#un reanimate me

[h3rb3rtw3st]

Once again thinking about how in Bride of Re-Animator, the bride came to life with knowledge drilled into every part of her being that she was made to love Dan. Dan being the only one in the room, she had assumed that he made her, that he had picked out each individual part of her and instilled so much of his love into her to create her.

Of course, Dan didn't actually create her, Herbert did. Herbert created her for Dan, and thus poured every drop of his love for Dan into the creation of the bride.

And so, when the bride rips Megs heart from her chest, she dies, and so does any remainder of a relationship between Herbert and Dan.

Love that.

[mixhifan]

Jeffrey Combs says ☝️

Teniendo en cuenta la gente que lo sigue, hay mas posibilidad que si de que no

[laulo821]

♪ POUR JOUER LES APPRENTIS SORCIERS

♪ RAPPER, BEATBOXER TOUTE LA JOURNÉE,

♪ DEJOUER LA FATALITÉ;

♪ DEVENEZ ADEEEEEPTEEEEUH!!!

Vraiment merci à @laulo821 de m'avoir recommandé La Secte Phonétik. Je n'ai pas encore écouté toutes les chansons mais la dizaine que j'ai déjà pu écouter est parfaite <3

Je bouge la tête au rythme de chaque morceau, littéralement à chaque morceau (ça m'arrive pratiquement jamais).

🎵 Approchez tous, n'ayez pas peur Entrez dans la Secte 🎵

[lxgentlefolkcomic]

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Dialogue transcripts:

Panel 1

Irene: And what have you come to learn?

Panel 2

Jekyll: So far? Very little. It baffles even the simplest of tests. I could tell you what it isn’t, but as for what it is, what its properties are…

Panel 3

Jekyll: …Well, with any luck, the additional sample you’ve given me will help. With it, I’ll be able to run more sophisticated tests.

Panel 4

Holmes: A pretty little puzzle this is. Why would a man shed this, whatever it is, instead of blood?

Panel 5

Van Helsing: Is the matter not clear? A man, if he have nothing else, he have at least the red blood that sustain his life, which, if he spill, will witness to the man-soul that is in him. But this one, who no longer bleed as a man, is man no longer—he is a horror of the Un-dead.

Panel 6

Jekyll: Un-dead? I’m afraid I don’t entirely follow your thinking…

Panel 7

Irene: The man in question is the spitting image of His Majesty the late King of Bohemia. I started seeing him not long after this article was published.

Panel 8

Jekyll: Is that so? In that case, perhaps this substance is the cause of his reanimation.

Panel 9

Holmes: Reanimation of the dead! Do you truly believe such a thing is possible?

Panel 10

Jekyll: From my studies, I have no doubt that chemical science is capable of working such miracles.

[chemicallady]

Heyyy, would you possibly be able to do a Noah Sebastian story that is like a brothers best friend dynamic? I live eat and breathe this stuff lol

I WANNA FEEL LOVE AGAIN

Couple: Noah Sebastian x Fem!Reader

Content Warning: slight mention of sexual intercorse. Nothing too deep, I'm saving it for next Chapters

Summary:  you're a real mess, your life is turning into a living hell, so your brother Matt convinces you to move in with him in LA and start working for the band he's taking care of

A/N: I dont wanna spoil to much in here, because... Well, you' ll see. English is not my native language and no one peer review this ff. It's gonna be a world of fun, I already know it!

Important! I don't know Noah or Matt or any of the real people portrayed un this story. This is fictional!

Enjoy then 😏

Ouch, I've lost myself again

You've always been around, unseen. Having a brother like Matt could be a blessing and a nightmare in equal parts. You were feeded with stories about gigs and musicians while grow up with your older brother, who is dear to you in a way that actually you cant explain. Matt as always been your twin flame even if you are younger than him. You grew up looking at him with a lot of respect and it broke your heart when he left Texas, moving to California. At the time you werent ready for the big change and your brother's friend were still a bit mysterious to you.

