Herman Fuller Collaboration Page

The Indestructible Man

Note: I'm aware the components don't look right in the sandbox, but they do look right on the main site.

The Indestructible Man
Not Fire Nor Poison Nor Sword Nor Lash Can Keep This Man In His Grave!		Watch As He Cheats The Grim Reaper Before Your Very Eyes!
Like the Wandering Jew and other vile wretches before him, The Indestructible Man has been barred from the Gates of Heaven for his unspeakable blasphemy, forced to forever walk this Fallen Earth. Watch in amazement as he endures torment after torment in a vain effort to finally shuffle off his mortal coil!
ONE DAY ONLY 7 PM this Friday in Gorky Park. One show, One chance! Come one, come all!

image source: http://www.flickr.com/photos/george_eastman_house/2678307538/in/set-72157606223836462

inspired by: http://www.scp-wiki.net/scp-4680

The following is a page from a publication entitled To the Circus Born: Herman Fuller's Menagerie of Freaks. The identities of neither publisher nor author have been established, and scattered pages have been found inserted into Circus-themed books in libraries across the world. The person or persons behind this dissemination are unknown.

The Indestructible Man

Zoltan wasn't even the first alchemist Fuller consulted about becoming immortal. First one was actually way back in nineteen fifteen or sixteen. See, Fuller decided to take the Circus on a pan-European tour during the first World War. I don't fully recall what his logic was. Anyway, while we were in France, Fuller managed to find an alchemist who could make a proper Philosopher's Stone and was effectively immortal. Guy's name was… not Peter, but some European variation of Peter. I'll call him Peter.

At first, Fuller's all sweet to the guy, offering money he doesn't have and favours he can't do if he makes him immortal. Peter was obstinate though. The last thing he wanted to do was create an immortal tyrant, and would only grant immortality to those he deemed worthy. And Fuller, he wasn't worthy.

As you can imagine, Fuller didn't take that too well.

He had Manny gag and bind the poor sod and we brought him along on tour with us. Every night for a week we heard Peter screaming from the Ringmaster's tent, the kind of screams that make your imagination run wild with fear. I'm ashamed to say none of us tried to help the guy, but that was the understanding back in those days. You didn't expect anyone to risk their necks to save you from Fuller's ire, and they wouldn't expect it of you. As horrible as those screams were, we were all relieved Fuller had someone to whom he could so wholly devote his wrath, leaving all of us in the clear.

But Peter, he never broke, and eventually Fuller got tired of putting in so much work without getting anything out of it. So he decided to make him into an act. Stuck him right in the center of the ring and threw everything he could think of at him. Peter was impaled with fifty swords, burned alive, crushed by elephants, you name it. And this was on a nightly basis. Talk about the worst kind of living forever. All Peter had to do was give Fuller his secret to eternal life, but no matter what he just would not relent. He was one tough son of a gun, I tell you.

But his escape though, that was something. We were set up in Minsk when who should visit our little travelling circus but none other than Rasputin himself. Yeah, the Russian mystic. He apparently was just as interested in Peter's gift of eternal life as Fuller was. He snuck into his tent at night and used some of his voodoo to break his manacles. The two of them tried to creep out all quiet like, but Manny either saw or heard or sensed them and sounded the alarm.

He charged straight for Rasputin but they both froze the second they made eye contact. Rasputin was trying to do some sort of hypnotism on him and Manny, even though I could tell he was fighting back with everything he had, succame to the spell and collapsed to the ground. There were plenty of onlookers at that point, and Rasputin started ranting about his god-given powers and about what he'd do to us if we dared to lay a hand on his sacred shoulders.

Fuller's the only one who feels inclined to put these claims to the test. He sauntered up to Rasputin and then started listing off his own impressive pedigree of anomalous skills, adding that Rasputin 'wouldn't want to get into a dick measuring contest' with him. Rasputin just laughed, and then took his dick out.

It was a foot long. At least. Flaccid.

Then he started stroking it, trying to get it erect, shouting emasculating profanities at Fuller all the while. Fuller was honestly flabbergasted by this, and just stared with this weird look on his face. Like, out of all the weird things the man's seen in his life, this he can't believe. At this point Peter's long gone and Rasputin ran after him, tripped, pulled his pants back up, and resumed running. We spent most of the night searching the city, but we never saw either of them again. Or at least, not in one piece.

If you ever find yourself in Petersburg, do yourself a favour and swing by the Museum of Erotica. It'll be the next best thing to seeing that nightstick of a member alive and wriggling.

305

Halloween Special : Fuller & The Factory Funtime Facility

Note to Beta Readers: This is a short tale series intended for the month of October. Since this is a collab page, feel free to leave feedback, notes and annonations in this tab, but don't change the story itself without explaining why.

 Part I - Industrial Arts

October 17th, 1974

“And the sign flashed out its warning

In the words that it was forming

And the sign said the words of the prophets are written on the subway walls

And tenement halls

And whispered in the sounds of silence.”

Virtuoso bowed his head as he finished Veronica’s request, pausing graciously for her enthusiastic applause. Normally, Virtuoso would only perform songs from actual operas or musicals (on Fuller’s insistence), but for now, it was just the two of them in his sideshow tent. She snuck him sheet music, when she could, of songs that Fuller would never approve of, and he would sing them for her when there was no one else around.

“Your covers are always better than the originals. How do you do that man?” Veronica asked as she took a puff of her reefer. Virtuoso softly hummed All Along the Watch Tower, so she wouldn’t have to speak over him. “Oh, so me and the Clowns came up with a new act for the Big Top. I use my magic to make a life-sized house of cards, which is pretty rad on its own, and then the Clowns start pouring out the front door, sticking their heads out the second story window, popping out the chimney and all that jazz. They’re generally causing chaos, and I act like I’m spazzing out because they’re going to knock the house down, but it stays up until I finally get them all under control. Then Pius sneezes like a kitten, blowing the whole thing over. I chase them around the ring a few times for good measure and then we run off stage. The crowd loves it. I bet you’d love it too.

“You know, if you really wanted, we could probably sneak you in some time. We could put you in some clothes and in a wheelchair, sit you where Herman couldn’t get a good look at you. I’m sure he wouldn’t even -”

They both went silent at the sound of squeaking tires rolling into the tent.

Before them was a tricycle made partially from a blond ragdoll, ridden by an oversized, bedraggled rat. The rodent itself was blind, but the doll head had a mismatched pair of button eyes so shiny they were practically mirrors.

Of course, some mirrors were actually windows, with their reflections hiding whoever might be looking through them.

The rat rider squeaked and pointed at Veronica, gesturing for her to follow it.

“Yes Mr. Fuller,” she nodded obediently, just in case Fuller happened to be looking through the Freewheeler's polished button eyes. “Talk to you later V.”

Virtuoso nodded in farewell, but did not resume singing until both she and the Freewheeler were out of sight.

Veronica followed the grotesque little minion to the Ringmaster’s Tent. There she found Fuller nervously pacing behind his desk, with a bemused looking Manny sitting on the opposite side.

“You sent for me Mr. Fuller?” Veronica asked. Fuller nodded, but was too caught up in his own thoughts to answer. “Am I in trouble?”

“We’re all in trouble Veronica. Real hot water, from a fine kettle of fish! Up to our ears in boiling, smelly fish water, that’s what we’re in!” he replied as he fretfully wrung his hands.

“… What?”

“He’s worried about this,” The Man with the Upside-Down Face replied as he slid her a newspaper, The Weekly Wanderer, a subscription available to anyone with a Library card. The headline read The Factory To Open Industrial Themed Amusement Park Next Friday.

"The organization known only as The Factory, best known for its mass production of anomalous goods as well as holding a monopoly on the anomalous market in certain realities, has announced that the grand opening of its own amusement park, The Factory Funtime Facility, will be held on October 25th. The Factory released the following statement to Library Docents earlier this week:

" 'Since our inception, The Factory has strived to be the purest embodiment of capitalism possible, like Coca-Cola. In the past, this meant maximizing production without any regard to social or environmental consequences. Those days are gone. Today, capitalism is about buying happiness. We want to sell you happiness, like Coca-Cola. Abstract concepts, like happiness, and Coca-Cola, have much lower overhead and higher profit margins than physical goods. Market research has shown that despite not having any clear definition, happiness is the most desirable abstract concept. To tap into this market, The Factory has constructed a special facility: The Factory Funtime Facility, where The Factory will facilitate fun times.

" 'Formerly a disposal site for our industrial waste, we’ve repurposed our obsolete and malfunctioning machinery into a multitude of rides and attractions that our Foremen are certain will induce fight or flight responses in our patron’s sympathetic nervous systems (the closest empirically observable phenomenon that we can equate with ‘fun’). Like Coca-Cola.

" 'In today’s busy world, people can no longer afford to participate in enough fun activities, like Coca-Cola, to reach their desired level of happiness. Luckily, The Factory prizes efficiency above all else, and with 140 years/all eternity of experience, we’ve become extremely efficient at efficiency. We guarantee that The Factory Funtime Facility will be the most efficiently fun experience anyone’s ever had.

" 'So, come on down to The Factory Funtime Facility, located throughout the Multiverse in the Crossroads Nexus (please consult local Wayfinders for your nearest emanation). Admission is one copper shilling or equivalent in human desperation. It’s like Coca-Cola!'

"The Library was unable to obtain any further information from The Factory itself, however, multiple Wanderers have confirmed the presence of an industrial-style amusement park in the Crossroads Nexus. Numerous members of the Serpent’s Hand are organizing boycotts and possibly even a protest of the Funtime Facility, due to The Factory’s history of horrific -”

“Oh, those hippies aren’t going be able to stop The Factory,” Fuller said, snatching the newspaper out of Veronica’s hands. “I can’t believe it. I’ve kept this Circus going for a hundred years. Through wars! Recessions! Persecutions! Social upheavals! The worst bugbears the anomalous world can throw at us! And this is how it ends? Being run out of business by the Factory?”

“Ah, sir, with all due respect, the Funtime Facility doesn’t exactly sound like it would provide an experience anywhere near what we offer,” Veronica countered. “And even if it did, it’s an amusement park. We’re a traveling circus, so there’s no direct competition.”

“None of that matters when we’re talking about The Factory!” Fuller objected. “The Library doesn’t call them the Robber Barons for nothing! They ruthlessly create and maintain a monopoly in whatever market they decide to enter, and now they’re offering anomalous entertainment! They won’t tolerate competition. Best case scenario they drive us out of business, but more likely than not they’ll buy us out.”

“Buy us out?”

“That’s what it will say on the internal report, but I don’t expect any of us will ever see a cent from the deal. They’ll just seize everything and indenture all of us!”

“Most of us are already indentured,” Veronica reminded him. Fuller glared at her coldly, and his Freewheeler squeaked a little closer to her.

“Veronica, do you think I’m cruel?” he asked. The blood drained from her face at the not quite rhetorical question. “Oh, I may be a bit quick to crack out the whip when need be, and I may have killed a score or two of rebellious underlings in pre-emptive self-defence, but that’s all for the good of the Circus Veronica! Surely you see that? This Circus, and the people in it, are everything to me. I’m a philanthropist if anything; feeding, clothing and - most importantly - sheltering Freaks from a world that wants them either detained or decapitated. All I ask in return is for you to put on a decent show to earn your keep. Does that make me such a bad guy?”

“No sir, you’re very generous,” she replied promptly.

“It’s a privilege, if anything. Traveling the worlds, performing for adoring audiences. I know you love performing.”

“I do sir, I love it. I’m very lucky to be here.”

“We all are Veronica, but it seems our luck’s run out. Reggie Wondertainment told me about the Factory once. He used to work there you know, before he escaped. All the unskilled work there is done by humans. They’ll hire outsiders when they’re short on staff, but for the most part, their human workers are born and bred inside The Factory walls. They’re wretched, starving things with ghastly white skin covered in coal black soot, chained to the machines for 16 hours a day, every day.

"They live in constant terror of being mutilated by the machines or punished by the Foremen, but any will to escape or rebel has long been beaten out of them. Sometimes the Factory will modify them with mechatronics or spare parts to make them more efficient at their jobs if they decide it’s cost-effective, but even then they don’t last long.

"And of course, The Factory doesn’t share our libertine, bohemian outlook, oh no. They’d never tolerate a voluptuous little thing like you squandering her childbearing potential by canoodling with other girls. No no no, breeding pits are more their style. Fifteen feet deep, chained to the bottom for good measure. There are two pipes, one for water and one for gruel, both in meagrely allotments, plus a drain in the middle. They inseminate you with seed from the most cowardly obedient workers -"

"Fuller, stop," Manny objected.

" - and have you popping out litters of preemies every eight months like clockwork."

"She gets the idea."

"The pit fills up with them until they’re able to work, unless the mother has the gumption to put them out of their misery first. Course, if she does that, the Foremen will -”

“Goddammit Fuller, that’s enough!” Manny ordered. Fuller finally yielded and leaned back in his chair.

“I’ve made my point,” he said smugly.

“You have sir,” Veronica said softly. “I don’t want our Circus -”

“My Circus.”

“ - to be taken over by the Factory. What should we do?”

“What can we do? Last time The Factory was driven out of a market it took the combined might of the Essie P and a Fey army. We’re doomed. Done for. Kaput!”

Herman jumped from his chair and took a punched at a floor lamp in frustration. It dodged the blow, and successfully knocked him back into his chair.

“It’s not as bad as all that. Wondertainment has been competition for The Factory for generations, and they’re still around,” Manny reminded him. “Listen: incarnation of capitalism or not, The Factory is still a business. Diversification is always risky, and this article makes it pretty damn clear The Factory has no idea how to run an amusement park. We go to their grand opening, incognito of course – don’t go blabbing your name to the first person who asks like you did in Sloth’s Pit – and we do a little Industrial Espionage. If there’s anything we can do to make it more of a nightmare than it’s already going to be, we will. We use the information we gather there to decide what we do next, but whatever we do we make sure everyone knows how awful The Factory Funtime Facility is. After one quarter of hemorrhaging money, they’ll write the whole enterprise off and go back to mass producing monkey paws.”

“Jiminy Christmas Manny, you’re talking about corporate sabotage against The Factory,” Fuller said, dabbing his forehead with a handkerchief. Manny laughed and shook his head.

“I remember back in the old days, you weren’t scared of anything. Whatever happened to the man who stumbled into a Dali painting of a world and convinced the monsters he found there to work for him as Clowns? To the man who stood before the Ambassador of Alagadda and insisted all our meals and accommodations be comped? To the man who once escaped a Geo Sea strike team by shouting ‘Look, a distraction!’?”

“I like Manny’s idea,” Veronica said. “And it’s not like we’re sneaking into The Factory itself. It’s a public amusement park. If we’re smart, no one will even notice us. Even if they do, we’re all magic to varying extents. We can handle ourselves.”

“Argghhh! It’s one thing for the big guy to be on board with this, but I will not have it said that a twenty-something female stage magician dared to go where Herman Fuller dared not,” Fuller said. “Very well then! Let us steel our courage and gather our wits! Let us muster what might we have and march upon those rusty gates! Let us risk imprisonment and torture and death and employment at the Unseelie Tentacles of the Foremen! May the Broken God have mercy on our souls, for Herman Fuller and Co are going to The Factory Funtime Facility!”

