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Deep inside the lower levels of The Consortium HQ's Testing Floor, the air is stuffier than usual. That is because the lab coat frequenters of this area are now joined by The Consortium's Investigators, old and new, for an annual gathering. The 1st year graduates have returned from their seasonal rotation, maintaining defenses beyond the well-fortified wall separating the inner and outer shells. Their expressions range from visibly dejected, to mentally preoccupied, and downright tired. Yet despite the heavy woes they've overcome, the seasoned Investigators do their best to maintain a spirited atmosphere for troop morale.

The 2nd years have also returned from duty. Many of them have just finished their 1st seasonal rotation behind the wall, experiencing the relentless chaos that lurks in the inner shell for the first time. Some of their faces are that of a startled teen, trying their best to cover the dread of fear they've experienced for the past three months. Other 2nd years have yet to rotate as they've been assigned between guard duty along the wall's perimeter, and/or administration work for security check points. These investigators have a much more warm and cheerful demeanor.

In the far corner of the room, past the odd contraptions and doodads, sits a bustling saloon. A dark oak table snakes from one wall of the test facility and down to the other side. Parallel to it is a long shelf filled with all sorts of alcoholic beverages. The bartender, Carmina, works diligently to serve her patrons without skipping a beat. The bar stools are crammed with 1st and 2nd year Investigators. Some are socially interactive, while others stick to their cliques, respectfully.

---

@justTypical

The dark-skinned tank, Zuma, bellows his signature laugh. It is so loud that some of the scientist who were actually working, stopped and glared at him, then started bickering to one another as to why there was a bar installed on this floor to begin with. Like the social butterfly that Zuma is, the 1st class Investigator makes his presence known with as many of his cohorts as possible. He eventually stumbles upon Benjamin Moore, who is nearly equal in stature.

Zuma approaches him with a warm smile. "Benny!" The nickname never quite stuck, but it didn't stop Zuma from calling him that. "Good to finally see you my friend." Zuma goes on to explain his assignment, talking about how he had to lead a small unit of army soldiers deep into the inner shell. He proceeds to talk about how reckless the army men were and how they nearly got him killed. "First sight of a Mangled One, and what do they do? Shoot frantically in all directions. Almost got my head blown off. I yell, 'Stop! Don't you see my beautiful face? How could I be a Mangled One!?"

Zuma laughs at his own joke. It was interesting to see how nonchalant he was about an otherwise very dangerous situation. It was hard to tell whether or not he was putting up a front, but it was unlike Zuma to be anything but genuine when it came to expressing himself. After clearing his throat, he asks Benjamin, "So...how did your rotation go?"

---

@Karos

Mako Tsujimoto sips quietly on his small cup of sake. There is something off about its flavor, but he doesn't make a fuss about it. He sits there quietly, staring at one of the intricately decorated bottles gathering dust on the shelf. Otto Von Kruger is seen in his peripheral and his eyes immediately light up. There are few men who can hold up a fascinating conversation with Mako, but he has more pressing matters to bother him with. He downs the cup of dissatisfying alcohol and clambers over to the Combat Medic/Engineer.

"Ah, Mr. Kruger! I've been looking for you." Mako wipes the smudges on the ocular lenses of his goggles. "My time spent with the 2nd years was rather tedious. Many of them need some serious training in how to handle Lantern transfers!" The Asian man preferred to skip pleasantries with Otto and got right to the point. "So, I'm quite curious so please tell me: How did your assignment go?"

@Algorhythm

Otto, looked up as he heard a chime emanate from a piece of machinery on one of his desks. The scanner wasn't quite ready for field tests yet, but seemed to be working well enough in a controlled environment. At least… Otto thought the chime was that of the scanner he'd been working on. Although with all the components that lay scattered about, it could've been one of half a dozen mechanisms that he was working on.

Then Otto heard Tsujimoto call out to him. He tore his eyes from the machinery he was working on, and fixed his lensed visage on the figure, cocking his head to one side as he did so. When he spoke his voice was modulated somewhat by the ticking and whirring gears that kept his armour running making him seem even less human than he already did. 'Tsujimoto, good… good to see you' stammered Otto somewhat indecisively. His speech was rarely very confident when matters didn't regard his expertise, and his stammer often became even more pronounced when matters hadn't entirely gone to plan. 'The… the… the mission? Oh, yes yes, it went very well actually. In and out without a hitch, though I… I'm not tempted to gggg… go back anytime soon. Those Ttttow… Townes lllllot, didn't seem too happy wiiiiith me. Seeemmmedd rather att-attched to that that bbbbook of their's. Nnnn-eeed to have a wwww-wword with the chief acc-tually waa-nntt to recommend new security arrangements for aaa-gents out that way.'