You were used to spend as much time as possible in his company, but with this fresh start for him, you just fell into the ordinary. Nothing against your life, by the way; your parents always supporting, best friends ready to drive you to the closer pub and deliver the best night possible, a lovely boyfriend who adored you in any meaning.

You loved the shit out of Shawn. He was your person, the one always there when you were in need. Your high school sweetheart. Maybe he wasnt your first kiss or your first fuck but he was the one who made you feel like it was worthy, living for someone else. The one who pushed you to improve yourself for your own sake, that helped you in finding a job for the local tattoo shop as a piercer when the school was over.

You did everything in your power to be the best girlfriend possible. You decoreted your shared flat in the warmest way possible. You turned down a good scholarship for that college in Montana, pissing your parents and brother for this lost opportunity. You gave up to your dream to be a writer because he had to stay in Texas and take care of his mom. You helped him through the loss, when she die.

But it wasn't enough.

You loved the shit out of Shawn and he loved you in return, but it wasn't enough.

Your relationship suffered a slow, agonizing death with multiple attempt of reanimation. Vacations togheter, a bigger flat, a cat.

Nothing compensate the distance between the two of you and he was the one brave enough to call it for a quit. You knew was gonna happen but it didn't hurt you less. Moving back to your parents, while quitting your job just to avoid to meet him everyday, took you to the bottom. Then the shutdown decided to kick you while you were already down, spending days in bed just listen music or watching anime whitout any chance to go out with your friends or for just a walk.

Everyone was really worried about you. You lose weight and that energy that always marked you.

And you stayed there, drowing in your own misery until Matt decided that enough was enough.

《 Pack your shit, you're moving in with me to LA. You're done making mom and pops that upset.》

The end of fall 2021 signed your rebirth. Matt found a bigger apartment for the two of you and Lucifurr, your vicious black cat which has an obsession in chewing cables and destroy everything paper made. You have always want to leave nearby the ocean and Malibu had a ton of opportunities to offer you. You started a yoga class the same week you moved, in order to make some new friends. Accoding to Matt, there are a lot of things to do around the band he is working with, Bad Omens.

You offer yourself as a merchgirl, but since you're a good writer an even better in tolerate people bullshit (you have to be karmatic, all the teens who came to get a piercing to the shop have always made a scene in front of needles), you could be perfect as a PR/assistant for the band. You remember them barely because someway somehow, these are the guys who steal all the time Matt has. Time that you never get.

You remember this four guys with long hair, basic metalheads, except for the drummer. You remember when you gave him the nostril after a show in 2015, maybe 16, and he took it like a champ whitout complaining. You remember the singer, this slenderman type of guy with beautiful long hair that looks like silk. You've never felt more envy of someone else hair like that. And also the other three guys were nice, especially Vincent. The only one who you can connect to a familiar face because you two got a nice conversation on tattoos when you visited Matt, three years ago.

They are nice.

You've heard stories about them at every phone call.

But still, thieves of precious moments that you want have again in your life again between you and your brother.

All the missing birthday, all the call postponed due to technical issues. He wasn't there to pick up your pieces when Shawn get a rid of you.

And Matt wasn't supposed to, but being selfish, you wish he was there.

But he is now and this is enough to bring the light back to your life. The long talks after dinner, movie nights, everything is back to the normal between you two since you moved and it's restoring.

With this wave of good mood, even if you havent forgotten Shawn yet, you enroll to gym, so you can work out after yoga.

And is in this specific place that you meet Eric.

The first time you caught him lurking at you you were running on the thremill.

There is something familiar in him but still, you dont know anyone in LA. You were the one who actually landed the first conctact with this new alien subject, so introvert to avoid your eyes.

《 Today is hot as hell, right?》

Talking about the weather is the easiest card to play. He smiled a bit shily to you before answering. 《 Don't tell me, I hate how hot is in here. Are you new? I've never seen you around》

《 I just moved in with my brother, actually. 》

《 You're a southie for sure. I like your accent.》

You giggle at his words, while he gets some confidence, passing a hand through this short hair. 《 you got me. You don't sound californian as well》.

