Per 
- Introduction
- A Fateful Fifth Session
- To Decommission a Convention
- Punching sharks to the End of Death
- Remember: A Missing Material is The End of The World!
- The Flesh Warrior of Bushido
- The Mekhanics of La Rue: Part 1
- The Mekhanics of La Rue: Part 2
- Straight to the (Flesh) Moon
The cold Friday evening air of La Rue Macabre gently breezed across La Rue. A typical evening usually showed many nocturnal creatures and unusual beings come out, seeing their companions and share a cold glass of whisky with one another. The Never 'n Not has seen many folks come and go at night, from the Nälkä folks who desire a good drink or challenge from the fellow patrons, to the elusive Mekhanics, who take a quiet table away from prying eyes.
Michael Serene, the wizard without purpose, came to La Rue after hearing about it from his friends in the Wanderer's Library. A new start for beings without a home, for the immortal to be free, for the purposeless to have a purpose. The thought nagged at him until it drew him in. He studied the documents he can find of La Rue and after successfully learning what he can, he made his way to New Orleans.
He felt strangely drawn to the place. He knew fate was a cruel mistress, as he had met her many times in his life. Michael walked for a few feet before noticing the Way. It shimmered and glowed. To an untrained eye, it would be nothing more than a shine in the water but Michael could feel the energy. Again, he felt like fate had lured him there.
When he entered La Rue, he was captivated by the buildings and the sounds. What Michael saw was all manner of entities talking and sharing, a positive vibe he felt was all over the city but not as intoxicating as Wonder World. As he wandered on, he realised that the time had got on him faster. The sun sets and the beings of the night walked the earth.
Michael was surprised that they too were treated nicely. He walked on for a bit longer before laying eyes on the Never N' Not bar. He walked up the steps and through the door to a place filled with strange phenomena. It reminded him of the Library, seeing so much culture in one place, co-existing in peace and harmony.
As the bar was settling down from a drinking contest, Michael walked up to the bar and looked at the barkeep, raising a finger for a glass. After a few moments, he received a glass of the fine whisky as he looked around the bar. He looked at the barkeep again.
"Excuse me?" He said in a polite tone. "I don't suppose you can tell me what its like here? I'm fairly new here and wanna get the ins and outs of this place."
"Then perhaps you may want a fellow outsider's perspective then?"
Before the barkeep spoke, a strange and sly voice from far away spoke. The patrons of the bar all stopped, Nälkä folks stopping themselves from fighting a golem to the elusive Mekhanics looking from where they sat, staring at the strange voice with their ticking and glowing eyes. The being that sat by the window had pointed ears, dressed in a black robe and mask that looked like he was from Italy's ballrooms.
"Please, do join me. I always have an extra seat for a fellow being of the arcane arts."
Michael looked at this elf, confused as to why the whole world stopped acting out its role. He looked to the barkeep, who was staring at Michael and the fey being in the corner. "Excuse me but who is that?" Michael asked.
"Why that's Starmoon Midnight, in English," said the barkeep, sweat beading down his head. "Don't know 'is real name though. He don't talk to anyone 'ere, just sits at that table and shuffle that there deck he has. Rumour is, he can read your fortune properly."
"Huh," Michael downed the whisky. "I'll be on my way then. Nice meeting you fine people."
A card suddenly appeared underneath the glass. Michael, looking at the other patrons who began to get back to their usual business, picked up the card for inspection. It looked like a regular playing card, except the front of the card was a clown with the words "The Fool" printed. He looked back at Starmoon Midnight, who was shuffling the deck again as he stared at the moon rising over the town. A faint, ghostly smile was on his face.
Michael walked up to the table, the chair kicked out for him to sit on. As he sat down, Starmoon stopped shuffling and looked up. The smile he gave Michael wasn't an assuring one. He dealt out several cards in front of Michael, all face down.
"The Fool," Starmoon said as he finished dealing the cards. "Those who have the card doesn't mean that they are fools. It just means that the road ahead is laid with hardships and plenty of trials."
"I know the tarot," Michael said as he approached. "I dabble in arcana before I even knew of the other world."
"I gather you know who I am already, so why not tell me yours?"
"Michael Serene."
The elf smiled as he shuffled the deck before he held up two fingers to the nearest imp in service. He looked back at Michael before drawing three cards and placing them face down. He then drew a single card facing up. In bold words, "The Emperor" can be seen written clearly on its front, with a aged old man sitting upon his throne. Starmoon then gazed outside at the moon, his smile from before crept back on his face.
"The Emperor is the first card. It is usually applied to a powerful being of this realm or universe. Whoever draws this card is said to be of great importance."
Michael remained silent as Starmoon continued talking in his gentle tone of voice. "If you want to know more about me, I did hold a more powerful position in a far off kingdom. One held by the Fae before mortals decided that it is land to be shared with, before it was brought to ruin by a foul beast. I think I should say no more, should I?"
"You mean…" Michael went quiet again before a thought shined in his eyes. "You were at HyBrazil? Before it was attacked?"
Starmoon nodded solemnly, his eyes looked like they were about to shed tears. "I remember it clear as day. I held a powerful position there next to the king. I should have seen it coming… perhaps I could have prevented it."