As he finished speaking Otto walked over to another of his desks covered in mechanical parts and started to pick through the pieces. He began screwing various pieces together with the tools in his engineering interface, rotating the pieces nimbly every now and then as the tools flicked, clicked and snapped around the delicate mechanisms in his hands. 'Bbbb-een meaning to speak tttt-ooo you actually.' stammered Otto to Tsujimoto without taking his eyes off of the technology in his hands. 'I—iiii've that new ch-ch-charing interface you aaaa-sked for', Otto rested the technology he was tinkering with down on his desk as he began to scan over the various desks trying to find the technology he was looking for. He scrabbled through a pile of struts, gears and wires for a second, before he fished out a small silvery plug like object and handing it to Tsujimoto. 'Hhhopefully this will ddd-o the tttt-rick. Should allllow for a much fffaster re-cccharge in the field.'

@Algorhythm

Benjamin, never a light-hearted man to begin with, had grown even more sombre over the course of his time as an investigator with the Consortium. Only a truly cold-hearted individual, however, could have remained completely unmoved in the face of Zuma's warmth and good nature, and cold-hearted, Ben was not. A smile flickered around his lips at the greeting, and it soon grew into a chuckle that accompanied Zuma's own contagious laugh as he recounted his story with great animation.

Ben's countenance grew grave again when Zuma asked about his last rotation. Along with his partner, Inspector Morris, Ben had been instructed quite suddenly to retrieve and escort a woman by the name of Elly Margaret to Consortium headquarters. She was wanted for questioning by Chief Reitz--something about her having information on the disciples of the Yellow King. He mused silently for a moment before he responded.

"We were... not entirely successful."

---

A crescent moon shone down wan and pallid through the scudding clouds. Deep shadows pooled in the crevices and alleys between buildings, while the flicker of the few remaining functional oil lamps anchored in odd corners lent an eerie illusion of motion to the dilapidated edifices. Except for his own footfalls and the steady trudging of Inspector Morris, the entire street was quiet as the grave. What few inhabitants who dared to remain in the inner shell knew better than to leave their homes after nightfall. Conversation was limited to the briefest exchange of essential information, and conducted in a whisper, every breath an offense to the stillness of the night.

Ben, given his way, would never have come at this hour, and ordinarily Morris would have concurred, but according to the instructions from Reitz, time was of the essence.

"They believe," Morris said quietly, referring to Reitz, and presumably Dr. Isaacs and Professor Hartwell along with him, "that this lady, one Madam Elly Margaret, knows something crucial about the Yellow King disciples. And if it's true," he continued, "you can be sure the disciples have been aware of her at least as long as we have, and will be on to her before you can say 'Bob's your uncle'."

"What could she know about them?" Ben inquired.

"It's beyond me, lad," responded Morris, "but it's said she has some sort of psychic connection. Access to another aspect of existence. And given what we've been seeing recently, I wouldn't bet against it."

Ben made no response, but grimaced slightly. He had always been wary of the supernatural, and the thought that there were those who would willingly seek it out did not sit well with him. Mankind was not meant to meddle with some things.

The pair continued in silence until they came down a side street to a run-down tenement building. It loomed large in the half-light, the darkened windows and broken glass reminiscent only of so many soulless eyes and jagged teeth.

"This is the spot," announced Morris in an undertone. "731 South Fletcher Street. Number 233. Good God, it doesn't look half abandoned, does it?"

Ben nodded in agreement, and stepped forward to try the door. It was locked, but the mechanism was familiar to him as one commonly fitted on cheaper housing in Aegis Luna, and he set to work dismantling it while Morris kept an eye on the shadowy street. In short order, the lock was disengaged. Ben put his tools away and Morris pushed the door open.

Morris made a motion to step inside, but caught himself, hesitating. They stood there for a time on the threshold. Neither had expected--well, expected anything really, it was only a tenement building. But certainly not this yawning void in front of them. The sickly light from outside barely penetrated the blackness welling just beyond the door frame. That awful hole was waiting to swallow them both, like some malevolent ancient fiend that knew no warmth nor light, only consuming them as an ocean does the flame candle, relentless and implacable. Ben felt a rising sense of vertigo, and even Morris seemed to be reeling, clutching at the low railing adjacent to the steps they stood on, and the darkness seemed to stretch, filling Ben's vision until he could feel himself disappearing, slowly dragged into the depths until--

Morris suddenly spat a curse. "Something is deceiving our senses," he whispered hoarsely, still looking unsettled. He staggered to his feet and made a motion for the door again, but fell short. Realising the truth of what he said, Ben steeled himself and plunged into the darkness, not allowing himself any further thought. Morris followed him shortly.

Inside, apart from all the tell-tale signs of disuse and neglect, there was nothing out of the ordinary. There was a small lobby, with a a lift on one side and what looked like letterboxes on the other. Ben felt the door swing shut behind him, and, turning, saw--was that a man? a glimpse of a dark figure, watching them from just behind the steps they had been standing on. The door clicked shut, latching with an ominous finality.

"We're not wanted here tonight," remarked Ben.

"Well, some party is going to be terribly put out, then," Morris rejoined, straightening his uniform and clenching his teeth, "because we're on official business. Second floor. Number 233. Let's introduce ourselves to Madam Margaret." He led the way up a flight of stairs located in a small recess just round behind the lift.

