[center][h2][color=39b54a]Jeremy Arthur Velera[/color][/h2]
Physical state: Sweating, tense
Mental state: Confused, sane[/center]

“Do I know you?”

The question flew through Jeremy’s mind as fast as a speeding bullet; back and forth, his mind frantically opening all sorts of figural boxes of memories in a desperate attempt to pull his recollection of this man, this man clinching his fists and demanding that Jeremy answer. The man’s figure, tall and large – not to mention the rage in his eyes that could set ablaze a wildfire – made Jeremy feel all that smaller as they were standing there out on the street. 

Of course Jeremy could have fought the man, it wasn’t as if he hadn’t been in a fist-fight or two before, but the sheer mass of the man and his behaviour – not to mention everything that was already racing Jeremy’s mind to trouble him – convinced him that this was a fight not worth picking. He had after all walked straight into the mammoth of a man, and scattered all of his pictures. 

[color=39b54a]“I’m sorry, I…I wasn’t paying attention. I hope I didn’t ruin your…”[/color] Jeremy hurriedly bent down on his knees and began picking up the pictures now littering the ground. As he was about to finish his sentence, he glanced at the first picture in his hand, and froze. [color=39b54a]“…photographs…”[/color]

Patrick Killigan, mechanic and co-worker at “Fergusons & Sons Motor Cars” until the ending of last year. He was wearing a bowler, a thick woollen jacket, and he was smiling. And he was dead, killed himself by letting himself be crushed by a car. He had been one of the few people Jeremy could call a friend in Arkham, and it was a heavy toll to hear of his suicide. 

So why was this guy carrying pictures of him? And why did he seem so familiar to Jeremy? 

Jeremy looked up at the man, his eyes wide open as his mouth, speechless. His knees didn’t like the position that Jeremy stood in, and keenly reminded him of this with an ever growing pain that stretched from his toes and up. But it was the pain in his stomach – a great, black ball of sorrow and horror – that made he really felt. This was not just scary, this was horrifying. 

“Hey, I asked you a question. Do I know you?” The stranger asked again. Jeremy didn’t know what he was doing when the first thought formed itself into vibrations filling the winter air. 

[color=39b54a]“August Dupin?”[/color]

Jeremy had no idea where the name came from, it was the first thing that passed his mind after all of his thoughts had dug deep into his sub-consciousness after an answer to where he had seen this man before. And for some reason, Jeremy felt confident that this wasn’t wrong. As he continued to pick up the scattered pictures, he continued. 

[color=39b54a]“I do, yes, when I think about it. It’s been years, but I do remember having met you. France, during the war, right? You probably don’t remember me, I looked different back then, it’s funny how war changes you.”[/color] How in the world was Jeremy managing to pull off a lie like this, and not simply running away from all the mystic things happening to him? [color=39b54a]“It’s been long since that though. I take it you’re a reporter, since you have the photograph of a suicide victim? I knew him, actually, it wasn’t a grand time for me back then. So what are you doing with the picture, is there something new the newspaper has discovered?”[/color]

Jeremy really didn’t know what the fuck was going on, but for all the lying, he was sure he had met this man before. And that place was in a war. 


[h2][center][color=f7941d]Arthur Steiner[/color][/center][/h2]

[color=f7941d]“Hmpf, how typical. Kids these days are lazy I tell you, they can’t even be bothered with FREE field-trips! Then again, taken into consideration yesterday’s events…”[/color] Arthur initially said with his signature annoyed-voice, frowning at the short-coming of students, though he changed his tone as he reminded himself – of course through reminding Jeremiah – that a man had killed himself the day before. Still, Arthur never tolerated students being either absent or late, and always let his students know of this. [color=f7941d]“We’ll wait a little longer, I’d suggest, before we go in.”[/color]

The outside of Arkham Sanitarium was surrounded by a tall wall, nearly standing at 10 feet, the only access being a large metal gate at the front and a delivery-entrance further down the wall to the east, barely visible from this distance. The group of students and professors was now standing outside the gate, having been scheduled to meet there sometime between 8:15 and 8:30 in the morning to get the most out of the day.  From where Arthur stood, he could see many a student he recognized, and just as many as he didn’t – even a few female students had mustered the courage to join them, quite a feat for a lady Arthur thought. And just down the street he could see Emil Günther, his now unofficial Little-Helper from yesterday, accompanied by a student he recognized to be Dr. Masterson’s. Economics, a subject he found to be mostly speculation at best and throwing a dart in total darkness at worst. And somewhere beyond the group, he heard the talk of Emil Günther’s friend’s shenanigans from last night; a drunken brawl by an Irishman and confrontation with the police afterwards. Hadn’t Dr. Dupree and other respectable gentlemen been there, Arthur would have taken matter into his owns hands and thrown out the foolish rascal right away. 