《 Maybe because I'm not》. There was a moment in which he seemed to be doubtful, like he changed his mind and he didn't want actually to talk with you. He looked at you with a weird expression, like he realised something was off. 《 What's your name?》, he asked then, almost suspicious.

And then you lied. You rarely give your real name to strangers. A self defence mechanism for girls. 《 Vanessa. You?》

He looked more relaxed, 《 Eric.》

《 Nice to meet you Eric... Do you know a nice bar around? 》

《 Maybe I know a place 》 he reflected, smiling a bit malicious. He was definitely flirting. 《 Can offer you a beer or something? Just to welcome you in town.》

You are not ready for a new story yet, but after almost a year after you broke up with Shawn, you needed at least some human conctact. Eric was nice with you since the beginning. He invited you to this dive bar after the gym a couple of times, not far from your place. He paid for you a couple of cocktails while having a real nice Conversation. A superficial one, about the tattoos that covered him. About living in LA. You mentioned your brother a couple of times and he talked about his roomates and all the crazy things they have done during the pandemic.

He told you he is a Producer and you told him you're still unemployed.

One way or another, he got closer to you in a matter of days. And when he kissed you, you obliged and kiss him back. One thing leaded to another and the two of you ended fucking in the back of his SUV. And oh boy... you needed it so much. It was a quickie, but he seemed to be promising. His long fingers stimulated you untill you cried out for pleasure. His mounth divoured you inch by inch. And his cock....

He knew how to use it, let's say that.

After, he gave you his number and the two of you planned to see each other by the end of the week, at the gym, after your yoga class and his class of jujitsu....

The morning after you're fresh and relaxed like you weren't in months. Matt tends to be overprotective so you didn't told him about Eric while you were having breakfast. You need to know this guys deeply before accept that you know have a situationship. And your brother doesn't need to know about you screacting you itchies.

He has a hot temper when someone looks at his dear little sis.

After breakfast you got ready to meet the band again after almost three years.

《 I can't believe Vincent quitted. He was the nicest.》

Matt sighs while driving to the guys' house, mentally focused on the traffic. 《 youll see him when we'll be in Virginia, don't worry. 》

Your eyes slip on streets and houses, wards and parks but you still feel like You're in a new country. You don't know how much it will take to get used to California.

《 here we are》 , Matt says, parking. 《 let's refresh the rules.》

《 Oh c'mon, I'm not twelve anymore》

《 y/n 》

《 alright! I don't have to embarrass you while you're free to be mean on me. I don't have to embarrass myself talking shit just because I'm nervous and if the music sucks, I can't tell your precious Noah.》

《 You can do better but, more or less, that's it. Lets go. I need another coffe and maybe something sweet before start to film the music video. 》

It's so weird filming inside a house and not in a proper set but all this low budget bullshit are quite the normal for small bands, you think.

You have to be their assistant and eventually a PR- so Matt can stop to bitching on twitter all the time- and you know nothing about bands.

According to Matt, you're going to learn quick.

According to Matt. You know that he picked you up for the job so he can force you to write what he wants.

And continuing to bitch around through you.

The guitar player greets you at the door and introduces himself again as Jolly. The rest of the guys minus Noah are in the garage. It's marvelous how Orie, one of the guys who lives here, a director, reorganize the space with tubes and flashlight.

《 What's the name of the song, again? 》 you ask to Nick Folio, whos already youre favorite.

《 Artifical Suicide》 it's the answer, while he takes his place back behind the drums.

《So emo》 it's your honest observation that makes him laught. Matt looks at you in a way that if he could, you would be incinerated where you're standing. You're already embarrassing him.

Nice.

You regret nothing.

It's a lil sister job to make her brother in troubles, that's what pops always says.

Mike brings you a coffe that you accept with a smile, than tells everyone the news about the singer that is still not here.

A diva, of course. That's your first thought. Every singer is a natural diva.

《 He is still looking for the glove.》

《 He would lost his head if it wasn't attacked to his neck》 , a solid comment arrives from Ruffilo, immediatly followed by an annoyed reply from behind you.

《 I can ear you motherfucker. You are- what the fuck?》

You turn in time to face the famous singer and almost choke with the coffe.