Each step creaked and groaned beneath their feet, threatening collapse with every movement. Both men had clicked on their torches, the narrow beams of light doing only little to illuminate the path ahead of them. At least the heat from the devices felt real in the middle of this nightmare they had entered into. They arrived at the second floor landing and opened a door leading out into a narrow hallway, extending to the left and right. Shining his light upon the nearest door, Ben saw the glint of numbers. 215.

"She'll be down this way," observed Morris. They walked down the hall, the threadbare carpeting only slightly muffling the slow squeaks of floorboards under unaccustomed strain. They counted off the room numbers as they went. 217, 219, 221.

"Who could possibly still want to live in this godforsaken place?" muttered Morris. Ben didn't answer. 223, 225, 227.

When he was young, Ben recalled his mother had something she would say, whenever she felt an inexplicable chill. Someone had walked over her grave, she would say, with a shudder. As they passed the last few doors, someone walked over Ben's. 229. 231. 233. Perhaps over Morris' as well, by the look of him. Nevertheless, with a quick step, he stood in front of Madam Margaret's door and rapped on it smartly.

"Open up! Police!" he called.

To their mutual astonishment, the door swung inward, silently. They stepped in.

No lights were on inside the room, but as they shone their torches round, they saw evidence of a resident. A woman's shoes lined neatly by the door. A hat on the stand. An umbrella in a basket. And there, standing still and looking out the lone window in the flat, the silhouette of a woman. Morris spoke up.

"Ah, Madam Elly Margaret. Inspectors Morris and Moore, of the Aegis Luna Consortium."

The woman made no sign she had heard them, so Morris continued.

"We've been sent by the Chief of the Consortium, Mr. Tom Reitz. You are requested to return with us to the Consortium headquarters. Chief Reitz wishes to speak with you about information you may have about the so-called Disciples of the Yellow King."

At the mention of the Yellow King, the woman turned slowly to face them.

"Madam Margaret--" Morris began, but stopped, aghast.

Whatever was standing across the room from them now was not Elly Margaret. Not any more. Her skin was pale and drawn, her smile stretched too wide. What looked like blood ran slowly from her eyes. Oh God! Her eyes! Two awful, blank orbs stared back at them from sunken sockets, betraying no hint of human consciousness. Raising its clawed hands, the horrible thing in front of them suddenly sprang with an ear-splitting shriek at Morris, bowling him over, scrabbling at his neck.

With what little time he had to react, Ben slung the shotgun from off his back into a mighty blow that sent the foul apparition sprawling into the hallway. As Morris scrambled to his feet, Ben swung the barrel up to let loose a thunderous blast that seemed to rock the building to its foundation. He wasn't quick enough. She scuttled on all fours at an unnatural speed down the hallway, like some twisting, abominable insect.

Morris, now standing again, drew his pistol and gasped between deep breaths.

"She's--She's gone. Wraith--a wraith, possessed. Too late--we're too late."

Ben gave him a moment to collect himself.

"We'll stop it," he growled, reaching for his lantern, "before it--"

He was interrupted by a shrill scream from somewhere above them. For the first time that night, true horror crossed Morris' face.

"Was that--a child?" he whispered in dread.

Without a moment's hesitation, the two tore off like madmen down the hallway toward the stairwell, climbing the narrow steps to the third floor, hearing the screams intensify, discerning, as they drew nearer other terrible, terrible sounds--

The rest of the night was something Ben had tried, unsuccessfully, to forget. Room 317. A young family. Why hadn't they evacuated? Perhaps they thought to barricade themselves in against the evil outside and outlast it. Perhaps they were simply foolhardy. It didn't matter. The father, with his throat torn out. The mother, lying in her own entrails. The child. The child! Impaled on the wall in five places, partially flayed. The child! Still alive, but only just. Still screaming. And that ghoul, arms reddened up to the elbows, ghastly grin still stretched impossibly wide across its face. Two more blasts with the shotgun, one of mercy, one of vengeance. Two more lives claimed in violence. The terror that suddenly reentered Elly's eyes as the wraith left her, its purpose fulfilled. The last, horrible, sputtering breath she tried to draw through the gaping hole in her torso. The long walk home. The shadowy figure they thought they saw watching them from the window of 317 as they left. Morris' silent weeping the entire way.

---

Ben exhaled deeply.

"No. Not entirely successful. However," he said, looking directly at Zuma, "we were able to retrieve a notebook from among Madam Margaret's personal effects, the contents of which seemed to interest Dr. Isaacs and Professor Hartwell. It is currently in their possession for examination at their convenience."

"With any luck," he added thoughtfully, "Madam Margaret will have recorded some of what she purportedly knew about the Yellow King disciples."