They both remained quiet before a imp brought over their drinks. As they both drank, the next card was drawn from the deck. This one depicted a crescent shape on a background with white specks. The words "The Moon" was printed clearly on the card. Michael looked at the card and questioned himself one nagging thought. The thought that needed to be voiced but couldn't be, for fear of sounding not in this world.
When did he draw that card? Both of his hands were either not on the table or being used to drink from our glass, right?
"Michael?" Starmoon was leaning in, looking at Michael with curious eyes. "You appear to be
A huge crowd, seen for miles and miles, were gathering at this one convention. They all came from many lands, from the normal news reporters of the US all the way to the Three Portland press. They are all outlandish and all wanting the latest news. The journalist vultures all demand one answer to the question that is on their lips.
"Why kill anomalies?"
These vultures were all looking to the list of staff that were headlining the panel. Members from the GOC were there, as expected. Alongside the GOC members is a Selachian Punching Centre member named Skipper, although no one knew how he got into the meeting. Rumour had it that this one was handcuffed to the table to stop him from going mental.
What really drew the journalists to the panel was the Foundation being there. The group that was accused by many as the Jailors or the keepers have records detailing the latest "Decommissioned Anomalies". They all knew they can bite the Foundation hard for having an entire department on this. Many even came bearing the insignia of the Serpent's Hand and Manna Charitable Foundation to protest these groups actions on destroying anomalies.
The wind blew across the bleak Russian ice shelf as a team of expert explorers and scientists trudged towards a building that lay half buried in the snow. Behind them, teams of huskies hauled a motley assortment of gear, supplies, and the spoils of war. The crown jewel of the collection, a Winter Deviant Selachian, sat bound and heavy on its sleigh. Its fin gleamed silver while small, hateful eyes set into its monstrous bulk watched the group from its perch. Over the wind, the sound of fistfalls was heard across the heavy snow.
"This is Marine Fighting Team FROSTFIST," shouted the leader, slowing down to let the others catch up to him. "FOA, do you read me? Over."
All was quiet, except the sounds of fists hitting flesh.
"I repeat, this is MFT FROSTFIST Lead Puncher Charlie to Forward Operating Arena, do you copy? We are approaching the building now, please respond. Over."
Charlie heard footsteps from behind him. Turning to face them, he found himself unsure who was behind the heavy fur lined parka and tinted goggles, so he took a chance. “Andrea! How’s my second in command doing?”
“Er…” She began. Charlie mentally fumbled, trying to come up with some kind of apology for the mistaken identity. “I’m doing just fine, sir. Not gonna lie, it’s as cold as all hell out here. Egghead told me the number, but I was a little distracted. Ya know, punching.”
Charlie felt a swell of pride at his outstanding guess. "Yeah, we gotta check in with FOA-13. According to the desk-jockey, they've been quiet for a year now and we gotta check up on them. You can stomach a bit more cold can't ya?"
"Permission to speak freely?" Charlie nods at her request. "How long do we have to wait? The catch is just there, begging for a sock to its stupid jaw, and I don’t wanna walk on any more damn ice."
"Patience is a virtue, kid. Besides, what’s that aquatic bastard gonna do to us?” Charlie turned to point at the largest sleigh. “It’s tied to that sled tighter than a-"
Charlie realized that there were no dogs. That there was no Selachian. A razor sharp fin cut across the blood soaked snow and Charlie saw a jagged hole in the ice where what was left of the sled dogs’ harnesses trailed into the frigid waters.
"It got out!” cried Charlie. Without hesitation, Andrea ran towards the Selachian and lept on it, barely able to maintain her grip. Charlie faced down the Deviant and Andrea, instinctively sliding into a fighting pose.
The ice shattered into small islands. Charlie looked around him as he scanned below the water with his eyes, looking for either Andrea or the Selachian. He then saw a ripple before the Selachian breached the surface, throwing Andrea high into the air. It then fell onto Charlie's island, tilting the island down towards the icy depths. Charlie slid down sharply towards a mouth capable of going through sinew and bone like a hot knife through butter.
He spread his legs out, placing one leg on the Selachian's snout and the other on the tilted island. When he was sure he wouldn't fall into the hateful void that was the Selachian's stomach, Charlie then climbed on top of the struggling Selachian and gave out a flurry of blows to its head. After giving out a few dozen blows to its ugly snout, the struggle ended. Charlie jumped over to the nearest land that wasn't broken.
"I am never gonna get used to that, am I?" he wondered to himself as he looked at the KO'd Selachian. Before it was pulled down into the icy depths, he could've sworn that its small eyes moved. He shook it off as an adrenaline-rushed hallucination and rushed off into the cold wastelands.
Charlie ran around in the snow while he shouted out to any who would hear him in the cold Russian wastelands. He brushed his hand on the radio while he ran. He pulled it out, twisted the knobs and pressed the buttons till he got a signal.
He heard a whining noise that got louder and louder, to the point that he had to close his eyes shut and throw it away. When he opened his eyes, he saw red snow in front of him. Charlie followed the trail around the corner of the snow mound.
There, before his eyes, was a half eaten corpse of a teammate. From the waist down, there were huge chunks of flesh gone. Their fists drenched in ichor. The amount of blood that this person was losing from their legs was astronomical, but there was one thing that surprised Charlie even more.
Andrea was still breathing.