《 Yo Noah, do you remember my sister, y/n?》

You see Noah turning pale for a second while trying to say something in return.

You're also speechless for a second, before putting your shit togheter so Matt wont finds out in the first five minutes. 《 Howdy! You... you cut your hair. Nice. I didn't know》

You didn't.

That's why was so easy for Noah to be Eric for almost a week. For a hook up with you. His best friend sister.

....Splendid.

You're fucked.

[city-of-ladies]

You have probably already heard of the famous composer Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. But did you know that he had an equally talented sister who was sidelined?

This is her story. 

A child prodigy 

Maria Anna “Nannerl” Mozart (1751-1829) was born in Salzburg, Austria, to Anna Maria Mozart (née Perti) and composer Leopold Mozart. She was thus immersed in a musical environment from early on.

She began learning music at the age of 8. Like her little brother, Nannerl was a child prodigy and excelled at playing the harpsichord. But she wasn’t supposed to make a living out of it. Her musical education only aimed at increasing her value in the marriage market. 

Between 1763 and 1766, she toured Europe with her brother. Nannerl was 12 and Wolfgang 7. They gave concerts in no less than eighty cities. Contemporary praised Nannerl’s musical abilities, calling her a “wonder”, “prodigy” or “virtuoso”. She could indeed play the most difficult pieces “with precision, incredible lightness, with perfect taste”. She was sometimes even billed first. 

End of an artistic career 

Nannerl helped write down some of her brother's compositions and wrote her own as well. Wolfgang was supportive and encouraged her. He frequently asked for her opinions on his work. She sent him at least one piece and he called it “beautiful”. Her father said nothing of it.

A musicologist made the hypothesis that Nannerl could have written two of Wolgang’s concertos for violin. Sadly, as far as we know, none of her music survived. 

Nannerl, who referred to herself as an "obedient daughter", stopped touring and performing in public at 16. It was now time to prepare for marriage and her father now focused only on Wolfgang's musical talent. 

A loveless marriage 

Nannerl was 33 when she ultimately married an older aristocrat who already had five children from previous marriages and whom she didn't love. She had three children with him. She didn't completely give up on music and kept giving piano lessons.

After her father’s death, Nannerl managed to garner all of his estate. Her relationship with her brother became strained and their correspondence ceased after 1788.

Preserving her brother’s memory 

Wolfgang died in 1791. Nannerl later encountered Franz Xaver Niemetschek’s biography of him and was deeply moved by it, learning of the difficult conditions he spent the end of his life:

“Herr Prof. Niemetschek's biography so completely reanimated my sisterly feelings toward my so ardently beloved brother that I was often dissolved in tears since it is only now that I became acquainted with the sad condition in which my brother found himself.”

She later helped Georg Niklaus von Nissen (who had married her brother’s widow, Constance) in writing a biography of Wolfgang by lending him an important collection of letters.

Nannerl became blind at the end of her life and died in 1829 at the age of 78.

Her fate leaves us wondering what she could have become in a more supportive environment and what her music could have sounded like. 

Feel free to check out my Ko-Fi if you want to support me!

Further reading:

Gault Philippe, "Mozart : Sa soeur Maria Anna, dite Nannerl, a-t-elle composé certaines œuvres signées Wolfgang ?"

Laleu Aliette de, Mozart était une femme : histoire de la musique classique au féminin

Melograni Piero, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart: A biography

Milo Sylvia, "The lost genius of Mozart's sister"

Solomon Maynard, Mozart: A life

[wyvspike]

TMAGP ep 01 Thoughts/Theories -- spoilers :)

Just finished listening to the first episode and WOW okay. It was SO GOOD and I was having an absolute ball, taking all my silly notes. And so, I have a handful of thoughts. Obviously there are spoilers. Please reply with your own thoughts as well if you wanna add on :)

==SPOILERS for both TMAGP and TMA BELOW==

Firstly, I adore Alice and Sam, am intrigued by Collin and Gwen, and really curious about Teddy. Why is he leaving?