@Karos

Mako listened intently to Otto Von Kruger's brief details on the mission. He smiled as the stammering Otto eventually revealed a successful endeavor in retrieving the journal. "That's excellent news! It also explains why Dr. Isaacs was so overly enthusiastic when I last saw him. The Reinhardt Journal was a bit of a missing puzzle piece of sorts for some new tech he's inventing. Splendid work, Otto!" Mako patted the man on the shoulder, who suddenly walked off toward one of his many work benches. There were all sorts of gizmos splayed about, and Otto began rummaging around for something in particular. His gloved hand revealed a silver plug. After Otto explained to him that it was a charing interface, Mako took off the goggles and inspected the item up close.

"Oh, genius!" Mako's exhilarated response caught the attention of several scientist that were within earshot. Three of them immediately paced over to the two, staring intently at the object in Mako's hand, then listened closely. "The charge time on my containment pack was starting to lag over 10 seconds. I was getting 15 second delays at one point. With spirits flying overhead and newbies fumbling about, that's 5 seconds too many."

"Heh!" Scoffed one of the scientist. It was James Kepler, one of the senior researchers that had taken over Mako's position as Dr. Isaac and Hartwell's assistant. "Don't be so hasty, Mako." His hawk-like nose pointed over to Otto as he adjusted his spectacles. Kepler was a tall and lanky man that had long bushy grey hair kept in a pony tail. "As senior assistant, I have to approve this item before it goes out on the field." Kepler said, staring at Otto's messy work benches. "Can't have Investigators thinking they can just make adjustments like they know what they're doing." The condescension in his tone was prevalent as ever. The other two scientist snickered. Kepler walked forward and swiped the plug from Mako, then handed it back to Otto. "Show me how, and if, it works."

---

@justTypical

Zuma could sense the internal dilemma within Ben. Clearly, much more transpired than what he let on, but he didn't want to pry further. Instead, he sought to look at the silver lining. "At least you've managed to get something out of it." Zuma said, referring to the notebook. "I'm sure Dr. Isaacs and Professor Hartwell will find something of value." His thoughts fell onto the enigma that was The Yellow King Disciples and shuddered. "Anything will suffice at this point."

A random 2nd year Investigator overheard Zuma and Ben's conversation. "Yall talkin bout Elly Margaret from Southfield?" He butted in. It was Gregory Stills, the youngest recent grad in The Consortium. He spent his entire Fall rotation at a security checkpoint in Northend behind a desk, filing paperwork. Being among other Investigators who've been on the frontlines is the most excitement he's had in months. "I know her! She's a diviner, right? Reads minds. Has a buncha cats." Gregory teetered over with a glass of orange juice, the only beverage Carmina was willing to pour him. He sipped at it before continuing. "She's a close family friend. Me and my sis, we used to go over to her apartment and help feed her cats when we were little. She had a voice of an angel..."

Zuma cleared his throat in an attempt to try and change the subject. While Ben didn't divulge on any details, he knew enough to surmise that this Madam Margaret didn't have a happy ending, but Gregory was oblivious to Zuma's signal - and pretty much everything else about the situation. Stills understood that things were bad in Aegis Luna, but he had no idea just how extreme the Inner Shell had become. He came from an Outer Shell community that was on the outskirts. Even with all of the info received during training, he was still green, and completely unexposed to the horrors beyond the wall.

"That family from 317 still there? Me and my sis used to visit them too. We'd take turns holding their baby, Jacob - gee he must be a big kid now - so his ma could finish doing chores around the house. His pa was a funny guy. Played the piano real nice like. Sometimes Aunt Elly would sing while he played. They'd invite everyone in their building over to listen...those were good times. Never kept in touch with any of them after we moved out into the country. Hope they're doing okay out there."

@Algorhythm

The lights illuminating Otto's lenses narrowed as he looked at the scientist. The man was far too arrogant for one of his overwhelming incompetence. However, whilst the man infuriated him a measure of coherency was returned to Otto by his remarks. There were very few things that annoyed him, but somebody insulting his work was definitely on that small list.

'Of course it works you dolt' he replied, his voice modulated in such a manner as to sound authoritative, but also cold and mechanical. 'As for showing you how it works' he continued 'I'd have hoped it was obvious, but if you need it literally shoved in your face I shall oblige.'

With that Otto, flipped the small silvery device in his hand a few times, before waling over to Mako. 'This won't take more than a moment' he said to his fellow investigator, kneeling down to get at his containment packs recharger unit. Otto's tools began to whir and whine as he nimbly got to work stripping out the standard issue interface that was already starting to decay before hooking up his new one.

Standing up Otto fished in one of his many pockets drawing out his energy pistol. He pointed the weapon straight at Kepler for a moment, before taking the cover off of the weapon's charge point and plugging the new charging interface into it. The weapon suddenly surged with blue light and a humming noise began to emanate from it. Otto swiftly disconnected the weapon before looking at a clock over Kepler's shoulder. 'Hmm, it would appear I was wrong Kepler' he said, rather nonchalantly 'not 5 seconds, but 3, better than I'd expected.'

He smiled behind his mask, and let that arrogant scientist simmer for a bit. 'Now, shall I explain to you how it works, or do you think you can work it out for yourself? Honestly it's not all that complicated.'