Puffs of air rose from Andrea's mask in quick succession. Charlie ran over and pulled her in tight. He thought to himself that she lost too much blood, making him pull down her mask so she can breathe easier. Charlie ripped off strips of fabric from her jacket, and tied them around Andrea's legs. He didn't know what he was doing, he only sat and watched the medics do something like this once
"Don't worry kid," Charlie said as he grabbed her from one arm and placed it over his shoulder. "We'll get you out of here in no time!"
While he dragged the Puncher through the snow towards the FOA, Charlie could still hear the sounds of battle from over the ridge. No shots were fired, no magic was unleashed, yet the primal scent of war hung heavy in the cold wind. After a lifetime of fighting it was the one thing he could be sure of.
They rounded the corner and saw the rest of the team holding strong against the threat that was biting down on them. At first, it seemed they had the upper hand but for every Selachian that the Punchers KO'd, they would flop themselves back to life and go towards the punchers to get another bite out of them.
It made Charlie remember the Third Sharkic Wars. When they swarmed over the fucking walls of Arena-17 to get to his team, when they engaged those constantly mutating humans that turned into Selachian-hybrids. That was a bloodbath that Charlie wished he didn't live through. He looked on at the horror before him and felt the urge to charge forward.
He felt his legs push forward before he remembered that he had Andrea with him. "Hey, kid? You awake?" The body didn't move but she made some form of noise. "Kid, can you still punch?"
Andrea formed fists that swung out wildly before toppling to the ground, her legs incapable of supporting her weight.
"You mind watching my back, kid? Cause I'm gonna charge into a whole field of our most hated enemy and I need someone looking over me."
The body then raised her hand just enough to show she understood what Charlie said. He huffed as he strapped Andrea to his back, ensuring that the Puncher can swing her fists to cover Charlie's rear. Charlie looked back up to see his target.
The Forward Operating Arena was still too far for his team. They were holding out against the Selachians with every bit of their strength while the non-punching crew retreated to the FOA. The ones that the team put down came back up, like they were still full of energy. The Selachians were diving underneath the ice as well to go at the punchers from below, putting them on the defensive.
"Goddamn it!" Charlie screamed at the top of his lungs. "Punchers! Get to the Arena! Now!"
He rushed into the swarm, fists swinging at any who dared to oppose him. The nearest selachian was thrown back into the swarm as he pushed on towards the Arena. Other selachians were diving underneath to either avoid him, or plan for an underground attack. He dodged some of them as Charlie pushed forth.
He felt Andrea on his back swing out, the force that she was using was intense. For someone who is near death's door, she can throw a good swing.
Charlie then felt something stir inside him. He felt cold, like a Selachian swam over his watery grave. He turned to see the Winter Deviant Selachian cutting through the ice once more towards them. The other Selachians retreated back, going back underneath the ice for some protection. Charlie didn't fear the Selachian, as he got into a comfortable position - or as comfortable as you can get with a person on your back - and prepared for the second round.
Somewhere in the distance, the other Punchers stopped fighting. Charlie fell out of his stance as big thumps can be getting closer and closer with each thump. The selachians fell back beneath the ice, no longer fighting them. The only one who stayed above the ice was the Deviant, snarling at the others as the stomping finally stopped.
The ice cracked as a giant, bulky walker with two giant fists, stomping on the ice. On its front face box was a small picture of three sharks being uppercut by a fist - the SPC logo. It turned to acknowledge the wounded Punchers crawling away from the ice cracks before turning once more to the Selachian in front of it
"CAPTAIN," the machine boomed, raising a giant fist towards the selachian. "ALLOW ME TO TAKE ON THE WINTER-DEVIANT. RETURN TO YOUR CREW OVER THERE." It then charged forward, firing cables and massive fists at the giant selachian.
It breached the ice and went straight for Charlie. He slid on his side and underneath it, going for the soft underbelly with more furious blows. When the Selachian flew over him, Charlie got himself back up and was glad to see Andrea was still there. The Deviant was still flopping about, turning to face Charlie for another throw down.
"I can see now why my boys had trouble taking you down," huffed Charlie, exhaling while getting back into his stance. "If you don't stay down, I'm going to have to take… drastic measures."
The Selachian bared its teeth as it sank underwater. Charlie looked around, making sure it didn't come from any blind spots. The Selachian rose out of the ice, near where Charlie was stood, and bit at thin air. He dodged to the left and then grabbed the Selachian by the left fin, swinging the Deviant around for some time before letting go. Charlie saw the Selachian flew half way across the ice, only hearing the hard thud as the Selachian made contact with the hard surface.
As Charlie shook his hands to get rid of the dirt and ice he had clawed up, he turned to his fellow comrades up on the hill. He thanked the various members that held the line before he noticed their bodies, the chunks of flesh missing from their shivering states. His rubbed his eyes to see if it was real.
"Holy fuck!" exclaimed Charlie, eyes darting around the group's bites in their arms, neck and legs. "How in the name of the Great Puncher are you boys still alive?"
"Must be our strong, Puncher will?" spoke the one missing a large chunk from their leg.
"Either that," pondered another teammate, missing an arm. "Or the ice froze our open wounds? Like anti-cauterising it?"
"Mate," said the last teammate, still intact surprisingly. "Do you know how ice works?"