Talking computer. Three distinct voices, and three specific people were there when the world un-ended in MAG 200. Jon and Martin ofc. And Jonah. Could that be who the third voice "is?" Are these text to speech voices Jon and Martin's spirit, or is it just Jonny and Alex reading it and it's not that significant (it's definitely significant). Interesting...

Statements: I'm not sure what to make of the first of the two statements that was read out just yet. Not sure what the deal is with the reanimation/zombie or what its/the people involved's significance is, but I'm not gonna disregard it as "just spooky." Learned my lesson the first time listening to TMA.

Obviously the second statement stands out more because it's about the Institute. We know that the Institute burned down 20 years ago. We know that it's located in Manchester now. We know that it's been marked as "cleared" on an urban spelunking blog or whatever, which kinda discourages people from exploring it right, and people who go there leave feeling unwell and paranoid.

Weird that all the files were just gone. Did someone take them or were they just kind of ~removed from existence~ after the whole MAG 200 stuff? And if somebody did take them, who? Why?

And then there were the gross stains. Saw someone on here say WORMS, but my first thought was blood. Worms makes a lot of sense.

Finally, strange wooden box with strange markings. My mind immediately went to the box that sits at the centre of the Web Table. Could be something else entirely. But it can't be photographed. Well, nothing from the Institute could be photographed (maybe it could by film camera instead?) And oh of course, the only photos that could be uploaded were gory photos of eyes. Did the eyes belong to anyone in particular? My first thought was they were Jonah's, but maybe it's not of anyone in particular. Or maybe it is.

Those are all of my thoughts. Please add on with any other details/ideas/theories! I'm sure to give this episode another listen before next week. Gosh, it makes me want to go back and give TMA another re listen but I really, truly do not have time for that.

[meirimerens]

3 and 15.... I come to you with knees bent and face turned up to kiss your palms as if in prayer asking for 3 and 15 on the ask meme.....

honestly this ask scared me because i was literally writing a piece of PMPE where it is discussed how the plague in dankovsky's ears sound like psalms and prayers are you in my walls...? oh well that's topical. LET'S GO

3. any ideas for how that experiment where daniil resurrected a woman went down?

love this question love it love it ok so the collective-imaginative vision of the anatomist resurrecting the dead before a crowd is very Victorian, it's very 19th century, at a time where mediums and other spiritualists were a more and more common sight; it's Gothic, it's Frankensteinesque. now, while patho's time period is purposefully ambiguous, many consider it 1910s-ish, with p2 being a little later (possibly closer to 1930s from what we've seen of the bachelor's route behind-the-scenes), so by this time, this type of thing would have been quite passé, and for Dankovsky especially, who's a man of the future, and not of the past, at least as far as medicine goes. the only account of him resurrecting a woman is from Lilich, and in the text it is also mentioned she didn't introduce herself by this name. the canon explanation for this is that puppet-players are not remembering their past games right, and are not weaving a coherent story; but i see this as... dankovsky would not do this kind of thing publicly - again, too Victorian, and with everything that entails; the pompousness, the stuck-upness,, the religiosity, the good mores; he is not of that kind. he would do this privately, he has. privately, perhaps surrounded by his peers at Thanatica, and as such, he remembers there being a woman - not Lilich, not even Karstlich (how she says she introduced herself as then), but his memory faltering¹ he thinks he remembers it. same for Lilich, in her own right: she attended one of his lectures. it did not contain reanimation, it contained something else; but his reputation, preceding and running after him like a bloodhound, has shaped her remembering of it. he has never resurrected a woman, privately or publicly - how so? how come? because he has never defeated death. we begin the game with him desperately trying, because he has always failed before.

¹ this is not faltering. i see it more as closer to greek myths: a single myth will be different from era to era, from storyteller to storyteller, from island to island. they are all true. this is not faltering, this is a truth polymorphic.