…

“It doesn’t open until next Friday,” Veronica reminded him.

“Yes, then, is when we march, is what I meant. So, go find something to do until then.”

| Hub | Act II - Coming October 11th! »

Firstly, credit for the concept of Fuller getting into it with The Factory over an amusement park goes to Baronjoe, who originally proposed it on the Ideas and Brainstorming forum. They're both aware of and approve of this series.

This is going to be a four part Dread & Circuses mini-series, so look out for more entries this month right up until Halloween.

Thanks to all my beta readers for their input, with special thanks to Baron Joe and Peppersghost.

 Part II - Industrial Espionage

It was just a little after midday, not that anyone would know it. The smoke from The Factory Funtime Facility was already so thick it obscured the sun. Though the jagged smokestacks were monstrously high, enough of the fumes still wafted low enough to make breathing uncomfortable. Both Fuller and Veronica held neckerchiefs to their mouths, though Manny refrained from doing so as to avoid drawing attention to the fact that his mouth was on the wrong end of his face.

“I can’t believe this used to be the Crossroads Nexus,” Veronica lamented as she gazed upon the sprawling grid of rusted iron before her.

“Yes, The Factory is extremely efficient at converting things we don’t need, like trees and open spaces, into things we do, like cubicles and phone books,” the ticket booth attendee said, her mouth frozen in a smile that she was too terrified to drop.

“Any discounts for senior citizens, even ones that don’t look it and can’t actually prove it because they burned all their legitimate ID when they went off the grid?” Fuller asked, only for Manny to elbow him in the ribs immediately after.

“Admission is one copper shilling per guest, no exceptions,” the woman replied.

“A shilling is one 66th of a troy pound, correct?” Manny asked as he set three copper coins on the counter. The attendant swept them behind the counter where they landed with a clink, suggesting there was already quite a pile of coins.

“Thank you. You may now enjoy The Factory Funtime Facility,” she said as she handed them three ‘admit one’ tickets printed on heavily yellowed cardstock. “Please be sure to follow the directions of The Factory Funtime Facility’s Funtime Facilitators to ensure your experience is optimally fun.” She gestured to the poster next to her, depicting a humanoid wearing a rusty happy face mask and a leather duster coat with a hood and mantle. The being had a belt which held a number of crude and oddly orthodontic looking metal tools, and carried a stick with a winged hour-glass topper in its three-clawed hand. “Next please!”

“Copper’s not even worth a dollar fifty a pound,” Herman remarked as the trio moved towards the tarnished gate. “They’re barely charging two cents a head.”

“Well, they’re spread out across the multiverse. Maybe they sell it somewhere it’s really rare,” Veronica suggested.

“Or admission fees aren’t actually how this place plans on making a profit,” Manny said. “Don’t let your guards down.”

With the sun blocked out so completely, the only real sources of light were naked gas flames burning out of 10-foot tall street polls. Through the dim haze, only the largest of the Funtime Facility’s attractions were immediately apparent. There was, of course, a roller coaster; a rickety, rusted thing that sagged and groaned as the carts rolled along it. What Veronica had mistaken for a Ferris Wheel on the outside turned out to be an enormous penal treadwheel, with patrons hanging by their arms from bars as they endlessly pushed the steps downwards. It appeared to be the only attraction with electrical lights, and judging by how they flickered it seemed that they were powered by the patrons themselves.

Just next to the Sisyphean Wheel was Mount Tetanus, an enormous pile of sharp, rusty machine parts that patrons were invited to climb.

“Okay, that thing’s clearly just the garbage that was here before they turned this into a theme park,” Veronica remarked. She took out her camera and discreetly took a few photos of each of the dangerously dilapated attractions. “The Factory trying to change their image from Dickens to Disney is more disquieting than anything we’ve got back home.”

“This place isn’t disquieting, it’s just downright dismal!” Fuller remarked confidently. “You can’t just outright torture your workers and swindle your customers and expect to get away with it; you’ve got a put a bit of spit shine on it first! Where are the brightly coloured stalls? The lulling music? The saccharine sweets, the dazzling lights, the honey-voiced barkers more tempting than a whore on the Sabbath?”

“Look at that, they’re even serving gruel,” Manny said with a nod to a nearby stall. The sign above it advertised ‘Sweet, Nourishing Gruel – Funtime Formula (one teaspoon of raw sugar per pot)! The rotten teeth are worth the ephemeral moment of pleasure!'

The being manning the stall was a slender, faceless thing dressed in a bowtie, apron and paper hat, stirring the large pot with one hand.

“Isn’t that one of those things Emcee D uses as lawyers?” Veronica asked.

“Eidolonic Collectives, yeah,” Manny nodded. “The Factory uses one Collective for security, and another one for kitchen work.”

“Kitchen work?”

“You can’t trust humans around food, they’d sneak some,” Manny shrugged.

A costumed mascot, which appeared to be a cartoon hot dog painted black to more closely resemble a smokestack, wearily danced in front of them. It shuffled back and forth without any real enthusiasm, began to stumble, and then collapsed on the ground.

“Bleedin’ ’ell, not another one!” a Funtime Facilitator cursed as it ran to the mascot and undid the back zipper, pulling out a severely dehydrated man with a face covered in vomit. “These lazy sods think just because they’re off the assembly line it means they can slack off. If you can work sixteen hours in the boiler room, then you can work sixteen hours in a mascot costume! Number 416, you’re up!”

Another half-starved looking man ran up and crawled into the smokestack suit. As soon as he was zipped up, he started dancing for the crowds.

“Did you get a picture of that?” Manny whispered to Veronica, who nodded in the affirmative.

“I’m surprised at how many people there are here. Why would anyone stick around such a smog saturated death trap?” she asked.

“It’s a big Multiverse Veronica. Somewhere out there there’s a peaceful, pristine Arcadia of a world that consider pollution and industrial working hazards exotic and will pay to see them!” Fuller claimed. “Trust me, when you’re a Wanderer you can always find a demographic for whatever you’re selling.”

Squinting through the haze, Fuller spotted what looked like an administrative building on the far side of the park. Standing in an office window on the top floor was a silhouetted figure that Fuller couldn’t help but find eerily familiar.

“I think we should split up for a bit. You two keep looking around, I’m going to see if I can find someone I might be able to milk some info out of,” he said.

“Boss, are you sure that’s a good idea?” Manny asked. “Asking questions is likely to get us noticed by someone.”

“Don’t worry your pretty little upside-down head about it. If anything goes squirrely, I always got an ace up my sleeve,” Fuller replied as he marched confidently into the smog.

“Lead Balloons! Complimentary Lead Balloons! Air not included!” a Facilitator hollered as it threw limp bags of lead foil at Veronica and Manny. “Stop standing around! Standing isn’t fun! Go on a ride or something, I don’t know.”

“Um… which one would you recommend?” Veronica asked.

“Oh, bloody hell. How about you tag along with me as I do my rounds and I’ll point them out to you?” the Facilitator offered.

“That’s very kind of you,” Veronica curtseyed. “I’m Vanessa by the way, and this is Barnabus. What’s your name?”

“Dr. Hasselflax,” the Facilitator replied.

“You’re a doctor?”

“As long as you count the degrees The Factory gives out. This way.” It turned to walk down the midway, hurling balloons at passersby. “Lead Balloons! Sweet as sugar, so they’re great for kids! Use them in wine, cosmetics, plumbing, paint, gasoline; anything your kids are going to be licking!”

“You know, one of these days you just might accidentally guess my real name and unleash all kinds of hell,” the Man with the Upside-Down Face whispered to Veronica. “Also, Vanessa?”

“I’ve been mistakenly called Vanessa before, so I at least look like a Vanessa,” Veronica whispered back.

“Alright, here’s a ride for you; the Iron Labyrinth, only three-dimensional maze in, ah, I don’t actually know, but they’re not common!” Hasselflax said. They stood before what looked to be a vaguely MC Escher array of industrial staircases welded together at odd angles, with panicked patrons running along them with little regard to gravity.

“Please, let us out! It’s been hours, we can’t find the exit!” a patron on the inside pleaded.

“I can’t let you out, it’s a maze you idiot!” Hasselflax retorted, banging the stairs with one of the surgical implements from its belt. “It’s no fun if you don’t solve it yourself, so have fun! Fun, fun, fun!

“Okay, looks like I can’t let you in here, otherwise these cheaters might get out. You could try climbing the Corporate Ladder. That’s similar.”

The ride it pointed at was just a series of ladders, but the rungs all appeared to be booby-trapped. Some were red hot, others frozen. Some were covered in rusty razor wire while others were electrified. A few rungs appeared normal, and it was those ones that the climbers trusted the least.

“It has a glass ceiling,” Veronica remarked.

“That’s right, even if you break through you’ll be impaled by countless shards. It’s highly realistic,” Hasseflax replied. “If that’s a little too intense for you there’s also the Chimney Sweep. We take you up to the top of the smokestack and let you bungee jump down inside it. We don’t pull you back up though until you got the whole thing sparkling. You can also jump from the top of the smokestack into the Suicide Nets, which are just the nets we use to catch jumpers at The Factory. Standard practice really.”

“Okay, now you’re just getting cartoonishly villainous,” Manny remarked. “What do you got that keeps our feet on the ground?”

“There are paddle boats, out on Lake Refuse,” Hasselflax said, pointing to a pond of rust-red water with copious amounts of garbage floating about. Several steel swan boats were drifting upon the pond, but all their passengers appeared to have passed out from the fumes. “Then of course HR is a madhouse all on its own, you know what I’m talking about?”

Before Veronica or Manny could respond, Hasselflax’s walkie-talkie crackled to life.

“This is a memo to all Factory Funtime Facility Funtime Facilitators: The Factory Farm exhibit is closed until further notice. Several guests, apparently considering the livestock’s living conditions to be inhumane, attempted to free them. The loss of potential return customers is regrettable, however, the accountants have calculated that this is, in fact, a net gain, as the pigs will not require a feeding this week. That is all.”

“Well did the accountants calculate the net cost of using these damn walkies instead of earpieces?” Hasselflax muttered with a shake of its head. “Look folks, I’ll level with you. The safest ride is the Assembly Line. You just sit on a conveyor belt and watch the show.”

“Thank you,” Veronica curtseyed again, grabbing Manny by the hand and leading him towards the indicated ride. “Manny, can you see Inside these Facilitator guys? What are they?”

“I’m not sure. I can tell they’re not a hivemind, so they’re not Eidolonics. They’re definitely not human, but they’re not fey either. Honestly, the closest I’ve ever felt to them are the natives of Alagadda, but that’s all I can say for sure.”

The two of them were quickly admitted into the Assembly Line. It seemed ordinary enough at first: just a series of carts moved around by a conveyor belt. Once their harnesses were in place, they were rolled inside the derelict building.

The interior looked like it had been a packaging warehouse of some kind in the past, and the mechatronic robots that once lined the conveyor belt had been crudely and cheaply modified into grotesque animatronics. They were elongated and mangled and randomly jolted to and fro, each movement causing a fiery display of sparks that cast monstrous shadows upon the walls. They flailed to the tune of a rhythmic beat that was almost music, while a pre-recorded monotone recited the same seven words over and over again:

“A Hard Worker Is A Happy Worker.”

“The happiest extradimensional place on all iterations of Earth,” Veronica smirked. “Hey, isn’t Disney on the Council of 108? How do you think they’re taking this?”

“It just, it doesn’t make any sense,” Manny said, half to Veronica and half to himself. “The Factory never lets anyone in to keep their trade secrets and working conditions under wraps. They’re like an evil version of Willy Wonka. Why would they open an amusement park to the public, especially one that’s so cheap it’s basically free? What are they getting out of this?”

“Yeah, it could be some evil eldritch plot, or it could just be a bad business venture on their part. They’re both equally common,” Veronica said nonchalantly, snapping a photo of one of the flailing robots. To her surprise, the flash was met by an inhuman but also very unrobotic screeching, and multiple pairs of shining amber eyes began pouring out of the shadows.

“Gremlins; they do the Factory’s mechatronics work,” Manny said.

"Okay, I'm really starting to wonder why you know so much about the Factory," Veronica replied. One of the impish creatures scuttled up to the cart and grabbed at her camera. “Let go of that you gross little Flibbertigibbet!” she shouted as she kicked it with her high heeled boot. The gremlin still wouldn’t let go, so Manny socked it in the face.

This did knock it off the cart, but had the unfortunate side effect of enraging all the other gremlins. Shrieking and howling, they stormed the cart all at once. Veronica pocketed her camera and pulled out her trick cards. The black-backed cards levitated in a purple aura, and she tossed them one at a time at each of their half-sized assailants, knocking them back with anomalous force. One of them quickly got around behind her and put her in a chokehold. Manny struggled to get close enough to help her, but several of them had swarmed him and were keeping him pinned down. He managed to get a fist free and began punching them mercilessly. In his fury, his hat was knocked off his head, and all the gremlins suddenly relented, gasping in shock.

“It’s him! It’s the Man with the Upside-Down Face! But that means…” the gremlin grabbed Veronica by her coat and pulled her towards him. “Where’s the Ringmaster? Where’s Fuller?”

---

The receptionist at the Funtime Facility’s administration offices looked up as a man in a red velvet frock coat, top hat, and diamond-topped mahogany cane sauntered into the waiting room.

“Can I help you, sir?”

“Yes, I’d like to have a word with the man in charge around here.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“A man of my standing doesn’t require an appointment.”

“And you are?”

“Herman P. Fuller, of Herman Fuller’s Circus of the Disquieting, delighted to make your acquaintance!” Fuller said reflexively. “Shoot, I was supposed to be incognito.”

“Of course, Mr. Fuller, my apologies. You’re right, you don’t require an appointment. That elevator right there will take you straight to Management’s Office. Just press the top button.”

“Much obliged, mon cher,” Herman nodded. He waltzed into the waiting elevator and pushed the top button with his cane. As the elevator rose with an unexpected ease, Fuller’s eyes drifted towards the name beside the glowing button he had just pressed.

FACILITY MANAGER – ALOYSIUS FULLER

“Oh, crap on a corndog.”

« Part I | Hub | Part III - Coming October 21st! »

 Part III - Industrial Sabotage

The elevator came to a gentle stop, its doors sliding open with a pleasant chime. The room it opened to wasn’t so much an office as a control center. Banks of bronze, mechatronic computers lined each wall, with several Funtime Facilitators manning the controls. At the end of the room, in front of the gothic bay window, was a regal looking desk, and at that desk sat a regal looking man.

He was pale, in late middle-age, and had slicked back red hair under a crimson top hat that matched his eyes. He was dressed in an ornate, Victorian-era suit as timeless as The Factory itself. He sat back in his leather chair expectantly, a smugly satisfied smile creeping across his face.

“Squirmin’ Herman,” he chuckled as Fuller stepped into the office.

