turned so that I couldn’t see her arm. “It’s nothing….”
“That’s not nothing!”
“It’s nothing. Just forget about it.” Already she was tearing off parts of her coat so she could rebandage the arm, hiding it from sight.
I took the hint. Pointed at the unmoving wooden body. “Is she… it… dead?”
“No. That was just a physical form it took. Destroying it’s like cutting off a strand of hair.”
Well… darn. I suppose it was too much to hope that we’d won….
“He’s alive!” Lucy shouted.
Ran back to Matthew. She was right, he was alive. Barely.
“Never thought… I’d be able to talk again.” Matthew whispered as we huddled around. “You guys beat the Wooden Girl?”
330 nodded. “Decked her right in the face.”
Matthew laughed, which caused a bout of coughing. “Damn, I wish… I could have seen that. Least I’ll die with… that thought in my head.”
“You can’t die, Mr. Larsen! We’ll get you to a hospital! You’ll be fine!”
“Heh… sorry, Lucy. Bit late for that. The broad’s… too good a shot. I’ll bleed out soon.”
“But-”
“Don’t worry. You got… that suitcase of mine?” Lucy nodded. “Good… good. The combination’s… 2586…7130. Left a note in there… for you. It’ll tell you what to do next. And… I’m sorry about this. Looks like… I lied when I told your dad… I’d watch over you.” Having said that, Matthew closed his eyes, and his breathing started to slow. Lucy shook him, shouting at him not to die. It didn’t work.
After Matthew died, the three of us just sat in that junkyard. Surrounded by bodies on all sides. I was exhausted. All that adrenaline, the fighting, so many people dying, and then it was all over. Didn’t know what I was supposed to be doing.
330, of course, recovered first. She threw open the car’s trunk and examined the guns we’d collected there. “Anyone remember which ones I shot the Girl with?” Neither of us could. “Alright, I’ll just figure it out. Usually works out in the end.” She picked up the first she grabbed, and vanished. Reappeared a moment later, tossed the gun aside, grabbed a new one, then vanished again. Process went on for a while, until she’d gone through almost the entire trunk.
As she did that, Lucy and I got the suitcase out of the car. When we opened it, the first thing that fell out was an old photo. A much younger Matthew, standing next to a woman holding a baby. Lucy said she didn’t recognize the woman. There was also a note in the suitcase, addressed to us three. Lucy read it aloud.
“Don’t have much time to write. This is in case I don’t make it back. Which is really likely. Yeah, I knew the Wooden Girl was behind the call. Sorry for not telling you. But the two of us have some history that needs settling, and I doubt she’ll leave us alone until I deal with it. If I’m lucky everything will be fine and I can tell you all of this in person. But I doubt that.
Lucy, there’s enough money in here for you to make it to Maine. Go to the address I’ve written on the back of this. The man who lives there’s named Colton. Tell him I sent you, and he’ll take care of you, until our bosses get their heads out of their ass and do something about this.
I-330, Lisa, sorry I didn’t trust you to when you first came. I’ve kept some tabs on the Scoobies through the years, even after they stopped calling themselves by that name. Might be helpful. I don’t know too much, except that they’ve been getting a lot of off the record money lately, coming in from private donors. Their biggest contributor is Jacob Olmstead, head of the Innsmouth Reconstruction Foundation. If you’re looking for answers, that’s the best place to go. Good luck.
And one last time. Lucy, I’m sorry. Maybe if I’m lucky the Plague Doctor will jump out at the last moment and kill me, so I can spend the afterlife kicking back drinks with your dad, just like the old days. Though he might be a bit mad at me for how badly I screwed things up in the end.”
Lucy sniffled when she read the last line, and wiped her eyes. “What did the end mean?” I asked. “About the Plague Doctor and the afterlife?”
“There’s rumors,” Lucy said, “that whenever someone is killed by a Fear, or dies while under the control of a Fear, their soul is taken by that Fear.”
“It’s not a rumor.” 330 said. “It’s the truth. And anyone who dies from any other cause is taken by the Archangel.”
More heavy news to take in. Everyone who dies? “All the people who died tonight…?”
“Are going to spend the rest of eternity being tortured by either the Archangel or the Wooden Girl.”
I thought back to the man I’d shot. I’d killed him, and as a result, he….
Too much. Too much for me to think about.
I’ll skip ahead to the present. We’re on the move again. Destination, Innsmouth, Massachusetts. We offered to give Lucy a ride eastward, but she said that she’d make her own way. Wants some time to herself to think over things.
I’m trying to push everything out of my mind, but it all keeps coming back. I killed a man. 330’s got her arm… thing. Matthew died.
Maybe 330 has the right idea. Just drink until it stops hurting.
Heh, I’m starting to sound almost like an alcoholic….
-Lisa
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