With that Otto turned back to his various contraptions not waiting for Kepler to reply. Otto saw little point in paying courtesy to those who obviously didn't care for it. Then he remembered Mako was still there, he shook his head. 'Sorry old friend' he said turning around, 'meant to ask, how'd your mission ttttt-urn out in the end?' his stammer starting to come back now anger wasn't pushing it aside. As he waited for Mako to reply he adjusted yet another gadget taken from his desks, occasionally raising it before his left eye to check for subtle inaccuracies.

@Karos

Kepler pretended to watch, more concerned about saving face, than actually observing Otto's mechanism at work. The investigator's retorts stung. They were delivered with a modulated confidence that even surprised Mako, who couldn't help grinning from ear-to-ear. The scientist was beet red as he stumbled to make a comeback, mixing in a fake cough and an awkward laugh to try and maintain some semblance of composure.

"W-well, I'll have to do some additional testing before I can approve it." Kepler uttered, trying to salvage himself in front of his cohorts, who were equally embarrassed for him. He surveyed Otto's work benches once more. "...And tidy up your work space! If you're going to pretend to be an inventor, at least act the part." Kepler marched off with the other two scientist in tow.

"Never a dull moment with you, Otto." Mako laughed. "I'd say don't worry about Mr. Kepler, but that would be redundant of me. He never learned how to climb down from his high horse ever since he took over my previous position as Dr. Isaacs and Hartwell's assistant."

Otto then asked Mako about how his rotation went, who immediately clicked his tongue and nodded disapprovingly. "I was mother hen to a couple of those 2nd years." He pointed over to the bar. "We were stationed in Eastbridge, assigned to patrol a neighborhood close to the wall in response to a couple of reports from border patrol about a Wraith sighting. There was a particular spirit brewing in those parts, an angry one. Let's just say we're all lucky to be back here in one piece." Mako tapped at his containment pack. "But thank you for the upgrade. I'll be more confident going out onto the field the next time I have to babysit."

@Algorhythm

'Aaaa-ny time' Otto replied, 'I know hhhhh-ow the standard gear can ggg-et. Sttttill better run that new tttttech by Kkkepler. He'll hhhh-ave the higher ups after us if you ddddon't. But you'll have to ex-ex-ex-scuse me my ffff-riend, I've ggggg-ot some work to finish before I gggget some sleep.'

With that he resumed his tinkering, occasionally raising the device he was working on to eye level after making minute adjustments to it. The unit was meant to replace the lenses in his helmet. Well, not both of them, just one of them he thought to himself. The new unit would provide him with a telescopic sight, not as powerful as that on a conventional rifle, but it would no doubt come in handy if he got sent on any more covert missions. Best to reconnoitre a place from a safe distance if one could he thought to himself.

After about 20 minutes of tinkering the device was about ready to install. Otto put it back down on his desk, deciding that now was not the time to try and install complex and delicate micro-clockwork machinery. No he thought now was the time to get something to eat. He peered over at the bar, the place still seemed to be bustling with people, so he decided to wonder over and get his usual evening meal, before calling it a day.

Ezekiel Walters sat in the corner of the long bar counter. In one hand was a dusty notebook while the other nursed a glass of dark bourbon on the rocks. His eyes were transfixed on the scribbled notes inside, paying no mind to the raucous transpiring around him. "Are you serious?" Carmina, the bartender groaned at the unfazed Ezekiel. She had successfully catered to the bulk of requests from her boisterous patrons and decided to reward herself with a break. The Outer Shell-born gypsy girl was unaccustomed to serving more than five people at The Consortium HQ, whose establishment had two bars total: This oddly placed saloon in the basement level, and the more polished bar in the ballroom the 1st floor. The crowd was beginning to overwhelm her and she needed a momentary distraction. She leaned over the table in an attempt to peak at Ezekiel's reading material. "It's your day off and you're spending it with your face stuck inside some poor sap's diary?"

"Unfortunately Miss Carmina, time is not a luxury I can afford." Ezekiel's low-toned southern drawl was more filled with indifference than condescension or annoyance. His blue eyes zigzagged like two snowflakes, synchronously floating across pages without eliciting any sort of emotion or reaction.

"You and me both, Bones." Carmina shook her head as she glanced off to the side. A growing number of hand gestures were respectfully trying to grab her attention at the other end of the bar. "Hold your horses!" She sighed, peeling herself away from the counter top. "Try not to work too damn hard, you hear?" Carmina waited for a response, then rolled her eyes when she realized that it was pointless. She stomped over toward customers more deserving of her affection, letting Ezekiel be.

"You're quite the ladies man." A female voice called out from behind. "Are you always this charming?" Ezekiel easily identified the owner's rich accent dripping with sarcasm.

"Only when it matters, Latika." He grinned. Ezekiel finally set his notebook down and turned to face a brown-skinned woman. A silver jeweled accessory was placed perfectly on her forehead, contrasting with her emerald color eyes. She smiled mischievously as she plopped down on the bar stool next to him. Latika was a second year graduate that came out of graduation swinging for the fences. She holds the record for most captured Wraiths at a whopping 30. Her success brewed quite a bit of jealously from most of her contemporaries, but in the grand scheme of things, she could care less about what anyone thought. Restoring Aegis Luna back to normalcy was all that mattered in her eyes.