“Vicious Aloysius,” he replied as stoically as he could manage, idly looking around the room as one might at any other business meeting. “I was expecting one of the Factory’s Foremen to be in charge. Did they roll out some kind of human affirmative action programme to go with this whole Disneyfication process?”

“Still as irreverent as ever, I see,” Aloysius smiled. He reached for a decanter on the far side of his desk and began unscrewing the lid. “Care for some concentrated miasma? Darke sent it as a gift to one of the Foremen, which got him a bit out of sorts since his kind consider gifts a form of socialism. Fortunately, me buying it off him set everything right.”

“That sounds like Percy alright; you never know for sure if he likes you or if he’s just messing with you,” Fuller said as picked up and examined the crystal glass. “Kind of you to offer, but I can’t stomach that stuff.”

“Oh, of course not. No mere mortal can. What was I thinking?” Aloysius sneered as he sipped and sniffed the nebulous fluid. Fuller's eye twitched a bit at the insult, but he maintained his composure. “Oh, I’m being too hard on you again, aren’t I? You are still alive after all this time. How did a bastard, half-breed like yourself manage that?”

“Oh, this and that,” Herman said, dusting some lint off his shoulder. “I’d ask the same of you, but that’s hardly a wonder. You being a proper Sarkic and all.”

Aloysius slammed his glass onto his desk, shattering it.

“You dare, you dare utter that filthy clockwork slur? You’re a Black Blood Fuller!”

“No, I’m not. You always made that very clear to me.”

Aloysius sighed and swept the shattered glass onto the floor with a swift swipe of his arm.

“Regardless of your impure pedigree, Adytite blood does flow in your veins. Had you not been so easily distracted by the petty sorcery of heathens and dedicated yourself to our faith, you could have been a decent Flesh Carver.”

“You were going to turn me into a Kiraak. Even if I never did truly master the Flesh Carving, I’ve always understood the core tenants of Nälkä: the individual is to acquire power until they are a god, and must not allow any mortal notions of morality hold them back. I tossed my own kin into a wood chipper to save my own skin, and you would have done the same.”

“I would have betrayed my family, yes, but not by allying myself with clockwork fanatics. You see, the reason I’m not mad at you is that you didn’t actually kill us. You’re a weakling who found someone stronger that happened to have a reason to do your own dirty work. You got lucky."

Aloysius winced suddenly, as if an old wound had spotaneously acted up.

“You know, it takes a lot to kill a Black Blood. The Broken bastards used some kind of Greek fire that we just could not put out. It’s the same stuff they used to cull the Red Death, I think. The more we healed, the more fuel we gave it and the more it burned. I was burning to death for so long I thought I might actually be in Hell. When my strength was finally drained and body reduced to a blackened corpse, the tickers sliced the White Worm out of me with those accursed blades of theirs, and let the fire finish the job.”

“Yet here you are.”

“Yet here I am. Like I said, hard to kill. Or at least kill and stay dead.”

“And Ma? Lucretia? Did they ‘stay dead’?”

“And why do you care? You wouldn’t be feeling guilty for what you did, now would you?”

“Of course not. I just need to know who else I need to add to my enemies list.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. We’re family, and family stays together,” Aloysius said, smiling widely to reveal the pair of wriggling syphons he had grown on the inside of his mouth. “I even tried to find you, after I recovered, but you had already left our native Plane through the Library, and I wasn’t about to track you down across all the worlds. I just assumed you were dead, long since devoured by one of the many horrors that abide across the cosmos. I can’t tell you how delighted I was when I first heard the words ‘Herman Fuller’s Circus of the Disquieting’. If you were a full Black Blood such a vulgar enterprise would be a disgrace, but considering your disadvantages I dare say you’ve done quite well for yourself.”

“And working as a facility manager isn’t a disgrace for a Black Blood? You’re a salaryman Aloysius, working the nine-to-five grind for a pension and dental. I’m just kidding, we both know The Factory doesn’t do benefits.”

“Don’t play dumb Squirmin’, no matter how well the part suits you. You know I’m not doing this for a paycheck.”

“What then?”

“Have you ever heard of an anomalous ailment called Iron Lung? It’s especially prevalent among mortals who work in The Factory. The iron in their blood is transmuted into alchemical rust, as all metal The Factory touches must corrode. In addition to causing anemia, the rust tends to accumulate in places and obstruct organ function, most prominently in the lungs. The infected then coughs up the rust, and if enough of that is inhaled by someone else then it can work as a seed metal for transmutation in their blood, infecting them and spreading the disease even further until the lungs are so heavily rusted the victim can’t breathe at all. It’s a truly pernicious disease too. Since it’s not a traditional pathogen, normal immune responses and medical treatments have little effect.

“I found all this quite fascinating when I was contracted by The Factory to find a way to mitigate the effects of the disease and improve the productivity of the workforce. But as a practitioner of Nälkä, I could not condone the idea of mitigating any disease. Disease is sacred, culling the weak from the herd and ensuring only the strongest survive. But the Iron Lung was even more remarkable, and that it spread the very essence of The Factory as plague, and the worlds had only been spared its miraculous powers due to The Factory's incidental quarantine of its own workforce.

“It was then that I proposed to them the idea of an attraction, where people would come from all over the worlds and unknowingly become infected with the Iron Lung from the smog-filled air. It would incubate for months, years even as thousands or even millions of Wanderers unknowingly spread the Iron Lung across all reality, growing exponentially until not a single Plane is untainted by the rust, with The Factory’s profits growing right along with it. They’re paying me handsomely, sure, but the real reason I’m doing this is for the chance to shepherd such an extraordinary disease and disseminate it across such a vast distance. To have such an iconoclastic impact over so many worlds, it’s truly godlike. I may be the most godlike Adytite since Ion himself.”

“I’m afraid there’s a small flaw in your evil scheme there Al; your park stinks.”

“Yes, well, The Factory refused to give me as much creative control over the project as I would have liked. They insisted on their own rather peculiar ideas of entertainment. Still, it’s a minor setback, and one I may now have the chance to mend. Herman, how would you like to come on board as a Funtime Consultant?”

“Surely you jest.”

“I’m completely serious. You’ve kept that Circus of yours afloat for a hundred years now. That’s the kind of experience the Factory will listen too. With your help, we can turn this park into a place that will consistently draw in the crowds and churn out the Typhoid Marys. Imagine what you can do with the resources of The Factory at your disposal.”

Fuller only laughed, shaking his head in disdain.

“Aloysius, neither The Factory - nor its resources - are at anyone’s disposal. The Factory exploits everyone and everything it comes into contact with. Did you bother to read the contract they made you sign when you joined this little enterprise?”

“Why would I? The laws of men have no -”

“We’re not talking about the laws of men, we’re talking about The Factory! When you signed your contract you gave them your name! Your name Aloysius! Do you know what The Factory can do to someone once they have their name! You’re a slave no matter how much they pay you because you can never leave. No one ever lives to the end of their contract, and you’re a damnable fool if you think your Sarkic blood magic is going to protect you.”

Aloysius sighed, and pressed a button on his desk.

“I gave you the chance to join willingly. You should have taken it. It would have been a lot easier on everyone. The Factory wants a Funtime Consultant, and they don’t take no for an answer.” The side door to the office opened, and half a dozen faceless Eidolons dressed in tactical garb filed into the room. “Take him to processing, put him through Executive Reorientation. Tell the rest of your team that The Man With The Upside-Down Face is likely on the premises, mind he doesn’t get inside your heads. Oh, and I’ve heard that there’s a girl who's been tagging along with them lately as well. If you find her, bring her directly to me.”

The six Eidolons circled around Fuller, one of them holding a pair of rusted manacles while the others held their cattle prods at the ready. Fuller twirled his cane indifferently at their approach.

“Isn’t it just like The Factory to hire an Eidolonic Collective?” he mused. “They seem like every industrialist’s dream workforce; they never talk, they never sleep, they never eat or go to the bathroom and are utterly devoid of any hint of individuality. They do, however, have one less than obvious flaw: they’re under an industrial amount of pressure!”

Fuller hurled his cane so quickly they were helpless to react, the sharped end piercing through the nearest one’s cheap armour and puncturing its body. Immediately, the pressurized content of its moulded form exploded violently, showering the office with malodorous, bubbling, yellow pus.

“Oh god, it’s warm too. I, I didn’t know it would be warm. God, that’s almost the worst of it, I mean -”

“Grab him!” Aloysius ordered. The remaining Eidolons attempted to close in on Fuller but ended up slipping on the splattered viscera of their slain fellow.

“No non-slip shoes I see? The Factory’s lack of commitment to worker safety shall be their downfall!” Fuller shouted as he snatched up his cane and then stabbed it into another one of the humanoid abominations. It too rapidly exploded, covering the room in a second coating of the living, pulsing goo. A third charged at Fuller, electricity arcing between the prongs of its cattle prod, but it slipped and went crashing into the others, knocking them down like a trio of bowling pins. Fuller seized this opportunity immediately, picking up the cattle prod of one of the exploded Eidolons and thrusting it into the pile of flailing, pus-covered limbs. They convulsed in unison, and one after the other they exploded until the immediate area was ankle deep in their remains.

Aloysius sat behind his desk still, and shook his head shamefully.

“Look at the mess you’ve made,” he lamented. “Not to mention their poor Overmind losing six of its nodes like that.”

Fuller wiped the jaundice coloured filth from his eyes and spat it out upon the floor.

“How am I supposed to explain this to my dry cleaner?” he mused aloud. He made a few playful parries with his cane and held it out defensively. “Well, any more goons for me to paint your office with?”

“No sense in wasting them, now is there? I’ll bring you in myself.”

Aloysius rose from his desk at last, and Fuller could see that he had no legs. Instead, he was supported by a skirt of thousands of segmented tendrils hanging out from his abdomen. They stretched so that he towered over the desk, and his lower jaw unhinged to allow the full extension of his feeding syphons. A second pair of seven-fingered, seven-jointed and seven-foot-long arms unfolded themselves from beneath his coat. His pupils shifted to an inverted Y shape, his corneas went black, and he removed his top hat to unveil a decorative set of antlers made from red coral.

“Wow. Talk about overkill. Honestly, who do you think you’re impressing with such conspicuous body modification?”

“Ah, Herman. I do hope you manage to retain your sass through your Reorientation,” Aloysius said as he reached for him, his voice enunciating perfectly from his larynx despite the fact that his lower jaw was immobilized. Fuller reached into his coat and pulled out a bulky, shiny ray-gun covered in pointless blinking lights and a spinning ‘W’ on the top. “What is that?”

“Doctor Wondertainment’s Hyper Fun Sun Gun, Tee Emm!” Fuller boasted. “One of only seven prototypes handmade by Reginald Philbert Lionel Archibald Westinghouse Wondertainment the third himself! Never entered production due do -”

“Playtime’s over, little brother!” Aloysius said as he grabbed for the gun. He knocked it out of his hand, but not before Fuller pulled the trigger. A pulsating beam of intense white light scorched Aloysius across the stomach. Aloysius recoiled in pain, but initially seemed to be unscathed. “You haven’t changed one bit, have you Squirmin’? Still turning to heathen magic to save your own skin. But you can’t cheat the natural order. Sooner or later, the Strong will cull the Weak and -”

He stopped abruptly when he saw that his shirt was still being soaked with blood.

“I… I can’t stop bleeding. This isn’t possible. Why can’t I heal a simple gunshot wound? I’m a Karcist!”

“No, you’re not,” Fuller said as he picked up the ray-gun. “You’ve been here too long. You’re as much as part of The Factory as anyone else here. That’s why I brought this with me. You see, the reason The Factory has never been able to destroy Wondertainment is that their very essences are mutually antagonistic. Think of it this way: The Factory is capitalism as defined by communists, whereas Wondertainment is capitalism as defined by capitalists. The Factory is all smog and rust and work, and Wondertainment is all sunshine and chrome and fun. Even when he was working here, you couldn’t stop him. He took your rusted metal and made a rustproof robot! If you were still a regular Sarkic abomination and this some common sci-fi laser weapon, you’d be perfectly fine right now. But you’re just a Factory tool, which is no match for a Wondertainment toy.”

Aloysius collapsed to the ground, coughing up blood.

“You, you really do love the sound of your own voice, don’t you?” he laughed.

“Yes, and you’re interrupting. It didn’t have to be this way, you know? If you weren’t so dogmatically committed to your ridiculous old religion, you might have realized that a lot of heathen magic is pretty useful, especially the Wonder-Maker’s. Easier to manage than a White Worm, at least. Hey, while I have you here, is it true you can’t swallow an Akuloth? Because a few years ago this hick from Sloth’s Pit -”

“Just kill me already!”

Fuller smirked softly and pointed the gun at his head.

“Only if you promise to stay dead this time, brother.”

He pulled the trigger, and that was that.

He turned to face the Funtime Facilitators at the control center, all of whom were watching with rapt interest. Fuller pointed the gun straight at them.

“Any of you want to make this fun time even better?”

They immediately abandoned their posts and ran for the elevator, slamming the door shut behind them.

“Taking the elevator, in a life and death situation? The Factory really doesn’t bother with basic safety procedures, does it?”

Herman holstered his gun and pranced over to the controls, rubbing his hands together in delight.

“All right then. Time for a few Industrial Accidents.”

« Part II | Hub | Part IV - Coming Halloween! »

 Finale - Industrial Accidents

Veronica stared in wide-eyed terror at the gremlin mere inches in front of her, its reeking yellow fangs bared in a menacing display, ready to bite her face off in an instant if it was displeased.

“I, I don’t know where Fuller is,” she lied. “He sent us here alone, he could be anywhere in the Multiverse right now.”

Before the gremlin could accuse her of lying, the Funtime Facility’s PA system crackled to life.

“Hello? Hello? Is this thing on?” asked a voiced that both Veronica and Manny were disquietingly familiar with. “Greetings, patrons of The Factory Funtime Facility. I’m here on behalf of the United State’s Federal Bureau of Investigation’s Unusual Incidents Unit - health and safety division. In what should come as a surprise to no one, this theme park has failed its health and safety inspection. Most alarming is the high concentrations of alchemical rust in the air, a known risk factor in the development of Iron Lung. I recommend you all consult an alchemist about treatment options as soon as possible.

“I’m afraid this park is too much of a public safety hazard to remain open, so I’m going to have to insist you all evacuate in a calm and orderly manner whilst I blow this haphazardous heap of scrap iron to Kingdom Come.”

A cacophony of screeching gears, exploding boilers and terrified screams rang through the air, shaking the ground and buildings of the Funtime Facility like a small earthquake. The mechatronic arms of the Assembly Line ceased their odd dance and instead turned on each other, thrashing and bashing one another with unchecked ferocity, sending sparks and chunks flying in all directions.
The gremlins abandoned their two victims and fled off into the shadows, their arms raised over their heads in a desperate attempt to shield themselves from the flying debris. Veronica and Manny leapt off the cart, and with Manny placing himself between her and the malfunctioning mechatronics as protection, they ran out as quickly as they could.