15. pick a barnett newman painting for each of them

my favorite question. let's get on with it.

this is Andrey. do you see the un-inked strip? and do you see how the ink seems to bubble up all around it, like festering around a wound, like matter accumulating by the Lack, bubbling up like anger, boiling? this un-inked stripped is what he sees as his Lack. he is the one constantly bringing up peter as his soulmate, them being two sides of a same coin, he is the one who declares the threefold bullet line. he is the one who acts in lack, in order to fill the lack. kill to keep peter close. go forward to bring dankovsky closer. kill a man because you couldn't keep him. matter, his own, and other's, accumulate by the Lack. dead fish where the water has drained.

this is Peter. the twotone is because i think he's bipolar (true fact). it is also because the pitch-black rectangle, the monolith, is the shape of farkhad's grave - it is farkhad's grave. (it is farkhad.) he is the guilt-bearer, he is eaten. half of him eaten by guilt, like taking of his bed. this half would be where he has space for andrey, for dankovsky, for himself expanded, but the murder put in its place the casket. he and andrey have been drifting apart since the murder, peter says of it he has been "hurting for 10 years" because of it, because of andrey's act of it. see how the black monolith encroaches into the lighter ink's space, but the reverse isn't true, because the black of the monolith is so absolute? this is happening to him.

this is Dankovsky. his shape is different from the others, because he is different from the others. he does not quite fit in with the twins. he is in the middle: he is cleaved. he is cleaved because he lacks: his life work has been destroyed, and he is slowly realizing everything is slipping out of his grasp. he is cleaved in two, there is a hollow for a third thing, a third part, a third piece. andrey calls it: molded me, my brother, and you into a single person… The fire of war has molded us into a threefold bullet. dankovsky is cleaved piece into which the already-molded peter and andrey could fit. if they were molded. and andrey, paining peter for years, has quite kept them from being so. dankovsky will keep this cleave, his hollow: he says "keep your dumb head cool", he reins back in. the hollow is fit for grief. at his sides, shadows approach and stand, but do not encroach. still, they threaten. one is bigger, one is seeping out. one grows and swells like an oil spill. (a monolith, baring hazier parts, in the fog of unknownness)

this is farkhad. come then forth thee monolithe... stands tall, pitch-black, front and center, middle. not unlike his grave. on his sides, matter frames him, maybe follows, or threatens him. matter boils, bubbles, or streaks. matter reacts to him, or around him -> the twins. the single white line, maybe the breaking of the bond, or the knife strike. see there, to the right, three lines? they are brackets: } . they are bringing-together brackets. he is the bringer-together... for the better and worse.

this was so fun :3 thank you... [ask me a little something something?]

[superheroauthor]

I’m Alive! Sparky The Superhero’s Story

Chapter One – The Train Journey Home

   The Spark that lit my life lit the world

                        Historical, Great Earth

   Some people call me Sparky, for that is my name. I don’t use that name often but that is my name – in this life anyway.

   I used to be called Parker Maitland. Before I died, that is.

   I have the names of all the people who died to make me. I sometimes use one of those.

   Today I was calling myself Chunky, as that is what I am not.

   Six foot tall and skinny is what I am. My head is a mass of wild black hair, spiking out in some places and flat in others, and at the back in a long ponytail past my shoulders and down my back.

   A leather trench coat I wear, hobnailed boots. I look normal, but I am not.

   I was on a steam train returning from a hunt. I had been killing werewolves in the surrounds of the city of Hex. That’s in the West Country. Now I am returning to the city of The Smoke – the main capital of the city lands, that is.

   As I looked up at the clockwork magic glow-bulbs, floating on the train’s ceiling, I was thinking about my life. This one, my latest one.

   You have to understand, ten years ago I died. I was an engineer, one of those persons who could make anything from anything. To fix things was easy, complicated things took longer and the impossible, well, that did take a very long time but I could do it.

   With those skills I became an inventor in this clockwork world. That was what worked here: clockwork, a little magic and of course steam.

   This was not Old Earth or even Old, Old Earth. This was NEBULON 6, now called Clock. It was different from the other worlds. Very different from Old Earth where we had come from in The Ark. Different even from Great Earth where my ancestors were supposed to have lived.