"So, I see you're still alive." Ezekiel muttered.

"As are you." She nodded, eyeing his drink now diluted with melted ice. "What were you reading?"

"Just a piece of an ongoing case I never closed." He glanced at the ragged cover then back at Latika. Before she could pry any further, the double door entrance of the Testing Floor swung open. Tom Reitz, Dr. Isaacs, and Professor Hartwell entered the area, causing everyone to immediately straighten up and stand at attention.

@Algorhythm

As Gregory chattered on, Ben simply looked worn out. He appreciated Zuma's attempt to deflect the questions, but with a subtle gesture, signalled that he would be all right. "What is your name?" he said, turning towards Gregory.

"Gregory Stills, Investigator, second class," said Gregory, drawing himself up in pride.

"Gregory, Elly Margaret is dead, along with Jacob and his parents," Ben said firmly, but not unsympathetically.

Gregory's eyes widened in shock, and his mouth hung open.

"I'm sorry. I don't like to be the bearer of bad news," Ben continued. "There was nothing we could do. Inspector Morris and I were on assignment the night they died, but we arrived too late."

Gregory's face still showed his horrified disbelief. "Dead...? But... why? How?" he stammered.

"Through no fault of their own." He hesitated for a moment, and crouched down, laying a massive hand gently on Gregory's shoulder. There was a sudden intensity in his gaze as he met Gregory's eyes. "Listen to me closely, Gregory," he began. "There is evil in the inner shell. Great evil. It's the sort of evil I'm afraid simple folk, like you or me, can't understand. It consumes the lives it touches, even those of people you know and love. Until now, it might have seemed distant, something that affects only strangers, but you must understand! Friends, family, neighbours, no one is safe in that city.

"That's why we're here. All of us. People like Dr. Isaacs and Professor Hartwell who can understand, and can teach us how to fight it. People like Tom Reitz, who have the skills to make that fight effective. And," he said, standing and growing slightly more animated, "people like you and me, or Zuma, or Morris or Krueger or Bones or any one of these investigators who are willing to lay down their lives for the sake of that same fight!"

"Don't ever forget it." He paused, and sighed. "Because, for people like Elly and Jacob, we're all they have."

Gregory stared at the floor.

Ben clapped him on the shoulder. "Come now, we haven't lost everything yet. And we certainly can't have you lose your spirits. Let's see if we can't convince Carmina to serve you something a little more invigorating than that fruit juice."

As he began guiding Gregory toward the bar, however, they were interrupted by a stir at the arrival of Dr. Isaacs, Professor Hartwell, and Tom Reitz.

Tom Reitz motioned ahead of Isaacs and Hartwell to stand in the middle of the large room. "Gather around!" He barked, hands on his hips. The 48 year old mustachioed man had the chiseled frame of a bodybuilder, accentuated by a slimming blue overcoat and tailored black slacks. Investigators and scientists stopped whatever they were doing and formed a circle around the three men. James Kepler rushed over to Dr. Isaacs like a whipped pup. Brief words were exchanged before the assistant hurried off toward the double doors and disappeared from sight. Soft murmurs, and even some giggles-no doubt exacerbated from the libations had- bounced around the naked cement walls. Reitz stepped forward. He sternly peered into everyone's souls and waited until there was complete silence.

"This fall rotation was a tough one," He began, pacing back and forth as he stared off into the distance. "While we've successfully managed to relocate over 10,000 Inner Shell civilians into our borders, the creatures we're encountering are getting braver by the day." Tom momentarily stopped mid-stride, clenching his teeth. "Let me break those numbers down, people." Mr. Reitz' tone grew harsh and irritable. "Out of the 50 Investigators whom graduated the first year of 453, only seven are left active. Out of the 40 Investigators that graduated the 2nd year, only twenty-three of you remain."

"Sixty." Tom said flatly. "Sixty of us are either dead, or rotting in a hospital, or locked away in a padded cell at Atrius Asylum. Do you know what that means, Investigators?" The rhetorical question was layered with a tinge of anger. "It means if we continue at this rate we won't survive the next winter."

Professor Hartwell coughed, stepping forward to join Tom. "Fortunately, we've been able to replenish our ranks with some great potentials." He glanced back at Dr. Isaacs, who then gestured over to James Kepler. He had been waiting behind the double doors, looking through the small crack between them in anticipation for Isaac's signal. Kepler pushed the doors wide open, and as he did, a line of people in dark grey uniforms entered the Test Floor. The circle of investigators and scientists made room for twenty individuals. They lined up behind Dr. Isaacs without saying a word.

Tom looked at each of them with pride. "These are new recruits. They're green, but we've put them through rigorous training."