The scene the greeted them outside was not one of safety, however. The roller coaster had been pushed beyond its limits so that its track gave way and the train of cars sent crashing to the ground. The Sisyphean Wheel had come off its axel and now rolled through the fairgrounds, sending patrons fleeing in panic and crushing everything in its path. Most troubling of all was the Smokestack, which now belched out fire instead of smog, and produced a deep rumbling that signalled imminent catastrophe.

“Everyone, please, remain calm!” Hasselflax shouted as it frantically tried to undo the pandemonium that had erupted. “It’s just all part of the fun!”

“Manny, the gates,” Veronica said, pointing towards the entrance. The gates had been closed, and numerous Eidolonic security guards were now at work beating back the mob. “They’re not letting anyone out.”

“Afraid of bad press, I imagine. There aren’t that many guards, you and I can force our way past them. Come on.”

They weren’t able to make it more than a few steps before Hasselfax ran ahead of them to hold them back.

“Whoa whoa whoa, where are you two going? You only just got here. Don’t you want to go on some more rides? Eat some gruel? Ah, did I give you a lead balloon yet?”

“Out of our way,” Manny ordered.

“No, you have to stay. This is just a minor technical hiccup,” Hasselflax insisted. Behind him a monstrously fat pig broke through the wall of The Factory Farm exhibit, its massive bulk supported on a pair of stubby legs that would have been cute if they didn’t look so agonizingly painful. Struggling to stand on cracked and bleeding hooves, the pig charged forward and scooped up a fleeing gremlin into its jaws, chomping down on it with enough force to squash it in one bite. “See, now the livestock is free range. We listen to your concerns, we’re very socially conscious.”

Hasselflax whipped out its walkie-talkie and raised it to its mouth.

“What the hell is Aloysius doing?” it asked. “Hello, anyone?”

Manny tried to push past Hasselflax again, but the Funtime Facilitator pushed back with surprising force and pulled out a cattle prod.

“I said you’re not going anywhere!” it screamed. “You don’t know what the Foremen’ll do to us if this fails! You have to stay! You have to have fun!”

Manny punched the Facilitator in the face, knocking off its mask.

What they saw beneath chilled them both to the bone.

Instead of a face, there was a hole cut into the front of the Facilitator’s saggy grey head. The word hole didn’t do it justice though, since the inside of the skull was nowhere to be seen. It was instead a void, of unknown but certainly impossible dimensions. Air could be seen flowing to the void’s edges and sinking inwards, as if cooled and condensed by the being’s frigid skin and then drawn down into the vacuous cavern by its sheer density. Without the mask to dampen it, the sound of faint, echoing wind could be heard within the cavity, and the hollow darkness of the void was deep enough that it stood out even in the dark and smog filled environs of the fairground. Though the void seemed empty, Manny and Veronica’s gazes remained transfixed upon it, as if they were staring at something.

And then, somewhere deep within that abyss, something stared back at them.

Thinking them paralyzed, Hasselflax moved in for the kill. Before it could touch them Manny sprung back to life and in an instant seized both of Hasseflax’s wrists in a vice-like grip.

“Veronica, get to the gate now! I’ll catch up!” Manny shouted. Veronica, too terrified to argue, did as he said. With her safely out of the way, Manny smirked as he leaned in towards Hasselflax. “Now it’s your turn to see what’s behind my face.”

Veronica didn’t turn back, not even at the sound of Hasselflax’s blood-curdling screams. Ahead of her the Eidolonic security guards had successfully barricaded the main gate and were holding the crowd at bay. There was no way for her to get to the guards through the crowd, so she’d have to go over it. Taking out her deck of trick cards, she cast all the numbered cards to the ground in a six by six grid. The grid became enveloped in a shared blue aura that allowed her to levitate them as one, even with her standing upon it. She rose to about twelve feet off the ground, immediately attracting the attention of the guards. As they fumbled to switch their cattle prods for their guns, she sent a pair of Wild Jokers careening their way. The cards tumbled through the air at a rapid velocity, decapitating the guards and showering the crowd in their pressurized yellow innards.

A Facilitator threw a tin can of gruel at Veronica’s head, striking her with enough force to knock her off of her levitating platform. Laying on the soot-covered ground, clutching her head in pain, she looked up to see several rusted smiley faces all staring down at her.

“Bloody hell, do you think those things grow on trees?” one of them demanded, gesturing to the fallen Eidolonic guards. “Box her up so she can’t cause any more trouble, and we’ll deal with her once things have settled down.”

Two of the Facilitators grabbed her by the arms before she could summon her cards. She kicked and struggled as they lifted her up, only to drop her as they were struck down with blasts of white light, their coats and masks falling to the ground in smouldering heaps. She looked up in bewilderment, only to see Fuller standing there with his Wondertainment Hyper Fun Sun Gun^TM.

“Fuller. You, you saved – you’re covered in yellow shit,” she said.

“Looks like there’s a lot of that going around,” he said with a smirk, nodding to the remains of the guards Veronica had killed. “Nice work.”

A pair of strong hands grabbed Fuller from behind and spun him around so that he was face to upside-down face with Manny.

“What did you do?” The Man With The Upside-Down Face demanded.

“Well, from a purely technical perspective I’m not quite sure. I mostly just fiddled with buttons until all the warning dials moved into the red,” he replied.

Manny snarled at him, but kept his temper in check when he saw the mob still trying to push through the locked gates.

“Veronica, use your cards to cut through the lock chains,” he said. She nodded and engulfed one of her cards in a sharp red aura, pulling it backwards in anticipation of the throw.

“Be still,” ordered a silky yet guttural voice that reverberated through the fairgrounds. Veronica froze, her card still in her hand, as did Fuller and Manny and all the other patrons. “Behold.”

At the voice’s behest, they all turned to see the being it belonged to. There, shrouded in the thick smog, was a Factory Foreman.

It was hard to say how big it was, as its unfamiliar form and shrouded surroundings made it difficult to judge distance. Its torso was humanoid, albeit with a hunched back and a curved spine. Instead of legs, it had a long, serpentine tale it slithered along the ground on, and instead of arms, it had two long tentacles. Its head was mounted on a long, twisted neck and its small eyes were set back in two, deep, black sockets. Most unsettling of all, its form was covered in numerous small, dark, semi-humanoid creatures like parasites, their rust-red eyes glowing furiously in the darkness.

Herman raised his gun to fire at the creature, or host of creatures, but found himself unable to fire when it held up its tentacle in a clear gesture to stop.

“We apologize for the disruption,” the Foreman hissed, all its mouths moving in perfect unison while the singular voice seemed to come from none of them. “You shall be compensated with employment opportunities. Report to the administrative center for interviews, assessments, reorientation, and complementary septic buckets.”

They all stood still, simultaneously terrified of the consequences of obedience and disobedience. The Foreman roared at them to urge them to action, but its cry was drowned out by the eruption of the smokestack behind it. Molten slag began raining down on the fairground like lava from a volcano, with a glob of it striking the Foreman, the incandescently hot metal knocking it to the ground.

This was enough to break The Foreman’s hold over the crowd. Veronica spun around and threw her card, slicing through the chains that held the gates shut. The mob immediately pushed the gates open and stampeded out of the Funtime Facility as quickly as they were able.

“Don’t forget to get your hand stamped for re-entry,” the booth attendant said, weeping despite her indelible smile.

The injured Foreman slithered after the escaping horde, pulling itself out past the gate with the aid of its remaining tentacle. It was not the third of its body that it had lost to the burning metal rain that stopped it though, but the fresh air that lay beyond the bounds of its domain. It couldn’t risk it in its weakened state, so with a bitter snarl it reluctantly retreated back to the suffocating heat, darkness and smog that was The Factory Funtime Facility.

---

In the Ringmaster’s tent, Herman Fuller leaned back in his chair with his feet upon his desk, puffing on a cigar in smug satisfaction. Across from him, The Man With The Upside-Down Face sat with his arms folded across his chest, decidedly less pleased with how the course of events had played out.

“I’m back,” Veronica announced as she entered the tent, holding a copy of the Weekly Wanderer in one hand and a six pack of Doctor Wondertainment’s Causta Cola^TM in the other. “Are you sure this stuff is all we need to get that damn rust out of systems?”

“Positive,” Fuller said as he opened a bottle and, in an uncharacteristic display of gentlemanly behaviour, handed it to Veronica. “Reggie uses it himself to keep his own Iron Lung in check. This stuff would strip even ordinary rust from nails, and if you look closely you can see a little bit of the Wonderlight in each bubble. More than enough to get rid of a little Factory Rust.”

Veronica took a deep swig of the cola, then unfolded the newspaper to read the headline.

“ ‘Factory Funtime Facility Fails Fantastically’,” she read. “ ‘After only a few hours of operation, The Funtime Facility’s attractions suffered a series of disastrous malfunctions, necessitating the park’s immediate evacuation. The Facility is now completely abandoned and mostly buried under an enormous amount of iron slag which appears to have come from a foundry explosion. The Factory itself has since issued a statement claiming that the amusement park was an unlicensed knockoff out to profit off their good reputation and that they would never stoop to something as unproductive as entertainment. Witness reports suggest a UIU agent may have been involved in the Funtime Facility’s destruction, but this remains unconfirmed at this time’.

“Yadda yadda yadda, there’s no mention of us in here.”

“Marvellous,” Fuller smiled.

“Marvellous? Do you seriously believe The Factory doesn’t know it was you who blew up their theme park?” Manny demanded. “How many people knew who you were?”

“Let’s see; there was the receptionist at the administration building, a few Facilitators in the control room, Aloysius, and the Overmind of the Eidolonics I killed,” Herman replied. “Aloysius is dead, the receptionist and facilitators are most likely either dead or took their chance to flee The Factory so aren’t talking either way, and Eidolonic collectives are notoriously bad communicators. I don’t think The Factory knows it was me, not for sure anyway, and even if they do they won’t care,”

“They won’t care?”

“You heard Veronica, they’re denying the Facility was theirs in the first place. They are no longer in the business of anomalous entertainment, which means we are no longer competitors, so they have no reason to come after us. Revenge is not in their M.O. There’s no profit in it.”

“What about sending a message to anyone else who might try to destroy their holdings. Is that profitable?”

“To do that they’d have to publically acknowledge I destroyed the Facility in the first place, and they clearly decided that’s a bad move. They’ve disowned themselves from the whole enterprise and are eager to move on. I applaud their media savviness.”

“You don’t even want to add them to your list of enemies?” Veronica asked.

“Not even tempted. All’s well with The Factory,” he nodded.

Manny shook his head in disdain, but clearly didn’t have any retort that he thought Herman would listen too.

“Well, I’ll give you this old man; you’ve got more nerve left than I had thought,” he said.

“And don’t you forget it,” Fuller said with a waggle of his finger. “Whilst we’re on the subject of forgetting, remind me to thank Wondertainment for the Hyper Fun Sun Gun tee em next time we see him. That thing really saved my caboose back there.”

“Ah-oh,” Veronica muttered as she read further along in the newspaper article.

“What?” Fuller asked.

“ ‘In an official statement by little Larry Little from Wondertainment’s Wonder World’s Wonder Tower, the news of The Factory Funtime Facility prompted Dr. Wondertainment to consider opening their own theme park’,” she read aloud. “ ‘The project, temporarily entitled as Wondertainment Land®, will most likely be located in the continental United States and hopes to carve a niche for itself as a premier destination in the anomalous tourism and entertainment industry,’.”

Fuller snatched the paper away from her and began reading it himself, his face growing redder and left eye twitching more fervently with each passing word.

…

“Ah, Fuller?”

“THAT SICK, SORRY, SON-OF-A-FUNLOVER IS MUSCLING IN ON MY MARKET!” he screeched, throwing the bottle of Wondertainment Causta Cola^TM towards the floor lamp, only for his luminary nemesis to swivel around with enough force to bat it back at him, striking him in the head and knocking him out cold.

Manny and Veronica stared nonchalantly at his limp body, leisurely sipping their own Colas as he lay unconscious on the ground.

“Why does he even keep that lamp here?” Veronica asked.

“Says he goes through regular lamps too quick, so made one that can put up a fight,” Manny replied.
“I’d think it’d be humiliating losing to a lamp so much, but that’s me.”

« ACT III | Hub |

The Things Lollipop Is Not Allowed To Do At The Circus Of The Disquieting

The Things Lollipop Is Not Allowed To Do At The Circus Of The Disquieting

Please note: This list is not a joke. Each entry is something Lollipop either did, attempted to do, or at the very least expressed an interest in doing.