"Man, fuck you Hodges!" the man missing an arm stood up to Hodges.
Charlie clapped his hands behind each of their heads and gave them a firm smack. Enough to make Andrea and missing-leg guy to breathe sharply. Charlie then moved to a small snow mound so everyone can see him. "Listen up! We gotta catch up with the others at the FOA. It is our sworn duty to inform the rest of the Centre what is happening here. Hodges, grab Andrea."
He grabbed a duffel bag and slung it over his shoulder. "Everyone else, grab ya shit and start walking," the rest of the team groaned. Charlie heard Andrea moaning constantly about being carried by her team wherever she goes.
Hodges approached Charlie with caution. He looked at the others who were struggling to get things moving. "Permission to speak freely, sir?"
Charlie didn't need to respond. He made it his golden rule that if someone has the balls to come up to him to talk, then they may talk freely unless otherwise ordered. Regardless, he gave a slight nod to show his acknowledgement.
"When we punch these sons of bitches, they don't stay down… How come?"
"I dunno," Charlie huffed as they climbed over a large hill. "But whatever it is, we're going to punch it in their stupid Selachian faces. You hear me, Punchers? We're gonna punch these things, even if it kills us!"
Everyone tried to cheer before going back to moaning and groaning as they climbed the hills.
For what felt like an hour traversing the snow wasteland, the team's goal was in sight. Half-buried in the snow stood the Forward Operating Arena. It stood a good few floors above surface but below laid an outstanding maze of training grounds, breeding pools for the Selachians to reproduce so that the Punchers can continuously pummel into the ground. Charlie remembered his time at a similar Arena. It was shipshape and ready to pummel anything that remotely looks like a Selachian. Charlie was proud to be a Puncher for the Centre for that very reason: every thing was in an orderly fashion.
He then noticed that there was a hazmat team waiting for them.
"Woah!" he rushed forward to stop a hazmat from scanning a frostbitten scientist. "What the hell are you doing?"
"Sorry sir," said the hazmat suit. "But you really shouldn't have come here. This reality is facing an TK-Ω scenario."
"Wait, whats a TK-Ω scenario?"
"Haven't you noticed? The Selachians that you fought… They never stay down, do they?"
The hazmat looked at Charlie, then back out to the thin ice lake that he and the Winter Deviant fought. "They can't get knocked out, sir. No matter what we do, the goddamn Selachians won't stay down. Heck, we even tried killing them and they can't die!"
Charlie knelt down in the snow, now realising the horror that lied before him. "No… NO! You're lying! Anything can go down with a good enough punch!"
"Even if their spine has been broken, we cannot kill them."
The suit then pointed out to the other side of the crater. "You see that?" the suit pointed at a Selachian with no fins flopping its way around the ice. "That's one of the fucking sharks that we say should be dead. The thing's got no fins to move. THAT would kill some, if not most, sharks!"
Charlie pushed the suit down into the snow. The other MFT members looked around as the pair's engagement got worse. "Don't you ever say that word! We do not call them that. You know what that word means to the Selachians!"
Andrea rose up from the group, and charged at the suit. The other hazmats dropped their equipment and rushed to their fallen comrade's aid, pulling out pistols and small firearms. They shot at Andrea until she fell over. Charlie rushed over to her, holding her lifeless body in his hands. The suit Charlie pushed over marched up to him.
"What the hell was that for?" Charlie stared at the head of his trusted ally. Eyes that look like their still full of life. "She was only doing her duty!"
"Just watch," said one of the hazmats coldly, holstering their pistol as they moved over to Andrea.
Suddenly, Andrea jumped up off of Charlie's lap, looking at the suits with pistols. "What… How… Captain what just happened?"
"How is that possible?" Charlie stared at Andrea, who was being held down and handcuffed by the suits that shot her.
"Welcome to TK-Ω," said the one he was talking to, kneeling down and pulling up Charlie. It placed him in handcuffs as he got up to his feet. "Welcome, to the End of Death."
"… make sure you meet your quotas."
The grating, yet cheerful, voice was one of the first things that B'alter woke up to. It was a strange feeling for him. He looked around and saw nothing. He reached out to touch the sky, to rip open some colour in this black world of his so he can get back to his kingdom. His hand then stopped as it touched something. He rubbed his hand around the strange surface to get a feel of the thing, but all he felt was cold, almost like steel.
B'alter then got up as tall as he could but was forced to be in a crouch. The roof of his cage made him so compact and small, it made him feel like the ants that he once ruled over. The cage reminded him of his time in the kind care of the Foundation before he was given more power. More than enough to overthrow and destroy his captors. He had reached new heights, more than the Serpent's Hand ever gave him and especially more than when he was a little boy getting rid of the bullies that hurt him.
This… this was new. He was in an iron cage, like the stereotypical jails with the iron bars. It wasn't something that he was expecting. The cage around him gave him a constricting feeling, like his powers were being tightened every second. Am I in a SRA cage? Am I being punished? Me, B'alter The Serpent Dancer? He shook his head in the darkness. He stared out into the darkness and was able to just see the cage in front of him.
Suddenly there was light.
A big television screen, the size of the wall next to him burst to life. He was blinded by the giant light while a loud, almost grating, voice spoke over the megaphones. "Remember, to work in The Factory, you must reach you quotas! If a co-worker is smiling, report him to the chambers. He could be a toymaker in disguise!"