A feint giggle was heard and Tom immediately snapped to its attention. "Who laughed?" The tension within the room grew heavy by the second as everyone looked around in bewilderment. Nobody fessed up. Mr. Reitz became absolutely livid. "This is no laughing matter! Do you all think this is some sort of game!? Have the decency to step forward you coward!" It came again, except this time it was more drawn out and eerily menacing. It sounded strained and low, like a growling hound ready to bark. "Who's laughing!?" Tom snarled.



The air in the room went cold. The double-doors slammed shut. Every Consortium member in the Testing Floor scrambled to draw some form of weapon as they assessed the situation. Many of the new recruits fled to where they could hide. All but five. They stood like drunken fools, flailing uncontrollably as they formed some kind of phalanx at the center of the room. Dr. Isaacs and Professor Hartwell, still in disbelief, trembled backward. Tom Reitz stood shocked, mouth agape.

"How...how did they get past the border...how did you get in he-"

"Rugath" Two of the five called out.

"Shreth" The other two hissed.

The last who was in the middle of the wicked formation tilted her head into an impossible angle. Her mouth stretched out into a twisted grimace. "Umayeth!!!"

The loud crack of bones and shredding sinew harmonized with their agonizing screams. Flesh was torn asunder, and the blood and meat that covered their bodies oozed red, green, and purple colored tar.

"Spirit Wraiths!" Dr. Isaacs shouted. "Capture them quickly, or they'll kill us all!"

---

Almost instinctively, Ben lifted Gregory by his backpack away from the reach of the wraith and bodily hefted him towards the far corner of the room, out of harms way. There would be time for courtesy and subtlety later. The wraith now turned its attention to him. Heart pounding and mind racing furiously, Ben slowly backed away. He'd faced wraiths previously, of course, but he had always been thoroughly prepared before venturing into the Inner Shell. Constantly vigilant, ever on guard. He'd never dreamed they would be able to mount an attack here, in the Consortium headquarters in broad daylight!

The menace came closer, its sickly greenish hue evincing a primal revulsion in him. If only he had his lantern! But it, along with his other equipment was in some inconspicuous corner of the room, where he'd deposited it on entering. There too, was his hulking, back-mounted energy gun. That ill-understood Energy... it was, so far, the only thing they knew of (or that Isaacs and Hartwell had discovered) capable of disrupting these evil spirits. He reached over to a piece of laboratory equipment with a tell-tale blue glow radiating from various apertures. Tearing it from its frame, he hurled it straight through the abomination in front of him. A dangerous gambit, but perhaps one that would buy enough time to retrieve his lantern.

Chaos enveloped within the Test Floor as The Consortium scrambled to neutralize the wraiths...

---

@justTypical

Zuma saw the two green wraiths swooping in his direction. Ben had successfully pulled Gregory Stills away from harm, who then became the new subject of attention. Zuma hustled over to the young inspector. "Are you okay?" He called out, taking note that the green wraiths were now splitting up targets. When Gregory Stills said nothing, Zuma turned to him and kneeled down until they were eye-to-eye. "Focus, Mr. Stills." He said as he shook Gregory's shoulders, "And follow me." The teen was petrified in disbelief of the horrors that were unfolding all around him, but he beckoned Zuma's call and snapped out of it.

"Right." Stills nodded firmly, remembering the stoic words Ben had told him just moments before it all went to hell. Wait, where's Ben? Gregory looked over Zuma's large shoulders to find the Inspector getting chased by one of the wraiths. "He needs our help!"

"No, wait!" Zuma called out, trying to hold him back, but the teen had slipped away from his grasp. Gregory bolted past Zuma and zigzagged between work benches and desks until he was 10 feet from the glowing spirit that pursued Ben. At that instant, Ben flung a random aperture at the spirit. It contained the same blue energies that fueled Consortium weapons. The wraith was aware of this kind of glow, as it immediately stopped in its tracks. However, the object went through the spirit and smashed onto the ground. Its contents sparkled into the air like indigo fireworks, bouncing around with a static effect that veined into everything it touched. The wraith let out a shriek, jolted by its sudden constriction. It contorted into a swirling mist, struggling to free itself from the blue static field. Then it turned and saw Gregory Stills...

There was a flash of blue light, followed by an intensity that the teen could only describe as a blanket of jellyfish stings. When the blue lights faded, he saw two angry green eyes glaring right at him. Gregory struggled with all of his might, but the paralytic effects from the item that Ben threw still subdued him. The wraith howled its hellish war cry, the prayer to its yellow king god, then plunged into Gregory's mind.

"Help!" He cried out, but all he heard was the echoes of his own voice. The darkness had consumed him. Gregory was no longer in the Test Floor of the Consortium. He was somewhere else...a lair of some sort...underground. What was that smell? A mix between iron and old parchment. "W-where am I?!" Little did Gregory know, that his consciousness was transported elsewhere, leaving his vessel back in the Testing Floor at the whims of the Shreth Wraith.

Late. Late again.

Hayley was going to be late for her own funeral at the rate she was going. The meeting had been written down on her mental calendar but damn the tunnel vision she got while working on things. The stairs were nearly given a sacrifice from her face a few times with how much she was rushing, thankfully catching the handrail before she ate it.