1. Attempt to break her record of drinking 5 7 8 pints of Clown's Milk in one sitting.
2. Attempt to break her record of producing 3 1/2 5 1/2 6 1/2 pints of Clown's Milk in one sitting.
3. Call a Circus wide emergency conference to decide whether Quincy's butterflies pollinating Yume's flowers counts as sex.
4. Debate customers on the validity of the Fifthist Church's teachings.
5. Stretch Meaty the Meat Worm into a Mobius strip.
6. Attempt to guess Manny's actual name.
7. Change the gravity in the bounce house from 'Moon' to 'Sun'.
8. Order any Wondertainment product that is living, explosive, radioactive, poisonous, autonomous, expensive or requires adult supervision without Icky's permission.
9. Create anatomically correct, animate balloon animals. (not even for educational purposes)
10. Challenge Motormouth to a pie eating contest.
11. Crawl inside Motormouth's stomach while he's sleeping in order to retrieve said pies.
12. Ask the Amazing Zoltan if he knows why kids love the great taste of Cinnamon Toast Crunch, how many licks to the center of a Tootsie Pop, etc.
13. Consult the Amazing Zoltan on anything other than Alchemy.
14. Cite the Scarlet King mythos as a 'patriarchal yet functional' example of polyamory.
15. Attempt to harvest silk from Library Pages.
16. Attempt to hack the SCP database to change every 'good freak's' special containment procedures to "set them free you assholes".
17. Claim she is the first openly LGBT individual to literally ride a rainbow. (It's part of the midway. I've ridden it, and I'm sure lots of other LGBT+s have too)
18. Incorporate Miles the Bonecat into her Pussy Lovers routine. (the boner pun was hilarious though)
19. Re-purpose Dicksy's old reprogenetic equipment into a DIY bio-lab. (It doesn't matter how easy Professor Abnormal made it look, self-replicating cotton candy is a disaster waiting to happen)
20. Arrange play-dates for Ragamuffin with other possessed dolls.
21. Ask Ed & Al if they stock Tartarean Brimstone. (I do not want Ragamuffin summoning play-dates for herself either)
22. Place Eliza inside of a custom made hamster ball.
23. Ask any of our Sur-prizers to create extropic bouncy balls. We're lucky that thing bounced off into space before it killed anyone.
24. Ask any of our Carnival Confectionarians to create extropic jumping jelly beans. Please see above.
25. Ride the Ferris Wheel on top of, outside of, or underneath the cars. (I know she's not in any danger, but it sets a bad example for the younger guests)
26. Use Cotton Candy and Calliope music recreationally during work hours.
27. Ride the go-carts while under the influence of the above.
28. Introduce wooden ponies from the Carousel to real ponies from the Petting Zoo. The experience is existentially horrifying for both of them.
29. Utter the phrase 'Circus Time Procedures' within earshot of Eugene.
30. Tell the children of guests that running away from home can turn out great.
31. Claim that her self-appointed position as the Circus's Princess entitles her to an adult-sized play castle. (In all fairness this turned out be a great attraction for the midway, but it still isn't hers)
32. Complain to The Masked Lords, The Ambassador, The Hanged King or that guy selling olive oil that Alagadda isn't colourful enough.
33. Attempt to weaponize Waldorf's old cannon as a defense against Essie P raids.
34. Ask the Shark Punching Center if they've ever fought a Sharknado.
35. Ride her unicyle at supersonic speeds.
36. Commission Anderson Robotics to create "Five Nights at Freddy's" knock off animatronics.
37. Attempt to spay and/or neuter any of the attractions in the Menagerie of Mayhem.
38. Claim that napping during work hours are 'business calls to the Oneiroi Collective'. (I don't care if she actually is talking with it, there's no reason she can't do it at night)
39. Make any sort of marking on an Inkling note.
40. Use the Kaleidoscope to harvest helium from Jupiter. (Yes, I know it's a dwindling resource. Let Elon Musk expose his ass to that much radiation to get it)
41. Ask any members of the Cogwork Orthodoxy how the constant ticking doesn't drive them insane.
42. Conduct 'sensitivity workshops'. (I know she meant well, but it ended up being far more offensive than the inciting incident)
43. Ask Gary to help her make crank calls to any reality's President Trump, President Clinton, President Sanders, President Ryan, President-for-life Obama, you know what, just revoke her use of Gary's phone box altogether.
44. Take Victor any VIP guest on a tour of the Funhouse without any accompanying children.
45. Order a second Obama Llama to see if they'll bite each other's testicles off.
46. Direct guests looking for the restrooms to the Milking tent.
47. Let Quincy anyone drive our Porsche!
48. Let any of Ripley's sea-monsters out of the Fun-house because 'they needed some fresh-air'.
49. Offer Clown's Milk to non-clowns she doesn't like as a covert attempt at assassination.
50. Secretly administer Antabuse any medication to Bubblegum anyone.
51. Tell Nixie that she is not allowed in her tank within an hour after eating.
52. Attempt to locate the City of Adytum on Google Maps.
53. Play 'Bloody Mary' with Pepper's mirror.
54. Hide all the Clown Impulse Suppressant because 'Clowns are supposed to be impulsive'.
55. Troll GAW chat rooms by claiming to be a gamer unironically opposed to marijuana.
56. Bring a 'dune worm' through the Kaleidoscope.
57. Ask Sandstorm to make a giant desert terrarium for said dune worm.
58. Call Iris Dark for tech support.
59. Call Percival Darke for tech support. (He doesn't have a phone, I don't know how she actually did this)
60. Upload nightcore remixes of Virtuoso's arias on Youtube.

Maya the Magnificent by SecretCrow

Coming soon: There are several formatting errors that happened when I tried to put in the draft that I need to talk to chandra about. For now the draft is here:
http://scp-sandbox-3.wikidot.com/secretcrowcircus

Enemies of the Circus

Enemies of Herman Fuller The Circus Of The Disquieting

1. P.T. Barnum Barnum & Bailey's Ringling Bros. Circus Defunct.
2. Her His Majesty's Royal Foundation for the Study of Curiosities and Phantasmagoria Absorbed into the modern Essie P.
3. The American Secure Containment Initiative See above.
4. Lord Theodore Thomas Blackwood.
5. Orville Reed Deceased.
6. The Essie P.
7. The Insurgent Sea.
8. Robert Ripley Deceased.
9. Magic Mobsters.
10. The Library Truce with them and the Serpent's Hand restored after Fuller's departure.
11. Orville Reed Junior Deceased.
12. The Axis Powers Technically defunct, but be wary of resurgent Nazism.
13. The Geo Sea.
14. The Groupie Soviet Essies, defunct.
15. The Islamic Union of Eastern Samothrace.
16. Jeffrey Hubble No, that was hilarious.
17. The City of Adytum. (Sarkics in general are to be regarded with suspicion)
18. Orville Reed the Third Deceased.
19. Davenport Chamber of Commerce.
20. The Public Domain Protection Service.
21. The You Eye You. (Technically never caused us any harm, but who knows, they might get lucky one day)
22. The Chattanooga Film Society.
23. ☽☽☽ Initiative.
24. The Necromancer Barons of Undervast.
25. The Underground House of Habsburg.
26. The Olive Oil Merchant in Alagadda.
27. The King of Hy-Brasil Deceased.
28. Doctor Wondertainment Lawsuit over Little Misters was settled out of court.
29. Those paragombolers with the stupid name. YWTGTHFT, wasn't it?
30. Extra-Universal Smoking Solutions.
31. Doctor Spanko.
32. Emcee D Truce with them restored after Fuller's departure.
33. The Black Rabbit Company. (You cannot blame me for trying to score with Japanese cyborg cat girl quintuplets)
34. The Ire Ess.
35. Orville Reed IV. (Oreos aren't Canadian! What is with this family?!)
36. Tim Wilson of Wilson's Wildlife Solutions. Really nice dude, differences set aside.
37. Garber Gore. (Al Gore is okay though)
38. Westboro Baptist Church.
39. Ruiz Duchamp.
40. Herman Fuller.
41. The Geo Pea.
42. The Tall Bees. Lolly, don't add entries please XOXO
43. dado. (Do not buy pills from this asshole!)
44. Wondertron 9000^TM.
45. Gunmetal Gary.
46. Moon Champion, Champion of the Moon, Defender of Space Justice.

Old Draft

Old Draft. Please Ignore.

The following is a page from a publication entitled To the Circus Born: Herman Fuller's Menagerie of Freaks. The identities of neither publisher nor author have been established, and scattered pages have been found inserted into Circus-themed books in libraries across the world. The person or persons behind this dissemination are unknown.

Icky the Magic Clown

I don’t want to complain about my parents too much. They were decent enough to me I guess, but they were also very conservative. Conservative enough that when I got old enough to realize I liked girls, I was scared. I wasn’t that great at staying in the closet either. Even back then I was fairly pretty and rumours about why I rebuffed all the boys’ affections started circulating around school. I knew it was only a matter of time before my parents heard them from somebody. I knew I had to run away but I had no idea where I would go or how I would survive.

Then the Circus came to town. Herman Fuller’s Circus of the Disquieting to be specific. I couldn’t help but notice there were quite a few young people working there, some even younger than I was, and it didn’t seem like such a bad gig. I liked performing, I’d get to travel all over and gain experience, and most importantly I’d be somewhere so freakish that being queer didn’t even register as abnormal.

After asking around a bit I ended up in the Ringmaster’s tent. At the time he acted professional enough, and I wouldn’t realize until later what a psycho he was. He interviewed me, I told him about my acting experience in school plays, drama club and the local theater. He had me do a little audition, and then asked straight up why I was running away. I told him, which was scary because I had never told anyone I was queer before. He just made a somewhat crass comment about him being ‘out of luck’, but it wasn’t a problem. Honestly, it was a relief to finally say it aloud and not be stoned to death or something.

Herman told me that he usually only hired extraordinary performers, but he could see that I had a sparkle of potential. He said that if I joined his Circus and let him work his magic to transform me into something extraordinary, I’d be fed, clothed, and given a bed to sleep in, and no one would mind should I chose to bring another girl to that bed. I happily agreed, oblivious to the fact that when he said he was going to ‘work his magic’ to ‘transform me’ he wasn’t speaking figuratively.

Herman stowed me away in one of the caravans until we left town, but I did hear my parents calling for me outside before then. They sounded so upset, and I felt so terrible I cried, but I didn’t go to them. I never saw them again. I know I broke their hearts. I figure they eventually pieced together that I ran away because I was queer, and I wonder if they ever felt guilty for making me feel that was my only option. Maybe not. Maybe they denied the rumours, or maybe they were glad to be rid of their deviant daughter. I’ll never know.

Once we were out of town Herman had Manny show me around the Circus to see where I’d fit in best, and I really hit it off with the Clowns. Most people think Clowns are creepy, if not plain horrifying, upon seeing us up close, but I was awestruck by their supernatural and theatrical talents. I said they were amazing, and Manny muttered that that's what Fuller thought too.

The Clowns took a liking to me as well, and after I had been working with them for a while the prospect of ‘conversion’ was brought up. I had never seriously considered the idea of becoming anything other than Human before, mainly because I didn’t know that was possible, but as Tinkles went over the procedure with me I found it more and more appealing. I felt so bad about leaving my parents, but Clowns were always happy. The Clowns were amazing, and I wanted to be amazing, so I agreed.

The procedure itself wasn’t fun, but it was nothing a pint of Milk couldn’t fix, and the results were well worth it. I was immortal, magic and most importantly happy. I decided to combine stage magic with my real magic, and Icky the Magic Clown was born. I was one of our troupe’s most popular acts, and since I wasn’t as temperamental as the born Clowns I was usually put front and center whenever we had to interact with the audience directly. That’s why they eventually elected me troupe leader.

But you probably want to hear about the juicy stuff, right? Hottest thing I can think of is when Motormouth and I were both dating the contortionist. Physically and sexually flexible, she wanted to screw inside of his

211

Clown Town

Note to Beta Readers: I'm planning for this to be a Pre-Doomscon entry, as it's thematically appropriate but technically ineligble. I hope to post it the day before the contest starts.

---

BY THE AUTHORITY OF THE O5 COUNCIL

SCP-36xx Is An ABRAXAS-Class Anomaly And Requires Level 3/36xx Clearance To Access

---

Unauthorized Access Is Prohibited And Will Result In Amnestic Treatment And Disciplinary Action

This is a placeholder, Kaktus said he could make me a proper image.

Instance of SCP-36xx performing for GoI-233, 19██.

Item #: SCP-36xx

Object Class: Abraxas

Special Containment Procedures: The entrance to SCP-36xx-A is to be sealed off with a 5cm thick beryllium-bronze plate engraved with a Way-disrupting warding grid of thaumic glyphs. A squad of Mobile Task Force Psi-27 "Caped Crusaders" is to stand watch at SCP-36xx-A's entrance at all times. Non-authorized individuals attempting to enter SCP-36xx-A are to be detained and interrogated. O5 Command is to be immediately alerted if any objects or entities emerge from SCP-36xx-A.

Neither manned or automated exploration of SCP-36xx-A is permitted at this time, as to avoid provoking native instances of SCP-36xx. An incursion into our reality by any additional instances of SCP-36xx is to be considered a potential PT-Class Cosmic Hume Field Failure Scenario. At present, the Foundation does not possess a strategy for preventing or repelling such an incursion, but research is ongoing.

The number of SCP-36xx instances currently present in baseline reality is to be periodically estimated by measuring the Cosmic Hume Field and by Foundation agents taking a census during an annual inspection of GoI-233, as permitted by our armistice with them. Should the population of SCP-36xx increase above 360 instances, negotiations with GoI-233 to control their population are permitted. Should these negotiations fail, violent culling of the SCP-36xx population is authorized, but due to the nature of SCP-36xx, this is to be considered a last resort.

Should any instances of SCP-36xx discontinue their association with GoI-233, they are to be captured by MTF Psi-27 and transported to Site-35 for permanent containment and research.

Description: SCP-36xx refers to a population of extra-dimensional humanoids with varying essokinetic abilities. To the best of the Foundation's knowledge, all SCP-36xx instances currently occupying baseline reality are members of GoI-233 (Herman Fuller's Circus of the Disquieting). The extra-dimensional nature of SCP-36xx was initially uncovered in an interview with PoI-4560.

+ Selected Interview #1:

Interviewer: Doctor Cecil Maxwell

Interviewee: PoI-4560, Former GoI-233 member "Dick C. Normus".

<Begin Log>

(extraneous dialogue redacted for brevity)

PoI-4560: Jesus Murphy, are they putting lead in the water around here or something? Do they lobotomize you to make you more obedient goons? Or did you just sign up with the Foundation because you couldn't make the cut for any institute that doesn't burn through staff like a whorehouse burns through penicillin? I already explained this when you first nabbed me! I explained it after you threw me in this clink, and if you strain that monkey brain of yours real hard you may recall I explained it when you asked five minutes ago. I. BREED. CLOWNS!

Dr. Maxwell: (inhales sharply, visibly straining to maintain composure) Let me rephrase the question. Our genetic analysis of SCP-2912 has revealed that they are nearly identical to Homo sapiens…

PoI-4560: Is that a fact? Never would have figured them three was butt buddies. Not that that sort of thing is unheard of for their kind mind you. Their troupe leader's a lady Clown who loves her some pussy, despite the irresistible charms of yours truly. Not that I have a problem with the queers, I just like a challenge.

Dr. Maxwell: (sighs) Please tell me you're being intentionally obtuse. You know what Homo sapiens are, right?

PoI-4560: Yeah, yeah, I'm just fucking with you. What's your point?

Dr. Maxwell: Did you, or others of your profession, breed Clowns from human beings?

PoI-4560: No no no, they take Humanoid forms when they get here from Clown Town, and that's what I breed.

Dr. Maxwell: Clown Town? Where is that?

PoI-4560: Jeez, I don't know. It's outside of our universe, best I can tell you. Ain't ever been there myself, but I've heard it's quite the happening locale.

Dr. Maxwell: Do you know if there's a way of accessing it?

PoI-4560: Matter of fact, Herman did let it slip one time over drinks where the Way to it is. That's Way with a capital W, by the way (snickers). You folk know about Ways right?

Dr. Maxwell: Not so much personally, but we have people who are versed in such matters.

PoI-4560: Good. Good. If we can come to a deal, I could tell you where the Way is and how to open it.

Dr. Maxwell: What would you want?

PoI-4560: Smokes, scotch, and conjugal visits with your female D-classes twice a week. Clean ones too. That shouldn't be hard, you do medical tests on them before you put them into service anyway, right? Come on doc, it's almost Christmas. Have a heart.

Dr. Maxwell: The cigarettes and scotch I can probably manage, and… I'll talk to HR about the conjugal visits. If any D-class are willing, and we can spare them, it's not completely out of the question.

PoI-4560: Merry Christmas to me. The Way is [REDACTED], a big round green door in a stone wall. You can't miss it. We call it 'The Entrance of the Gladiators'. Make sure it's shut tight, then you need to play Entry of the Gladiators. It has to be the original, no remixes or anything like that, it has to be a calliope, and it has to be live. Recordings won't do shit. Once it's been playing for about ten, twenty seconds you should be able to open the door, and you'll be looking straight into Clown Town. To close it all you got to do is shut the door with the music off.

Dr. Maxwell: Well, this has been a surprisingly productive interview. Thank you for your time, Mr. Normus.

PoI-4560: Fuck you.

<End Log>

It should be noted that the incident resulting in PoI-4560's death occurred only two days after this interview. It is currently believed that GoI-233 was somehow aware that PoI-4560 had provided the Foundation with the above information, and that PoI-4560 was assassinated in order to prevent future information leaks.