He had to cover his ears. B'alter was being forced to cover? It was a mad thought to him. He was the Serpent Dancer! He is the World Ender brought forth when the Lock was destroyed! He will not be stopped!
His cage began moving along a rusty track. When the light in his eyes vanished, B'alter looked up and saw the cage in front of him was also full. He shouted out to the occupant in front.
"Hey! You there! Do you know how to get out of here?"
After slowly getting adjusted to the dark, he saw who was inside the cage and was surprised. From the faintly glowing tattoos on his face and hand, this was a fellow Hand member. A recruit in the simple-minded Hand's war against the Foundation and GOC. A simple time, yet B'alter found he had a higher calling. He pulled off his gloves to show he was a part of the Hand as well as try to get it in a good enough light for the youngblood to notice.
The youth noticed the movement and turned to see what B'alter was doing. The screen came back on, blinding him once more. Before the blindness can take over, however, B'alter saw the youth's face and fell into a state of panic. A good portion of the youth's face was physically rusting away to nothing, almost like its merging with cage itself. The thought of B'alter becoming a part of the Factory is something that no one would want.
The cage stopped moving.
A grinding noise suddenly screeched as B'alter prepared himself for the next screen flash. The flash never came, but the grinding noise was still there. B'alter looked around until he heard a whimpering noise coming from the youth's cage. The grinding noise was getting closer to him, growing in intensity as it did so.
The flash of the giant screen appeared, but the cheery voice that came with the flash and image was drowned out by the constant grinding. The flash showed B'alter what made the grinding noise, it was for a brief moment but that was all it took. The sight made B'alter's fragile mind run into overdrive.
The moment showed B'alter a human dressed in fancy clothing akin to that of a Victorian-era gentleman. The sight of this human, however, was made terrifying by the constant shifting of gears and cogs that moved across his skin. Any bits of skin or fabric that was saved from the cogs was rusting, like a fungus infecting a house. The eyes… even when the darkness came back for B'alter
The streets of Nagasaki were all filled with nothing but ash and smoke. Radiation still danced in the air, burning anyone who so much show a piece of skin to the outside world. The air was toxic, the water was undrinkable, and the ground felt hot to touch. The buildings were once full of life, with workers preparing to go to work and housewives prepared to look after the house. Now all that remains is the shell of their former glory. To the people searching in vain hope of survivors, all is ash and dust.
An armoured figure walked in-between the buildings. His armour's footsteps echoing in the quiet streets, not a soul or a sound to be heard. He looked up at the sky, seeing the ash fall to the ground. He had remembered the Temple underneath the city had erupted into a white light and then nothing.
When he awoke after the light faded, he looked up to see nothing but horror. He delved deep into the Temple, searching for any survivors of his once noble clan. As he spent the week searching and scavenging, he had not spotted any survivors. He was alone. It was then he noticed that his skin was red and bubbled before it calmed down and returned to its normal pigmentation. It still burned when he wore the armour out of the temple. It felt like his skin was burning even in the protection of his armour.
As he wandered the streets, he saw the strange contraptions that did not have a horse to drive them forward. The Samurai looked into several of these things, seeing only the heart of the Broken God destroyed before him and proceeded to slash at the heart of the machines before realising that they were already destroyed. He moved on, searching for someone else who could be alive. The reasoning behind this was simple: they were the ones who destroyed his prize temple.
He visited numerous shops and strange, almost mechanical workshops. He entered a traditional house after a long walk from the centre of the city to the outskirts. The Samurai looked inside the living quarters and saw futons rolled out. He crouched down and started to mutter prayers to some unseen force. He lighted incense candles that were left by the previous owners, turned to bless the house with holy words, and left.
The Samurai wandered the streets again, stopping at a blacksmiths that seemed to exclusively build the machines. He understood his fellow members would have beckoned him to destroy it. Such filth is not befitting for world meant for the King of Gods. His brethren would have been shouting obscenities at him for not torching it down.
And yet, he had grown curious. These contraptions were all over the place, from the temple to where he is now. He stabbed a few of their hearts but they were docile and still. His sensei had not taught him anything about the cursed machine, but the sensei taught the warrior not to be afraid of learning new things. Tradition would only go so far before "progress" turned to "hindrance".
The many notes and scripture that laid on the desk drew the Samurai closer. The writing was similar to the one in the temple, only that some of the letters written on the paper were not ones he was familiar with. He studied the images as well, the anatomy of the so called cars was strange. One such vehicle - a truck, according to the handwritten notes on a small piece of paper, looked like a combination of a carriage from the pictures in the Samurai's temple and the vehicles he walked past every now and then.
It was the third Sunday of the month, and, as usual, the folks of La Rue gathered together to tell each other their stories and trade. People came across from all planes of reality to join the day's events. There were stalls of all sorts, from ones selling simple blankets or handmade wares, to the grand bazaar stands that offered the finer choices of life. On these days currency is never exchanged for goods as it is not often useful to the residents. The price for one's wares are simple: trading valuables for stories or for other valuables.
All sorts of creatures understand that one rule, even the most recluse and alien beings understand this. Even strangers hidden under cloaks know their place.