It was the increasingly louder screams that hurried her down to the basement levels, fearing the worst but hoping it was just rowdy second years. The red coat came away, left on the last landing before she came to the double doors, the inexplicably cold doorknobs to the double doors were a telltale sign. Heart dropping into her stomach she rammed her shoulder against the door, forcing it open and stumbling into the testing floor chamber.

The chaos ensuing was taken in, all of it far beyond any of her expectations. This place was supposed to be safe. In quick observation she saw the one going after Reitz, two after Isaacs and Hartwell, and two tearing into the general populace. Snap decision made she started to barrel through the panicked crowd to the middle of the room, grabbing people by whatever limb she could get her hands on to throw them towards the door she just came through.

No words were said, there was no point trying to yell above all the noise of those being ripped apart or being down right cowards. All she had was determination, drawing the energy rifle up from it's sling, the attached lantern dangling off the back of her belt. There was only two people's lives she was concerned with and they were the founding fathers. The Consortium leader should be able to hold his own, atleast that was her deductive reasoning.

The high pitched whine of the energy charging up rung in her ears, the glow of her lantern casting blue all around her. Her aim was set on one of the two, waiting for that edge of a full charge to fire as the panicked people ran into her which only made Hayley plant her feet even more.

The second it was ready she pulled the trigger, praying to whatever gods existed that it worked.

---

Bones…

---

The escalation of events came like a sucker punch. The anticipated powwow made a turn for the absolute worst as the Consortium’s finest were now pitted in a room full of wraiths. These weren’t the run of the mill kind of spirits they were used to dealing with either. They operated like a unit, eerily similar to that of a task force by picking targets and working cohesively. But the most terrifying revelation about this whole ordeal was that they managed to infiltrate the Outer Shell. Not only did they pass the massive wall full of anti-wraith defense mechanisms and security checkpoints, but they went a step further and walked right into the headquarters of The Consortium, undetected.

The first thing Ezekiel did was retrieve the notebook he’d been reading. He stuffed it into the breast pocket of his blazer as Latika pounced forward, running head on towards the green wraith whose sights were set on Carmina. Latika drew out a whip from her utility belt. With a click of a button, it sputtered to life with a blue aura that caught the attention of the spirit. With a flick of the wrist, the roped end of her weapon snaked around the neck of the wraith. The blue energies of the whip sent out violent shocks, sending the spectre into a frenzy.

Bones walked forward with his lantern in hand. Its design was that of a silver skull that had its mouth wide open. He held it up by the handle welded on the top of its head and pointed it at the green wraith. “Keep it steady!” Ezekiel said to Latika. It struggled about, trying to inch away from Ezekiel and his lantern, and when it went to claw at the rope bindings, Latika dialed up the charging intensity of the whip. It jolted in pain and waved its limbs frantically in frustration. Bones held the lantern firmly as the swirling energies of the device began to reverberate up his arm and through his entire body…

---

@Azlum

Two 2nd class Investigators rushed to aid Dr. Isaacs and Professor Hartwell. Unfortunately for them, they weren’t equipped with any anti-wraith weaponry. It didn’t stop them from trying. “Get behind me!” One of them called out as he unstrapped a pistol. The other Investigator had a shotgun out.

“Firearms are useless!” Dr. Isaacs cried out, but it was already too late. The shotgun boomed and the scattered pellets flecked through the advancing wraiths, piercing one of the new recruits. The rookie fell to the floor as scarlet fluid oozed out of him. One of the wraiths then hovered over a work bench full of an assortment of tools, then disappeared. Just as it did, every item that littered the flat surface rose, and then rained down on both investigators, stabbing and pelting them relentlessly until they became bloody piles of meat. Isaacs and Hartwell both stumbled onto their rears, scooting backwards and hid behind the nearest overturned desk.

“This isn’t looking good, old friend.” Professor Hartwell puffed. He glanced over the ledge of the desk to see the remaining red wraith still in its regular form, howling towards them. He flinched his eyes shut, ready to accept defeat. Seconds went by and nothing came. A surging hum of electric pressure was heard and felt. Professor Hartwell opened his eyes and saw the red wraith caught by Investigator Hayley Malik’s energy weapon! “Oh, thank the bloody makers…” Hartwell slumped back down, joining Dr. Isaacs, who was tinkering with some kind of instrument. “What are you doing?”

“Trying not to die, of course! Now keep low!” After twisting a knob and tightening a gear here and there, Dr. Isaacs slammed the instrument into the ground. It was perfect timing, because the work tools possessed by the other red wraith was upon them. The device projected a spherical shape, encapsulating both Dr. Isaacs and Professor Hartwell within its protective shield.

Clang! Krssh! Drnnngh!

The tools slammed onto the barrier like a hailstorm, but the shield remained intact. “How long will this hold!?” Professor Hartwell yelled, covering his ears with his hands from the loud noises echoing into their small space.

"We're about to find out!" Dr. Isaacs said.