But that was not his concern right now. 

[color=f7941d]“I would, but there’s little that I can do to help Dr. Atkins…Howard, I mean. The detective came and questioned me, and told me not to leave town before he promptly left, so me being here wouldn’t hinder the investigation. And besides, it helps to have something else to think about in times like these, isn’t it? Especially when it’s free?”[/color] Arthur intentionally left out the part where he was going solely because of the letter he and Emil found in Atkin’s office, sent by the mysterious [color=#8A0886]F.D[/color]. He had no idea if he was going to find an answer there, but his logic was that this was the best and most discrete way of finding out. He had a reputation to uphold after all, and visiting the asylum other than university-business could been seen as shady. So was sneaking into your colleague’s office, another secret he wasn’t about to tell.  

The group waited for a few more minutes before they eventually gathered around the gate and was let inside. And just like that, they had all taken a step closer towards the very definition of madness itself, manifested in the psychical form of patients and the building. 

[center][h3]Arkham Sanitarium[/h3][/center]

The interiour of Arkham Sanitarium was much less pleasent than what the outside was, probably to give the apperance of a nice place to visitors and by-passers. While the outside was bright from the sunlight and somewhat welcoming with the nurses helping patients in their wheelchairs and walking-canes through the snow – the occational sight of a smile and sound of laughter had surely made a lost soul want to get admitted to the institution just for some company – was put into stark contrast once the group of students and professors entered. A guard – one assumed it was a guard by his look, black uniform and batton at his side – let them enter through the large wooden doors. They creaked intensly, like the dying breaths of an elk shot through its lungs, and gave weakest souls goosebumps and chills through the spine. And the visit to the home of the mad had only started. 

[color=#FFFF00]«Grab him!»[/color] was the first thing they heard as they set foot inside the reception. The room was brightly lit by the two large windows on each side of the door and several ceiling lamps, and yet Arthur felt that it was rather cramped in there. It might have been the statues and figures of angels – at least they looked like angels -  chiselled into the walls and pillars holding the roof up. And then there was the man shouting and another man, clad in white, running for the door. 

«Don’t let him take me, don’t let him take me back!» The running man shouted to the first person he could get a hold of, which turned out to be Emil Günther. He fell to his knees and grabbed Emil’s ankles while he wept and screamed in fear. «You have to save me, or else he’ll kill me! You have to save [color=#8A0886]Her[/color] too, before it’s too late!»

Right behind the screaming back came three other men, two of them wearing white shirts and pants and the last one wearing a white shirt, a white jacket and black pants. On his nose rested a pair of metal-rimmed glasses, a true wonder that they didn’t fall off as he was running. The two men – presumably his assistants – grabbed the frightened man from behind and held him tight while their superior walked up at a slower pace while reaching for something in his pocket. [color=#FFFF00]«Mr. Colombo, calm down! Everything’s alright, noone’s here to hurt you. Everything’s alright…»[/color]

Then the syringe entered Mr. Colombo’s neck, and an ever louder shrieking continued for a few seconds, before the man slowly faded into his own mind and soon fell unconscious in their arms. [color=#FFFF00]“Take him to his cell, and make sure he doesn’t get out again.”[/color] The doctor – Arthur easily deduced his occupation from his clothes, behaviour and the fact that he was carrying a syringe with some sleeping-agent. As the patient was dragged away, the doctor realized who was actually standing before him. 

[color=#FFFF00]“Oh…you must be Dr. Dupree and Dr. Steiner from Miskatonic. Sorry about this…ehm…incident. As you can see there’s never a dull day here at the sanitarium, especially these days. Well, I guess I could begin by telling you about our patients suffering from extreme hysteria, but I can get back to that once we’ve finished the tour of the building itself.”[/color]

The doctor tried to smile, as if to shrug off what had just happened and pretend everything was as normal – if anything such as normal could take place in a mental asylum –, and looked at the group of people in front of him. [color=#FFFF00]“Oh, I’m getting ahead of myself. I’m Doctor Martin Gabrowski, and I guess I’ll be the one giving you an insight into our institution. And please, do ask questions when they arise. Please, follow me.”[/color]

[color=f7941d]“That’s one way of welcoming your quests. It'll be...interesting...to meet the rest of them...”[/color] Arthur said quietly, following the doctor deeper into the home of madmen. And to Arthur, closer to the answer of who this F.D. was. He would soon find out.