Josephine, dressed in a cloak of black with blue trim, the colours of the Mekhanics, walked into the town. They gazed at all of the clocks that were out on sale and heard the tales from the sellers nearby. This one moved down the main street when they overheard something unique, and their metallic footsteps stopped clacking on the wood as they turned to see who had drawn their attention.
"Legends tell of a famous house, hidden deep within the swamps of La Rue. This house isn't where one would expect to see a house though, no. The house can only be found at the top of a ladder, attached to an old Elm tree. It is said that most who get lost in the swamps of La Rue may find their way to the Treehouse. There, lonely travellers may enter but never leave…"
An old man sat down with just a few trinkets and baubles on the floor, telling some young kids the tales of La Rue Macabre. This man had a toothless smile and balding head, but the way he talked was more of a young man recounting his days of adventure. This appealed to the younger ones who knew nothing of this world. As he finished re-counting the story and received finer items such as old toys and wool, the cloaked stranger moved in to talk. A quiet ticking and whirring could be heard for each movement they made.
"Uh huh," spoke a metallic voice from underneath their cowl. "That was interesting and all, but where is this weird house?"
"That depends," the old man, who spoke with a deep southern accent, sat back and smiled. "What you goin' to give me?"
"Nothing," Josephine said coldly. "I require the location of the house for Mekhanic business. It is of the utmost importance that we achieve this."
"Kid!" shouted the old man. "I am over 200 years old! I can't remember half my life, let alone where a house is!"
"Oh Mekhane," Josephine groaned. "Have you got any idea where this house is or not? If not, I will take my leave. Do not waste my time with fables!"
The old man looked around, seeing the many strange folk staring at him and the figure. He turned back to them and whispered, "Listen, we don't do that here. You want information, you must hear it the way it was told. I don't write these rules down, it was good ol' Cotton Eye Joe! Now shut up and listen."
"Ugh… Fine. Continue with your story, but get to the bits that I need."
"Ya ruined the mood now. Let me get back into it."
The old man burned some scented candles, picking them up and waving them around the air between the two. The figure coughed out loud. "The year was sometime in the early 1860s, when America was in that whole Civil War. My pappy was in that war, you see… It was actually quite a funny tale how he wound up here -"
Josephine made a clicking sound with their fingers - or the sound of two metal fingers rubbing together to make the sound - to draw the old man back to them. "Not now old man, tell me about the house."
"Gods damn you! Fine, the Treehouse is in the Swamps as I said, the only way in or out of that house is a ladder attached to an Elm tree. That tree is deep in the swamps and you aren’t going to get there without some guide. Even then, the house is very picky on who enters."
"Hmmm…" Josephine looked at the elder for a few seconds before they turned to see a young man, dressed in the same robes as Josephine, approach them from the side. He looked at the pair, flicking his black wavy hair out of the way. For a split second, the old man could have sworn that his left eye was glowing. A slight humming noise could be heard from the young one.
In his hands were a few things rarely seen in La Rue - circuit boards, wires, gears, and a small fan. The old man looked at him and smiled. The Mekhanic, called Ben, looked apprehensive when he caught the old man staring at the objects in his hands, and he quickly tucked them into the satchel he wore. Josephine stepped in-between the staring eyes and their partner.
"If we give you the fan, would you point us to a guide to the swamps?"
Yes! Give me that fan, and I'll even give you a guide!" the old man agreed excitedly.
Josephine shrugged and rifled through the satchel before pulling out the fan and tossing it at the old man. "Guide. Now."
The old man inspected it before giving it a few bites. Satisfied, he pulled out a crudely made piece of paper and handed it to the pair. "There's your guide. Happy days to you!"
"Son of a bitch," they moved in to deliver a blow to the old man before turning around to see their partner holding back their cloak. They sighed, straightened out their cloak and turned back to the old man. "I will remember this."
The old man simply grinned at them before waving them off as they moved away from him.
As the pair moved through the crowd of immortals, the cloaked Josephine looked at the piece of paper in their hands. The young Maxwellist meanwhile waved at a pair of old women draped in red and white cloth. Josephine swatted around their general area, clearing away a few bugs trying to get into the cloak.
"Ah!" exclaimed the Mekhanic. "I have yet to understand why we chose this area as our resting place. Its humid, damp, and -" they squished another bug. "There're too many bugs!"
Their partner rushed in front of them, frowning at them. "You complain too much! If you spent less time complaining, we'd be completing our objectives exactly one minute and thirty-one point nine seconds faster than our current parameters predicts. Our goal is to recover Elder Artemis and bring him back to our church. Who knows what could happen to him! We are already behind the deadlines…"
Josephine shook their head and chuckled. "Listen, Ben, I'm sorry if we're being slow about this but time isn't a factor in this plan. And besides, we have yet to run into something serious. You know how Elder Artemis is with his adventures here. Bloody old coot can't sit still for five minutes. If something happened to him, he would have escaped. He won't just keel over like the rest of these… uncultured flesh ones."
Josephine moved their hand up to Ben's head and ruffled it. Ben blushed and shuffled where he stood, looking up at Josephine and smiled. "We'll get through this. I promise," Josephine reiterated.
Ben shook his head to get the hand off and smiled. He took the guide from Josephine and examined it closely. After doing so he handed it back to his partner and extended his left hand. When he did this, a fuzzy holographic image began. The image cleared itself to an image of La Rue. The pair stared at the image for a while, until Josephine noticed the other residents staring at them.