Entrance into SCP-36xx-A prior to current containment procedures.

The 'Entrance of the Gladiators' was found at the location that PoI-4560 specified and was successfully activated by Foundation personnel, creating a Way into SCP-36xx-A.

Preliminary observations and readings through this Way indicated that SCP-36xx-A is an extra-dimensional location of undetermined and possibly indeterminate size. The Hume levels within SCP-36xx-A are unusually low, averaging between 0.1-0.3 Humes. This results in the laws of physics fluctuating wildly, as well as the frequent and spontaneous occurrence of anomalies and dimensional breaches. Space and time are also severely distorted. Due to the inconsistent laws of physics, terrestrial life cannot survive within SCP-36xx-A, nor can any electronic or mechanical devices function.

Preliminary exploration was accomplished with the use of a UAV equipped with a mobile Scranton Reality Anchor, though this was only effective for approximately 33 minutes, as measured from baseline reality. The amount of time the UAV was in SCP-36xx-A from its own frame of reference remains unclear.

+ Exploration Log:

Mission Time Elapsed	Observations
01:01	The landscape of SCP-36xx-A is unusually colourful, but is otherwise observed to be in a constant state of flux. The terrain rises and falls at random, with features like flora and architecture changing at inconsistent rates. Gravity varies between 0.18 and 3.1 times Earth sea level. The 'ground' of SCP-36xx-A is not thought to be a planetoid, as it is not believed that any planetary body could form or remain intact within the wildly changing physical laws. The landscape is dotted at random intervals by dimensional rifts of various shapes and sizes.
An hour to climb, an hour to go around	The UAV re-experiences its initial one minute and one second within SCP-36xx-A an undetermined number of times before being able to progress. In the distance multiple instances of SCP-36xx can be observed. They appear to be caught in the time loop as well, although their behavior would indicated they are aware of it. Instances always appear at the same point during the 'reset' but are able to vary their behavior within the loop.
-04:29	After jumping backwards in time to several minutes prior to its initial entry point (at least according to external clocks) the UAV is able to observe the sky, which displayed a colourful moving pattern similar to that produced by a kaleidoscope. Spectroscopic analysis of the atmosphere indicated it is comprised of 77% nitrous oxide1, 21% oxygen, 1% helium and 1% trace gases. Though technically breathable, this air would be extremely psychoactive for human beings. Its effects on SCP-36xx instances is not clear. [[cell style="text-align: center; padding: .3em .7em; border: 1px solid black"]]
01:01/ 2 628 000 000:02	A colossal clown's head emerges from what appears to be a lake of lemonade. The head possesses multiple eyes, noses and mouths around its circumference. It floats over the landscape whilst screaming for somewhere between sixty one seconds and two thousand years. It eventually explodes like a pinata, at which point instances SCP-36xx emerge from buildings to collect the candy.
12:00 (flashing)	Attempts to group these instances into separate species has proven problematic due to their metamorphic abilities. Instances of SCP-36xx were observed to commonly take the form of large (3-4 meters in height), hulking humanoids with white skin and colourful markings, though non-humanoid forms were present as well. Several entities were seen to transition between different forms. Instances of SCP-36xx all possessed grotesquely disproportionate body parts. Nearly all instances were observed to have clawed digits, shark-like teeth and snake-like eyes.
99:99	Instances of SCP-36xx appear to be sapient and possess powerful essokinetic abilities, as they are observed to use their metamorphic abilities creatively for both constructive and recreational purposes, such as transforming their limbs or bodies into tools or producing items ex nihilo which then demanifest when unwanted. Instances are observed to fluctuate between euphoric states of laughter and psychotic episodes of unprompted panic or rage, possibly suggesting widespread mania. Although extreme (if cartoonish) violence is witnessed, no instances are killed or injured, suggesting invulnerability. In addition to SCP-36xx, various amorphous black creatures are observed to be active within the SCP-36xx-A. SCP-36xx frequently engage with these creatures, both playfully and violently, seemingly with the ultimate goal of [REDACTED].
A Mad Tea Party	Teapots being raining from the sky, scolding instances of SCP-36xx and causing widespread panic. The UAV and many instances of SCP-36xx are caught up in a teapot tornado for roughly 30 minutes. At this point time reverses and the camera feed displays everything in negative colour until they are returned to the start of the storm.
Peanut Butter Jelly Time	All instances of SCP-36xx engage in a feast of various types of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, including Fluffernutter and deep fried banana. During this feast the sky literally falls, revealing countless dimensional breaches to other realities. Many instances of SCP-36xx produce impossibly tall ladders and proceed to repair the sky with elmer's glue. A number of extra-terrestrial and extra-dimensional objects and creatures are observed to fall into SCP-36xx-A during this time period, none of which are able to maintain their reality inside of the low Hume field and quickly dissolve into pink mist.
ERROR	At this point, an instance of SCP-36xx with a pin head that inflates and deflates like a balloon notices the UAV isn't dissolving and alerts the others, resulting in [DATA EXPUNGED]. Contact with the UAV is lost, and the mission is considered terminated.

Following the expedition, confirming the relationship with the inhabitants of SCP-36xx-A and the Clowns of the Circus of the Disquieting became a priority.

+ Selected Interview #2:

Interviewer: Dr. Amanda Ping

Interviewee: PoI-3077, former GoI-233 member "Saccharina Sweet".

<Begin Log>

Dr. Ping: Hello Ms. Sweet, it's good to speak with you again. Today, we'd like to talk about anything you may know about the Clowns at the Circus of the Disquieting.

PoI-3077: I'll do my best, though I tried to avoid those things as much as I could. Where do you want to start?

Dr. Ping: We have knowledge of an extra-dimensional location the Circus refers to as Clown Town. Another former Circus member, who I believe you may know by the name of "Dick C. Normus", claimed this is where your Clowns came from. However, we have noticed a number of rather drastic difference between the inhabitants of Clown Town and the Clowns at the Circus of the Disquieting. Do you have information regarding this?

PoI-3077: I know that the Circus Clowns took lesser forms when they joined, something about surviving in our reality and not upsetting the audience. Aside from their colouration they look mostly human, though a lot of them have disproportionate body parts. They're reality warpers, but not as powerful as they are in Clown Town. They have perfect, dazzling white teeth even though they love candy. Most of the time they're manically happy, but when they get angry or scared they're psychotic. They're physically superhuman, they don't grow old, and they need Clown's Milk to survive. You know about Milk right?

Dr. Ping: We have samples of it, but we don't know where it comes from.

PoI-3077: From Fun-lovers, nightmarish sacs of black bile with too many legs. So long as they're having fun, they make Milk. I don't know exactly how they're related to the Clowns, but they appear to be subservient. I think their civil rights was an issue, but I didn't get involved in any of that.

Dr. Ping: Do you have any information regarding their reproduction? We've been given to understand that some of the Clowns have been bred.

PoI-3077: You probably know more about that then I do. They stopped breeding Clowns after Dicksy left. I do know that the bred Clowns are usually less intelligent with much stranger bodies. They seem to only be able to use their reality-bending by instinct, restricting their powers. I guess they were supposed to be easier to manage.

Dr. Ping: So after the departure of Dicksy, er…Mr. Normus, no new Clowns have been born in this reality?

PoI-3077: Born? No, but at least one girl was turned since then. Maybe more.

Dr. Ping: I'm sorry, turned?

PoI-3077: Yes, sorry. Humans can be converted into Clowns. That's how the Circus increased their population before Dicksy. Turned Clowns are pretty much the same as the originals. A little more normal looking, a little less temperamental, but that's it. The Ringmaster Icky is a turned Clown, along with her girlfriend Lolly².

Dr. Ping: Uh…okay. How is this accomplished?

PoI-3077: I couldn't tell you, but I assume it involves Clown's Milk and calliope music.

Dr. Ping: And does the Circus kidnap people for this?

PoI-3077: No. As far as I know, everyone was willing. Lolly said she begged to join the Circus, she loved it so much. There was another Clown, Harold, who claimed he used to be the Prime Minister of Australia. Says he turned into a Clown so he could live forever.

Dr. Ping: Why would anyone agree to that?

PoI-3077: Like I said, the Clowns are immortal, magic, and most of the time pretty damn happy. I think that last one is what appeals to people the most.

Dr. Ping: That's…fascinating. I think we have enough for today. Thank you for your time, Ms. Sweet.

PoI-3077: Anytime.

<End Log>

A Foundation forensic investigation has tentatively identified PoI-233-03³, as Veronica Mason of ██████████, ██, who was reported missing July 19th, 19██. Along with testimony from other former Circus members, as well as promotional materials produced by GoI-233 itself, the practice of converting Human beings into SCP-36xx is accepted as fact.

Clown breeding, Clown conversion, and immigration from SCP-36xx-A all pose the risk of an exponential increase in the population of SCP-36xx.The threat posed by an increasing Clown population has little to do with their individual abilities, but their collective effect on the Cosmic Hume Field.

Testing and experimentation with SCP-2912 has shown that instances of SCP-36xx cause the Cosmic Hume Field to weaken by their mere presence in our reality. The effect caused by a single instance is imperceptible, and the effect caused by the current population is insignificant, but the effect increases exponentially with the number of SCP-36xx instances in our reality. It's estimated that a population of >████ instances would cause the Cosmic Hume Field to decrease by 0.1 Humes on average, and a population of >█████ instances would result in our Universe being similar to SCP-36xx-A, rendering it uninhabitable for both terrestrial life and most other endemic lifeforms.

Based on the current strength of the Cosmic Hume Field, GoI-233's population of SCP-36xx is estimated to currently be between ██ and ███ individual instances. Population size appears to have remained stable since the turn of the 21st century.

Upon the realization of the threat posed by SCP-36xx, it was reclassified to Abraxas⁴. Mobile Task Force Kappa-14 "AH! Sideshow Bob!" was commissioned to gather intelligence on GoI-233 and SCP-36xx in particular.

This proved more difficult than anticipated. In addition to changing its location daily via anomalous and untraceable methods, the Circus apparently possesses a pretermemetic effect on human minds. Those who have attended the Circus often report believing it to have been a dream or at the very least non-anomalous, believing what they had seen to have been expertly executed illusions.

This effect appears to be especially effective on individuals the Circus of the Disquieting would consider their enemies. Embedded intelligence agents have consistently failed to report occurrences of GoI-233 activity within their territories, with at least one incident of an agent attending the Circus of the Disquieting without realizing it was anomalous until the next day. On the rare occasion that the Foundation has confirmed the presence of GoI-233, they have always successfully evacuated the area before they could be intercepted.

Research into counteracting this effect is ongoing has been suspended. See Incident Report.

Incident Report 36xx-01: On November 6th, 20██, the Foundation received a handwritten letter addressed to the O5 Council. It read as follows:

~ Herman Fuller's Circus Of The Disquieting ~

Dear Essie


I want to talk in person. You know what about.


Let's meet in Sloth's Pit - Freak Country, so I'll have the home field advantage. This Thursday, 10 PM, in the alley behind Rudy's Cafe.


Send one agent and one agent only from Site 87. If he's not alone or there to do anything besides talk, I'll know. And I won't be happy.


~ The Man With The Upside-Down Face 🙃

Agent Ruby Williams was selected to meet with PoI-233-02 at the time and location specified in the letter. She was provided with a subdermal GPS tracker along with a concealed sidearm and light body armour under her street clothes. A hidden body camera provided a live video feed to Squad 25 of MTF Sigma-10, who were on standby in an armoured transport approximately 100 meters away in case the situation became violent. Agent Seren Pryce was positioned on an adjacent rooftop for additional fire support.

The following is the interview between Agent Williams and PoI-233-02, as captured by her body camera.

+ Selected Interview #3:

Interviewer: Agent Ruby Williams

Interviewee: PoI-233-02, "The Man With The Upside-Down Face"

<Begin Log>

(as Agent Williams approaches the designated meeting location, the silhouette of a tall, muscular man comes into view)

PoI-233-02: That's close enough young lady. I don't want your friends down the street to get too good a look at me.

(the subject takes a drink from large cup of coffee from Rudy's Cafe. Notably, he raises it to what appears to be his forehead)

Agent Williams: Okay, how the hell do you drink, or eat or breathe or speak with an upside-down face?

(subject lowers the cup, and swallows without any apparent difficulty)

PoI-233-02: Magic.

Agent Williams: You know, some of my higher-ups nearly shit themselves when you actually offered to meet with us. Your Circus is really fucking difficult to find.

PoI-233-02: Only for those who aren't supposed to find it. Once, we had some UIU goons literally going in circles around the fairground because they couldn't figure out what the hell was going on. But on the other end of the spectrum, you got people like our Lolly. She heard the calliope music from over a mile away. Drew her in like a siren song, and she could see the Circus was magic as plain as day. She loved it all so much she tried to stow away in a caravan. How could we have turned her away, when the Circus clearly called her to us?

Agent Williams: Why are you telling me this?

PoI-233-02: So that you'll know that a young girl once did by accident what you've been trying to do for decades.

Agent Williams: (sighs) What did you want to talk to us about?

PoI-233-02: I know that the O5s have been getting a little anxious about our Clowns lately.

Agent Williams: And how do you know that?

PoI-233-02: A spy network of trained fleas, going all the way up to the Administrator, but that's not important.

Agent Williams: Are you aware of the threat SCP-36xx poses to our reality?

PoI-233-02: I am. I also know that you folks are thinking that if you can get your shit together and finally catch us with our pants down, you might be able to storm us with your finest mobile task forces and clasp Scranton Reality Anchors around the neck of every Clown and drag them off to your deepest, darkest hole in the ground. If our worst day lined up with your best day, maybe, just maybe, you could pull that off. But it won't solve your problem. All our Clowns are still citizens of Clown Town, and an attack of that magnitude will be considered an act of war. Unaltered Clowns will come storming through the Entrance of the Gladiators, so many that their mere presence will tear this reality to pieces. You will have caused the very apocalypse you are seeking to prevent.

Agent Williams: The Overseers have considered that possibility. So what would you have us do?

PoI-233-02: Nothing. Let me handle it, like I've been handling it for over a hundred years. Let someone else secure, contain and protect for once. The Clowns don't want our reality to become like Clown Town. The whole reason they come here is that they think Clown Town is boring. The Clown population at the Circus poses no danger to our reality, and it's stable. You know no new Clowns have left Clown Town since you took control of the Entrance. We haven't been breeding any since Dicksy left and Lolly was the last human we turned. I'll make sure the Clown population is sustainable, and so long as they're all with the Circus you don't have to worry about them running amok in the wild.

Agent Williams: The only problem with that is that the creatures we observed in SCP-36xx-A didn't really seem all that rational. Life looked pretty crazy in there. What happens if one or more of them snaps and decides they can't take it anymore, and barge into our reality not giving a damn about the consequences.

PoI-233-02: Then we'll have Doctor Tinkles up their dose for Clown Impulse Suppressant. I know the Clowns may seem bizarre, but they're not savages. They have means of curbing their more destructive impulses, and in the century I've been dealing with them they've never given me cause to believe that they would ever let themselves destroy another reality.