Ben also realised this and, after drawing a route to the nearby docks, he closed his palm and walked in the path he dictated. Only then did Josephine realise how much had changed since their arrival in La Rue. The other fleshy beings wouldn't have noticed the holographic map because they weren't augmented to perceive the digital workings of WAN. Not that Josephine would understand it themselves, as they saw it as more of a stepping stone to achieving apotheosis through Mekhane's ideals.
After trekking around the city and having to double back a few times, they arrived at the docks where the boats were kept. The locals called the place Cotton Dock, after their local guardian Cotton Eye Joe, who brought in some truly big fish from somewhere deep within the swamps of La Rue. Many fishermen set up shop here or there with tools, trinkets, and books gathered from faraway lands. Many of the immortal beings, that have been in the city for most of their lifetime, visited the fishermen for trade as they are the ones that venture out of the border the most.
The pair walked along for a short time before stopping at a small tugboat. It looked like it was about to fall apart if so much as a single person stepped on board. From the look around the dock, the other boats were tending to stay away from this one as far as physically possible. Spraypainted on the backside of the erstwhile boat was its name, The Donkey's Ass. Josephine stepped on cautiously with their partner staying on the pier.
"Hello?" shouted Josephine. "Anyone here? Please speak up, our time is important," they spoke the last bit as sarcastic as is possible with a metal voice box.
"What?" cried out someone below deck. The door sprang open and out popped a dwarf with a grey beard and pirate's hat. "What does ye want, you money grabbing seaman! I got ye gold right he-" he stopped in mid-sentence as he sees the cloaked figure on his boat.
"Greetings dwarf. I am Fabricator-Faithful Josephine, of the Mekhanics. I have come here to see what your vessel has to offer."
The dwarf blinked for a few seconds before pulling out a flintlock pistol and aiming it at Josephine. "Ye got three seconds to leave before I shoot ya for saying such fancy words on me vessel!"
"Look, I don't think that's-" They stammered as the flintlock hammer was pulled..
"One…" counted the dwarf.
"Seriously, what did I do wrong -"
"Two…" the dwarf took a firing position.
"You're just being ridiculous," Josephine said before a shot went off, drawing everyone's attention towards the boat. Josephine fell to the ground at where they stood. Ben stood there, scared to move or act in any way. He stared at Josephine's body, swallowing and gulping loudly.
The dwarf walked over to the body, kicking it to make sure it was down for good. Suddenly, a hand grabbed the dwarf's leg and tripped him over. He looked up to see Josephine standing over him, shaking their head with an aggressive whirring sound.
"Why'd you do that?" Josephine said as their face was no longer cloaked. The dwarf's eyes looked at the ticking person before them. The face looked feminine, aside from the odd gear or two shifting and ticking outside of their head. There was what could be said to be hair flowing down their head, but if one were to inspect closer, they would see that it was black cables and wires made to look like hair.
"Gah!" the dwarf shouted, trying to kick off Josephine's hand off his leg. "I thought you were some land-lubbing assassin sent to kill Captain Black Jaw!"
"Black Jaw? That's your name?" said Josephine in their mechanical voice. "And besides, if I were an assassin, you would think I would have finished you off just then."
"Uh… I guess that's true. What can Captain Black Jaw do for you missy?"
Josephine shook their head. "I abandoned my gender long ago when I became Fabricator-Faithful. Now, how much is it for your services?"
Black Jaw looked at them and then at the man on the docks. "Depends, ye got gold or are ye willing to offer other services?"
"What kind of services?"
The dwarf knocked on the boat and making a dent in the floor. He then looked at the pair with a look that says, "Know how to fix a boat?" Josephine looked at Ben, who in turn began to analyse the external area of the boat. After a few seconds, Ben entered and extended his left hand. The dwarf looked at him with a questioning look before Josephine turns and nods.
"We can fix the boat after we return from our adventure. For now," they pulled out a small bag and shook it. "Would this bag of a thousand drachma coins suffice?"
The dwarf took the bag and greedily looked inside, counting and pulling out a few random coins to give them a bite. After a few moments, he grunted in assent and gave them a curt nod. "Well, consider the contract signed! Where do ye need to go? Outside of the border? Perhaps you want me to escort you for a romantic tour around the swamp? Pretty sure I got a Michael Bublé disc here for you to enjoy…"
Ben shuffled where he stood, embarrassed that the dwarf would suggest that they were there for pleasure, not business. Josephine tried not to giggle before they pulled out a map and showed it to the dwarf. They then pulled out a pen and circled a spot on the map. "We need to go to this area; we want to explore a treehouse."
"You're serious about this?" Black Jaw looked at Josephine with seriousness in his eyes. "That's deep on the other side of the lost sector."
"The… lost sector?" Ben said, looking like he is focussed on something else. "I have no record of the lost sector in our systems."
"Ha! Guess even a Hummer can't get good info!" Black Jaw laughed before clamming up when he saw Josephine looking down at him, red eyes piercing his jolly mood. "Oh uh… The lost sector was what happened when Cotton Eye Joe and Scratch fought against some… Thing. They won but that whole area is… messed up thanks to that fight. Like the trees there feel like they're watching you, or some 'orrable mutant lives underneath, waitin' for a boat to eat up. Lost a lotta good friends to that place.”
"I heard the stories of people going missing in the swamps," Ben said after blinking a few times. "Is that the reason why?"
"Who can say? That area is far enough away from here so they may not be the reason for those disappearances, but I know the fishermen are terrified of going to that area. If you want me to do this, I expect this boat to be having racing stripes and extra speed by the time we're done there."
Josephine nods. Black Jaw smiled and rushed to the Captain's cabin to start the boat up. His voice was on the intercom soon afterwards. "This is your Captain speaking; we're leaving Cotton Dock now. Please keep all limbs and non-corporeal beings in the ride at all times."
Josephine sat down beside Ben. Their limbs made the slow whirring and ticking noise, shifting and changing to suit their posture. Josephine turned to stare at Ben with dimly lit red eyes. "Don't worry about the mission, okay?"
"I wasn't. I was calculating how long it would take to complete it. It’s so irritating to be away from the noosphere for this long… It's just quiet."
Josephine kissed Ben on the cheek and cuddled him. "It's okay. We'll be in and out, ten minutes tops."
"According to my estimates and data, we should be there in approximately three days and four hours, seven minutes and ten seconds… now."
They smiled before Ben received another kiss from them. "Nerd."
The thing about a city like La Rue Macabre is that legends and rumors spread like wildfire. When a fishing boat said it would be the first to chart out the whole of La Rue, many laughed at the crew for dreaming big. When they left port however, no one would hear back from them for years. It was not till the Duke of Macabre ventured too far away from the chartered areas that they discovered the remains of the first crew. To this day, the remains are put in a museum for those to learn about why most dare not venture out from the city.
When the remains returned to the city, the sailors and captains began to speculate. Some say that they merely tested the waters too much and paid the price, while others say that an outside force destroyed them to protect the treasures within the swamps. How some say that there is treasure within La Rue was anybody's guess, but with rising reports of alligators the size of a small yacht being talked about within the city limits, some have started to believe in the stories told by drunken sailors and theorists who come out in search of the next big theory.
The Donkey's Ass sailed within the depths of these swamps. The dwarf captain pressed a few buttons and flipped a lever to drop anchor. He climbed down from his cabin and walked into the rest area where his cargo was sitting. Fabricator-Faithful Josephine sat there at the table area while their partner Benjamin was tinkering with their arm. He looked up at Black Jaw, eyes glowing a soft blue as he placed his tools aside and closed Josephine's arm. They looked up, blinking their eyes for a few minutes.
"Oh don't mind me," Black Jaw spoke in his rough tone. "I'm just turning in for the night. I wasn't interrupting anything was I?"
Benjamin sighed before he blinked his eyes and they returned to their natural blue colour. He puts the tools back in a special pouch and places it in his satchel. He grabs his bottle of beer and takes a swig from the bottle.
"You didn't interrupt anything," Benjamin smiled as Josephine's eyes glowed their red eye lenses. "I was only performing a simple maintenance job for them. The swamps don't exactly agree with Josephine's augmentations."
Black Jaw eyed up Josephine for a few seconds before snorting. "I expect my boat to have the highest broadband internet you can make when we get back, its hard to keep in contact with others in the real world, let alone here."
"Hahaha!" Benjamin laughed out loud. He took a few quick breaths to calm himself as he took another swig from the bottle. "I'm afraid its quite hard to do that dwarf. There is no signal out here, otherwise I'd be accessing the noosphere and able to communicate with my friends. Here though… its silent."
Josephine moved the digits on their hand, standing up and looking around. They then looked at Black Jaw and shook their head as they reached into a fridge to grab some kind of can. Josephine opened the can and took a few sips.
Researcher Michael Tomlin did what any normal man would do on a typical day of work: he gets up at 7 AM, brushes his teeth, showers his body, and cleans his teeth. By 8, he'd go downstairs and prepares his breakfast of eggs, bacon, sausages, tomato, and a side of toast, buttered and lightly toasted. His cup of coffee helps him wake up and allows him to leave the house by 0830 at the latest. He would rinse and repeat this process everyday before driving up to his workplace.
Normally a trip like this wouldn't be much hassle. Only the occasional red light and red lights but that was accounted for in Tomlin's journey plans. When he arrives at the gates, he would just flash his security ID and he'd be let through the gates to clock in at 0900 sharp, ready to do his job of being a scientist.
However, the last few weeks had been different. According to the latest security update, a new company had taken over as the new team for the duration of about a year. This alone angered Tomlin, but what angered him more was the fact that they are strict with their security checks. They would wave fancy devices in his face and ask random questions that aren't meant to be asked by them. Like "What did you do last week?" or "Where did you go yesterday?". If George Orwell were alive, he'd have made a whole series on these guys.
He pulled up to the gates as normal and presented his ID to the gates. The guard on duty had his company's logo on the arm. "Security Consultants Properties" can be read on the man's back. Tomlin rolled his eyes. Thanks to these extra security details, he was late for work and is having to force himself to change his whole schedule to suit their needs.
The S.C.P guard gave Tomlin his card back and was allowed to drive through. At the very least, he can now perform his duties of researching the cosmos. He marched into his office and began to sift through the documents when he received a knock on his door.