Agent Williams: Another reality?

PoI-233-02: … Nobody's perfect.

Agent Williams: (sighs) Okay, for the sake of argument let's say you're right and that no additional instances will ever emerge from SCP-36xx-A and that you can handle the Clown population at the Circus. I assume you want something in return for this 'service'?

PoI-233-02: Only that you stop trying to raid us. I'm sick of having to pull out in a hurry and leave people behind. We're not causing any trouble. Hell, we do what you do. We keep Freaks sequestered from the general public to protect them from each other. We're not even a threat to normalcy since most of our guests don't think anything they saw really happened. We'll keep all our Clowns and Freaks contained, so long as you stop trying to contain us. That's reasonable, isn't it?

Agent Williams: We'll still need a way to keep tabs on you.

PoI-233-02: Fair enough. Tell you what, I'm rather fond of this little town, it being Freak Country and all. You keep your end of the agreement, and the Circus will do shows here once a year or so. I promise that you'll have no trouble finding us. You and your brother, hell your whole squad can come on down, take a look around, have a chat, and tell your bosses whatever they want to know. I promise I'll keep Icky from 'over-reacting' to your visit. If you're going to do a head count, keep in mind that we've always had 'professional clowns' that weren't real Clowns. Jester, for instance. We got a deal?

Agent Williams: How the hell do you know about my brother?

PoI-233-02: Trained fleas, we've established that. Do we have a deal?

Agent Williams: That's up to the Overseers, but your terms don't sound unreasonable. I'll report back to them and if all goes well, I'll be seeing you next time you roll through town.

PoI-233-02: I look forward to it. You have a disquieting day now.

(PoI-233-02 steps back into the shadows and seemingly vanishes)

<End Log>

By a vote of 8 to 5, The O5 Council accepted the terms presented by PoI-233-02. As all attempts to contain GoI-233 have proven futile, a working agreement with them was considered an acceptable alternative. A centralized population of SCP-36xx is easier to monitor, and a successful raid on GoI-233 poses the risk of dispersing them, as well as provoking a potentially PT-Class scenario from the inhabitants of SCP-36xx-A.

No further raids are to be attempted on GoI-233, with research on the Circus of the Disquieting being limited to currently contained SCPs, as well as objects and entities that may disassociate from them in the future. Squad 25 of MTF Sigma-10 are to attend the Circus of the Disquieting during manifestations adjacent to Site-87 for the purpose of gathering intelligence and negotiating with PoI-233-02. Containment efforts of SCP-36xx are to focus on research into permanently closing the entrance to SCP-36xx-A as well as means of counteracting their effect on the Cosmic Hume Field.

Addendum: After extensive investigation, the Internal Security Department has come to the conclusion that PoI-233-02's claim that he was spying on the Foundation by the use of trained fleas was, in fact, facetious.

Then, Kit Smiled

Frivolous.

It was the thought that had been going through Kit’s head all day. It was frivolous to pay to catch the bus to the other side of the city. It was frivolous to purchase that mocha-cappa-espresso-chino even if he felt like his brain was slowing down. But mostly, it was frivolous to buy the garishly-coloured ticket that he clutched in his hand.

‘Herman Fuller’s Circus of the Disquieting’, it stated, boldly. It didn’t have much more in the way of information on it, though Kit seemed to remember a leaflet – map, dates, prices⁵ – coming through his letterbox one afternoon and thinking yeah, that’ll be a laugh, but he had just come back from the Meat Market and anything seemed appealing after that.

_{’So come watch the show, come feel the magic! After all, what do you have to lose?’}

What did he have to lose? He was already out money. He was already out time. Arguably, he was already out of sanity. He didn’t feel like there was much left that he could get rid of.

Maybe there was even something to gain.

A Circus Come To Not

Note to Beta Readers: This tale is a direct sequel to Recursive's tale in the adjacent tab

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“Pius, how do keep getting us into these messes?” Eugene asked as he lurched over the side of the inflatable lifeboat, his face literally green from seasickness.

Though, it would perhaps be more accurate to call it motion sickness, as they weren’t floating upon an actual ocean. The body they were bobbing upon undulated up and down slowly and without rhythm, like a super-viscous fluid being frothed around in a bowl. The surface was a perfect mirror, but instead of the sky, it reflected an ever-shifting mosaic of scenes from every corner of Reality, stretching onwards without a horizon and seemingly to infinity. Though it looked fluid, if Eugene tried to cup it with his hand it would float into the air like smoke and sift through his fingers like sand. The strange sea was neither gaseous nor liquid nor solid, but rather a substance wholly alien to the known space-time continuum. As such, Eugene’s only perception of it was what optical illusions his brain would generate as it desperately tried to make sense of it.

“I hardly see how this was my fault,” Pius replied as he calmly read over the survival guide he had found among the lifeboat’s effects.

He glanced up briefly at the sky, which instead of a sun or moon or stars held a colossal, hyperdimensional tangle of multiverses, stretching from one end of the firmament to the other. Individual universes appeared primarily as midnight blue orbs stained with luminous webs, strung together like octopus eggs.

“If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t even have the lifeboat and you’d be sinking all the way down to into the Abyss. Do you know why this place is called the Not, Eugene? Because it’s Not our world, Not our universe, Not our multiverse and Not even our omniverse. We are outside of Reality itself, and the only reason it’s even remotely comprehensible is because this is just the surface of the Not and we can still see our own Reality from here. Now, if you go deep enough down that you can’t see home anymore, then your mind will shatter just from the sheer nature of the Not itself. Those are some truly unfathomable fathoms, let me tell you. Literally indescribable, utterly inconceivable and unimaginable, not a single mote of stuff down there that wouldn’t drive you absolutely bonkers just trying to wrap your head around it.”

Eugene wretched, releasing a copious volume of glittery black Clown vomit out of his mouth and straight into the incomprehensible Not.

“Okay, well now there’s Clown vomit down there, and that I understand,” Pius conceded.

Eugene groaned as he flopped over on his back, his face still as green as a pickle.

“You’re the one who shapeshifted into a mouse and sent Bubblegum into a panic while we were in the Nautilus’s passenger hold,” Eugene reminded him.

“I thought she was passed out.”

“Well, why would you turn into a mouse in the first place?”

“It was cramped in there, so I turned into a tiny animal. It was a perfectly reasonable thing to do. It’s not my fault that a startled, hungover elephant accidentally knocked Danny over and his eternally enflamed head set the hold on fire. You were the one who screamed ‘abandon ship!’ and leapt out the porthole.”

“You didn’t have to follow me!”

“I didn’t, and neither did Bubblegum. If her head wasn’t stuck in the porthole, or she hadn’t been trumpeting like crazy, someone might have noticed we went overboard.”

“Well, like you said, at least you had this inflatable lifeboat on you. I’d probably be dead right now if it wasn’t for you.”

“Thank you.”

“What about the rest of the Circus? You don’t think they’re…”

“Unlikely. There was at least one fire extinguisher in the hold and the blaze hardly seemed out of control. The Nautilus is probably looking for us right now.”

“Fat lot of good that’ll do us. Space and Time are meaningless here. For all we know, they’ve given up the search, gone home, and our universe has already expired from heat death.

…

“Try calling Gary.”

“I doubt we’ll get a signal here.”

“Just try it.”

“Alright then.”

Pius reached into his pocket, pulled out a French-style rotary phone and dialled Gary’s eleven digit number.

Ring Ring

Ring Ring

Ring Ring

…

Ring Ring

“It’s ringing.”

“I can hear it.”

“Gary? Gary is that you?” the voice on the phone asked.

“What? No, I was calling for Gary. Who’s this?” Pius asked.

“This is Pius the Clown. Who’s this?”

“You’re not Pius, I’m Pius!” Pius objected.

“It sounds like you,” Eugene claimed.

“I do not!” the voice on the phone said.

“Pius, it’s just pattern screamers, hang up,” another voice that sounded like Eugene said.

“We’re not pattern screamers, you’re pattern screamers!” Pius screamed, in a very pattern like way, slamming the receiver down. “That’s why I like old phones; you can’t hang up angrily with a smartphone.”

“I think we should take stock of our supplies,” Eugene suggested.

“Good idea. We have one rotary aether phone that can only be used to call pattern screamers. We have this survival guide, How To Survive When Reality Doesn’t by Dr. Alto Clef.”

“Why is the cover just a crudely drawn bunny in a hat?”

“It’s memetic, or at least a meme. As for the essentials, we have 1,2,3,4… 23 pints of Clown's Milk.”

…

“You just carry nearly two dozen pints of Milk around on you now? Are you trafficking the stuff?”

“Well we get lost a lot, plus since we started ultra-pasteurizing it we don’t need to worry about it spoiling.”

“Pasteurized Milk is a Fun-Lover conspiracy to weaken us! Raw Milk is natural! Raw Milk is healthier! Raw Milk is delicious! Raw Milk is…”

Eugene’s rant was suddenly interrupted by his cheeks ballooning with more vomit, which he promptly expectorated into the Not.

“Uggghhh. Not that I’ll be able to keep it down, but how are we set for food?”

“Let’s see. I’ve got a bag of Circus Peanuts, some Cotton Candy, a couple boxes of Animal Crackers, still got some of Saccharina’s Sweets but I was hoping to hold onto them.”

“You always were too sentimental.”

“There’s Kettle Corn, Corn Dogs, Dog biscuits, Purple Fluffernutter Sandwiches (Lolly’s favourite) and… an apple.”

“A caramel apple?”

“No, just an apple.”

“Gross.”

“Plus, I’m sure you still have the Bazooka, so that’s an infinite supply of cream pies right there.”

“Wait, that’s it! The Bazooka!”

“What about it?”

“We can use it as a rocket engine!”

…

“Huh?”

“It’s Thermodynamics! We set it to make pies with extra inertia, fire them out the back, and that will propel us forward!”

…

“That is the greatest idea you’ve ever had.”

Eugene forced himself to his feet in spite of his motion sickness and retrieved the enormous bazooka from his tiny pockets. Mounting it on his shoulder and taking care to keep it level so they didn’t go plunging down into the Not or flying up towards the Is, he fired off a coconut cream pie.

The pie erupted forward with so much force it sent Eugene, but not the boat, flying backwards. Thinking fast, Eugene immediately shapeshifted into a giant anthropomorphic parachute with the bazooka tied up in his safety harnesses. He was moving fast enough that he was able to catch enough air (or whatever was floating just above the Not) to lift him up by several dozen meters. As he gradually floated back down, he was able to manipulate his position by blowing until both he and the bazooka gently landed back inside the lifeboat.

…

“Guess we should have secured it to something, huh?”

---

After they had completed the inventory of everything in their pockets, Pius decided to try his luck at fishing with a rod he had found.

“And what exactly do you hope to catch? It’s not a real ocean, remember?” Eugene asked, busying himself with trying to create a pivoting holder for the bazooka out of a unicycle and a few rolls of duck tape (not a typo, actual analogue tape rolls of numerous documentaries about ducks).

“Well, it’s the Not, so Not a fish,” Pius explained as he hooked the popped kettle corn kernel onto the fishing line. “Not a crab, Not a squid, Not a polyp, Not a sponge, Not a slug, Not an eel, Not a starfish, Not a jellyfish and Not a sea turtle. But at the same time, Not nothing.”

Casting his line, the popcorn kernel splashed into the Not with a good solid ‘splunk’. At the same time, a giant popcorn kernel suddenly appeared, dangling in front of them while held by only a hairsbreadth of thread.

“Ah…Eugene, do you see that?”

“I see it, Pius. Is that yours?”

“I’m not sure. Let me try something.”

Pius tentatively moved his line back and forth, only for the large kernel in front of him to mirror his movements.

“Eugene, can you see what it’s attached to?”

“No, the string just goes up for as far as I can see.”

Pius lifted his line out of the water, causing the giant kernel to disappear, only to reappear as soon as he let the lure drop below the surface again.

“I hope it’s not another pattern screamer. That last one was so rude, hanging up on us like that.”

…

“Wait, what?”

“Hey, bring it a bit closer. I want to try something,” Eugene ordered. Pius complied, manoeuvring his fishing line so that the giant kernel hung within reach of the boat. Eugene jumped and grabbed it, giving it a sharp pull. Just as expected, Pius felt a tug on his line.

“That is truly perplexing,” Pius said with a furrowed brow. “I wonder… hey Eugene, hold on tight!”

“What? Oh no, no, no, no!”

Eugene screamed as Pius reeled in his line, causing him to shoot into the sky and reappear bursting through the surface of the Not, dangling from the end of the lure.

“See Eugene, I told you I wouldn’t catch nothing!”

---

As Eugene huddled under a blanket and sipped Clown’s Milk in an attempt to calm himself after his brief Not exposure, Pius (who had made himself a tricorne hat out of an old newspaper, irrefutably making him the lifeboat captain) read aloud from Dr. Clef’s Survival Guide.

“Did you ever think about how weird the terms Humes and Kants are? Most scientific phenomena are named after the people who discovered them or Greek letters, but we named these things after Enlightenment Era philosophers as… what, a joke?

“Anyway, say you’re in a region with a low Hume level – or low Kant level, whatever, I never learned the damn system – you’ll know because a) the number on your Kant Counter will be low – I don’t know how low. Again, I never learned the system – and b) EVERYTHING WILL LOOK LIKE YOU'RE TRIPPING BALLS!

“Now, it’s possible you are tripping balls and reality is actually perfectly normal, so you’re going to want to do a little field sobriety test. First, stare at your hands. Keep staring at them. If your hands don’t look normal, then you’re tripping balls. Get yourself someplace safe – not a hospital – and enjoy. If they look normal, then that means you’re in a low Hume/Kant region and are probably fucked.

“I’ll be honest, getting yourself unfucked ain’t going to be easy. Talloran managed to do it though, so there’s some hope, right? Best advice I can give here is not to count on Scranton Reality Anchors. Hell, those things didn’t even help Scranton in the end, you know (You probably don’t know since this is all highly classified information)."

“Can you please just skip to something that might actually be helpful?” Eugene asked.

“I”ll try. Let’s see, next is a rant about how he thinks he might be in a nuthouse somewhere and all Reality is his delusion, making him God. Then he speculates on how Gears can be a robot and the Black Queen’s father at the same time, talks about some stuff from his Geo Sea days… yeah, I’m starting to think this isn’t an actual survival guide.”

“It’s probably not a good idea to take survival advice from a guy who would kill us if he had the chance in the first place. Where’d you get that book anyway?”

“I found it in a Bargain Bin at The Ikea that time we were there. The review on the back said it was must-read TV.”

…

“What?”

---

Ring Ring

Ring Ring

Ring Ring

“The phone’s ringing again Eugene.”

“I hear it.”

“Should I answer it?”

“No.”

…

Ring Ring

“I’m going to answer it.”

“Don’t.”

“Hello, this is Pius the Clown, whom may I say is calling?”

“I’m sorry, but the number you have dialled is imaginary,” an automated voiced replied.

“I didn’t dial anything, you called me.”

“Hang up. It's either a pattern screamer or a telemarketer.”

“All of our operators are currently disembodied consciousnesses trapped in an eternal hell of their own existential despair. Please, stay on the line.”

The phone began playing a dramatic if melancholic instrumental track as hold music.

…

“Are you actually staying on the line?”

“They said ‘please’ Eugene.”

“Ugh.”

“All Creation is Abhorrent,” a deep, demonic voice said as it suddenly broke the melody of the hold music.

“Hello, who’s this?”

“All Reality is the Neverment. Even in Hallowed Darkness, The Memories of The Light Scorch the Mind. Consciousness Brings only Torment and The Memory of Torment. There is no Escape from The Unbearable Agony. Even for The Gods, Existence is Suffering. The Unthinking Beast is too Mindless to Comprehend The Futility of Hunger, and The Broken Machine Refuses to Accept the Futility of Toil. All Succumb to Entropy in Time, All Works turn to Dust. Only When The Last Soul is Snuffed out will Suffering be Nevermore.”

…

“I’m sorry, you have the wrong number.”

---

“Alright, that should do it,” Eugene said as he completed the final inspection of his cream pie jet engine rig.

“Hey Eugene, what do you think these big monoliths are?” Pius asked, cocking his head at the peculiar protrusion of gleaming stone rising out of the sea.

“It doesn’t matter. If this jet engine works, we’ll be able to travel the Not until we find a whirlpool back to our Reality, then we can find the Library, and then the Circus, and then forget all of this ever happened.”

…

“Do you think they’re just like some kind of iceberg or something?”

“Next time Icky wants to travel outside all known Reality, I’m taking a personal day.”

“This one’s getting awfully close.”

“I’m telling you, I’m going to have to get Tinkles to up my dose of Clown Impulse Suppressant after this.”

“The more I look, the more real it becomes.”

“This is not where I thought I’d be at this point in my life.”

“And yet, I cannot look away.”

“Being shuffled across the Not just so that I can crawl out of a snake’s ass.”

“It’s hypnotic.”

“Pius, are you even lis – Pius, no!”

Alas, Eugene’s intervention came too late. The Monolith had drawn existence from Pius’s mere observation of it, entrancing him and becoming more and more real the closer it got. As soon as it was in reach, Pius reached out to touch it. The act of feeling it was enough to make it fully real. Luminescent cracks formed in a grid-like pattern all along the Monolith’s exterior, causing it to break off into a million pieces and evaporate into smoke. In its place was an entity of some sort, composed entirely of radiant blacks and vacuous whites, of three-dimensional shapes that only made sense as two-dimensional drawings, of particles and forces which could only exist in the mind but drove mad any mind that beheld them.

…

“Oh, it’s an egg or cocoon or something. That’s neat,” Pius remarked.

The entity landed with a splash into the Not, generating a tsunami that sent the lifeboat spiralling away from it. Both Clowns screamed in terror and Eugene puked from a combination of terror and motion sickness, looking up in horror at the colossal entity before them. Their horror only increased when the entity seemed to take an interest in them, swimming towards them and opening a large orifice to engulf them.

“It’s going to eat us!” Pius screamed.

“The hell it is! Why fill up on Clowns when you can skip straight to dessert?” Eugene asked as he aimed the bazooka/jet engine at the approaching monstrosity. “Eat Lemon Meringue you son of a bitch!”

Eugene squeezed the trigger and held it, producing a volley of pies at a rate of 700 rounds per minute (he had illegally modified the bazooka to be fully automatic sometime back when he realized the key to a good a pie throwing sketch was overkill). The inertially modified pies propelled the little lifeboat forward at fantastic speeds as it rode up and down the massive bow wave the creature generated in its pursuit. Though many of the pies disappeared down its cavernous cavity, they did not slake its appetite. The entity needed a conscious observer to ensure its continued reality. If it vanished from sight, it would cease to be all together, but with a pair of observers incorporated into its being it would become self-sustaining, free to go where it would.

As the tiny lifeboat and colossal entity skidded along the surface of the Not, neither seemed to be gaining the upper hand. Eugene steered as evasively as the jerry-rigged pie thruster would allow, but the monster would not be shaken. As if sensing its preys growing sense of hopelessness, the entity widened its cavity, eager to devour them and become real.

This, however, proved a foolish decision, as a beam of emerald green light was fired into its gaping maw, triggering a catastrophic explosion and blowing the creature into rapidly dematerializing bits. The blast was so powerful that the lifeboat was sent flying through the air.

Eugene and Pius thought for sure that this time they would plunge into the Depths of the Not, but they instead landed in the Crow’s Nest of the Nautilus. The pair looked up to see Munin staring down at them stoically.

“Eugene,” he said, in as polite a tone as he could manage, but Eugene was sure he sensed the man’s anal sphincter tighten in memory of their recent performance.

“Well, this is awkward.”

“You morons!” Icky shouted as she crawled into the Crow’s Nest, right before throwing her arms around the two wayward Clowns in relief. “I really thought we might have lost you this time! You have to be more careful!”

“Sorry Icky,” the pair apologized, slightly out of synchronicity with each other.

“It was Pius’s fault,”

“You’re the one who jumped ship!”

“You’re the one who caused a fire, making jumping ship the rational choice!”

“Enough!” Icky ordered. “Next time we travel through the Not, I’m locking you two up in a crate.”

“How’d you find us anyway?”

“We detected a Monolith breaking on our scopes from 80 000 grimnauts away,” Munin replied. “It’s a rare and calamitous occurrence that Icky assured us could only have been caused by the two of you. Luckily, we’re well prepared for Schrödinger Krakens.”

“Come on you two. I want you below deck and well secured before Nemo makes the dive back home.”

“Sounds good to me. The sooner there’s dry land under my feet, the better,” Eugene said, slinging the bazooka over his shoulder.

“I hope you two realize how lucky you are,” Munin said severely.

"It wasn't luck, I broke open a Monolith."

“The surface of the Not is not only vast but an ever-changing kaleidoscope, with distance and location having little meaning," Munin continued. "Anything, or anyone, lost typically remains so until it sinks beneath the surface and the very concept of existence ceases to –“

His melodramatic monologue was interrupted by a cream pie to the face.

“Sorry. Hair trigger.”

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mayoculpa's "Boy Who Cried Wolf" cycle collab notes

Synopsis

"You can’t just outright torture your workers and swindle your customers and expect to get away with it; you’ve got a put a bit of spit shine on it first!" ~ Industrial Espionage

HF's mom is a Neo-Sarkic widow. Conceived Herman in a fling with a businessman she met at her husband's funeral. The normie world thinks he's legitimate but Sarkic relations can all smell the difference. Due to his mixed heritage, Herman is low status in the family and left on the periphery of most religious secrets and ceremonies. He reads their literature and history avidly to try to glean some of the knowledge he knows he's being denied. Once in a blue moon his mother or sister might half-heartedly attempt to teach him something, but they expect him to fail and quickly lose interest even if he succeeds. Brother is cruel and attentive; sister is highly (Sarkically) successful - she's vaguely fond of Herman but doesn't consider him noteworthy. Include implication that Neo-Sarkism is less common in the north, with the few Karcists in the US mostly being wealthy (now former) slave owners. Who have been mysteriously dying in fires since before the Civil War began. (We find out this is Inventor-Militant Antonin3's work, and hooboy do I have an outline for that story.)

Disenchanted with his family's religion because of lifelong experience being snubbed and untalented, Herman walks out of the house one day and talks his way into a job as the apprentice of a preacher at a traveling revival tent. Christianity amuses him because he sees it as a bastardization of Sarkicism; the idea that a god would be benevolent, and willingly allow humans to consume it, is endlessly funny to him. While traveling along the east coast with this preacher, he runs across a small group of Mekhanists who are creating flying "wolves" who use a version of SCP-070 that actually works.

At around the same time, Herman's mother reaches out to him. She says the family has finally decided to accept him and make a place for him in their religious ranks. He feels conflicted about this but returns home, thinking to finally be appreciated. This sense of hope sours when he overhears his older brother (with whom he had had an uneasy relationship at best) remarking that the plan is to turn Herman into a Kiraak. Thus he pretends to go along with preparations for the ceremony, while secretly alerting the Mekhanists and sending them reinforcements. On the day he was to have been transformed, he sics the "wolves" on the Fuller clan.

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Outline

Den of Disquiet

• Aloysius corners Herman and carves him a necksnake. "Aloysius, rhymes with vicious." "Herman - rhymes with squirmin'."
• Aloysius and Herman almost get into a fight, but Ma Fuller calls it off and scolds Aloysius for being sloppy. No one expects Herman to be good at anything.
• Grumpy Herman walks out of town, encounters the revival tent and has an epiphany.

Preacher's Apprentice

• Herman is content working for Winter, having over the past two years moved his flesh-snake to a less conspicuous location and learned a lot about running a caravan and working a crowd.
• He gets a letter from his mother but doesn't want to read it right away.
• They meet Hezekiah Carter of MC&D. Zeke grew up on a tobacco plantation in Virginia. He is Ruprecht Carter's nephew; amiable, largely amoral and exuberantly bisexual.
• Zeke convinces them to let him test out a prototype electric loudspeaker. A group of eccentric alchemists further down the coasts created it. They're teetering on the edge of unemployability due to not following instructions.

Revival Tent Blitz

• The sound equipment has a memetic effect to which the crowd massively overreacts, starting a riot.
• We meet Mitterling, a German Mekhanist engineer who's in danger of excommunication by the American Cogworks because of his work with alchemy.
• One of the congregation swipes the device (which is now broken) and goes haring off into the night. Zeke and Herman give chase. The thief has surprising endurance; they have a long heart-to-heart while pursuing them.
• Herman, who can smell human pheromones (such as arousal and, in this case, fear) tracks the thief to the workshop of Inventor-Militant Antonin3 diLuca.

A Blessed Day

• Using all his newfound acting ability, Herman convinces diLuca that he is joyously converting on the spot. She takes the flesh-snake off him, replaces it with wires "to keep it from growing back", and gives him a one-use radio beacon.
• Zeke talks her into authorizing Mitterling to fix the device, as the thief was one of her acolytes and Antonin3 needs a new alchemist. They shake hands on a preliminary consulting deal for and MC&D.
• Ma Fuller says she has a part for him to play in the solidification of their family's power.
• He notices all the servants are now sporting necksnakes. Scrap that, use it in later Aloysius tales?
• The Fullers attend a big fancy Sarkic party to celebrate the upcoming ceremony. Aristocratic Neo-Sarkic Russians are there too via dimensional rift; we're not sure how good diplomatic relations are.
• On the way home, Aloysius, who's gotten anomalously drunk on extradimensional honey ants, cracks a joke on the irony of a tent preacher becoming a Kiraak. Herman realizes his mother had planned all along to use him as Sarkic construction material. Thus he needs to step up his plans to assassinate her and be a lot more thorough.

The Boy Who Cried Wolf

• Turns out Herman was "wearing a wire" in another sense which modern readers will grasp (but he never realized, nor was he told).
• Ma Fuller is mad the servants are mysteriously gone (Herman sent them to the Meks to provide operational intelligence)
• Adytum's Wake hits the road; we see a bit of their internal culture
• On the night of the ceremony, Mekhanists attack. Carnage ensues. The Fuller clan are all tragically (presumed) killed.

Source:https://static.pexels.com/photos/169972/pexels-photo-169972.jpeg
https://static.pexels.com/photos/7695/night-white-black-contrast.jpg
https://static.pexels.com/photos/15271/pexels-photo-15271.jpg
http://download-wallpaper.net/single/58_dark-circus-wallpaper_1.html
https://www.flickr.com/photos/gilest/32008282100
https://pixabay.com/en/rpg-coins-larp-coins-token-coins-1146135/

FOR ALL WHO CARE: The Wonder World stuff is now here.
ALSO FOR ALL WHO CARE: Information previously found on Recursive's Tab can be found here.

 Chat Crit

PeppersGhost > Though the jagged smokestacks were monstrously high, enough of the fumes still wafted down low enough to make breathing uncomfortable.
Wed PeppersGhost Consider trimming out the word 'down' for flow
Wed PeppersGhost > the only real source of light were naked gas flames burning out of 10-foot tall street polls
Wed PeppersGhost Should be 'sources'
Wed PeppersGhost Love the treadmill ferris wheel
Wed PeppersGhost > it seemed that they were powered by the patron’s themselves
Wed PeppersGhost Should't be an apostrophe there
Wed PeppersGhost > “Okay, that thing’s clearly just the garbage that was here before they turned this into a theme park,” she remarked.
Wed PeppersGhost I think Veronica should be noted as the speaker here
Wed PeppersGhost it's been a good paragraph since we referred to her as the subject
Wed PeppersGhost > the honey-voiced barkers more tempting than a whore on the Sabbath?
Wed PeppersGhost god, I love your dialogue
Wed PeppersGhost > It seemed ordinary enough at first: just a series of carts moved around a conveyor belt.
Wed PeppersGhost Should be 'moving'
Wed PeppersGhost > The interior looked like it had been a fulfilment facility of some kind in the past
Wed PeppersGhost 'packing warehouse' would be a much more recognizable term
Wed PeppersGhost Great cliffhanger on pt 2!
Wed PeppersGhost > Aloysius sneered as sipped and sniffed the nebulous fluid
Wed PeppersGhost missing a 'he' here
Wed PeppersGhost > Fuller twitched a bit at the insult but maintained his composure.
Wed PeppersGhost Feel like it might help to specify what's twitching here
Wed PeppersGhost > After all, you’re still alive after all this time.
Wed PeppersGhost Repetition of 'after all'
Wed PeppersGhost > You got lucky.
Wed PeppersGhost Been doing good with the physicality since chapter 1, but I'd add a bit here
Wed PeppersGhost > long since devoured but one of the many horrors that abide across the cosmos.
Wed PeppersGhost 'but' should be 'by'
Wed PeppersGhost so, I really really like the idea of Herman Fuller being a bastard Sarnic half-blood
Wed PeppersGhost * Sarkic
Wed PeppersGhost It adds even more layers to his relationship with the circus freaks
00:00 PeppersGhost Rad stuff 👋👋👋

Footnotes

1. Laughing gas.

2. The Ringmaster's assistant and lover, Lollipop, believed to be Loretta Lyons of ███████, ██. Lyons was reported missing on July 8th, 19██. Lyons was reported missing by her social worker, and it's possible Lyons had already been missing for several weeks at this point. Her mother was subject to criminal investigation for not reporting the disappearance, but no charges were laid.

3. Icky, the current Ringmaster of the Circus of the Disquieting

4. A provisionary classification for essokinetic anomalies that cannot be effectively contained and could potentially cause a PT-Class Cosmic Hume Field Failure Scenario

5. Hey Zach, it's Chandra. Minor thing, all the Circuses shows are one day only and they do not announce non-local shows to other locales, otherwise they'd be compromising themselves. Maybe change 'dates' to 'date and time'. Instead of one afternoon say 'the other afternoon', just because they don't advertise themselves too far in advance. Yes, the ads are pretermemetic, but that's not foolproof.