   Here, the highest intelligence was the Punks, the punkawathas, but they have vanished now. No-one knows where they have gone. They are like a myth. They’ve been gone centuries. Next in the levels of genius were the Gods, or that is what they called themselves.

   Actually, they were Creators. Men and women who messed around making new things. Not inventing like I can do, instead they created new creatures. The werewolves that I had been hunting were one of the breeds of those creatures.

   They were geniuses one and all, the Creators. After all they had made me. This me.

   The best of the creators was Doctor Gory. She was a female doctor of incredible beauty who was totally nuts and liked inventing the weirdest things ever to be been even imagined. Zombies, vampires, dragons, werewolves, hellhounds, killer robots, mummies, gargoyles.

   Yes, she could make them all.

   She dug up corpses and would have turned them into demons and devils but she could not perfect the reanimation process. That process was taking a dead body and turning it into a living creature.

   Not one of the Creators had managed this. It was said to be against the will of the higher beings of this world. However, as far as we knew, here on Clock there were no higher beings. That thing about the higher beings was an old saying, a hangover from Old Earth. Here the people did not really believe in Gods and the like. The closest things to them were the Creators and they could not give life to a dead person.

   This was considered on Clock to be the difference between Gods and Mortals, the essence of life. As no-one here could demonstrate that elusive power, no gods were worshipped.

   We had no Gods but we did have a few cults. The Cult of the Old Ones, the punkawathas. Also, the Cult of the Green Earth who were into growing things. They thought all things living were beautiful and all connected to one another in some mystical way.

   No Gods though. Not on the planet of Clock.

   Now though there was a Creator who could give life. Doctor Gory. I knew this for a fact. After all, she had given me life. Made me from many corpses, adding and subtracting bits until one day I arose. Alive.

   A glow bulb above me blew and I reached up and took it in my hands. I twisted it and it split into two pieces, each piece a mass of clockwork. I span the flywheel and it glowed for a second and then died. The magic in it was weakening.

   I turned my back to the other passengers and touched that tiny little wheel and sparks came from my finger. The wheel span again. The sparks from my finger had powered up the small amount of magic again.

   I twisted it back together again and it glowed with a pearl-like light. I let it go and it floated upward to the ceiling of the compartment.

   Everyone clapped.

   I saw the conductor coming and, after a quick bow, walked to the little compartment between the carriages.

   You see, I could not afford a ticket. You don’t get paid for killing werewolves, you know.

   The price of train tickets these days is extortionate, hideously expensive. Fifteen shillings and thruppence when you could buy a loaf for a halfpenny. That was the price for a trip from one city to another. In my youth, near on eighty years ago, the price was one shilling for a ride from one city to another. Travel two cities along and it was two shillings. The price of a loaf then . . . a ha’penny.

   There was only one thing to do.

   “Tickets, please!” came the cry as the conductor opened the door to this compartment and faced me, shutting the door behind him.

   I nodded at him and he came close. I held a coin and put it in his hand and then I used my power. Sparks flew and he got a jolt of my power, pure ‘tricity and he flew back and hit the compartment wall. I coshed him and rifled the fares pouch, big leather folding thing it was, to hold tickets and the money. It was a lot of money but I rifled his pockets just the same.

   A screwdriver, that would come in handy. Obviously, he did odd jobs on the steam train as many others did. Screws, nuts and washers in a little pouch. Excellent. Some small change, he wouldn’t need that. Handkerchief, no. Kerchief around his neck, no. Keys, excellent. I could use those. Mints, they would help pass the journey.

   Now it was time he left. So out of the door and onto the tracks he went. It was alright. The train was picking up speed. One hundred and ten miles per hour. He would be dead as he hit the ground. All right and dandy. No witnesses at all.

   I could not afford the fare and I would need to eat tonight and maybe get new lodgings, so my need was greater than his. It seemed simple to me.

   Who hunted the beasts to keep the city folks safe? Me? It was only right he pay me back.

   As I passed into the next carriage, there was a food seller. There would be at least a couple on every train. This one was selling meat pies. He didn’t state what the meat was and I did not enquire. On some matters, it is best to be in the dark.

   Oh? I am an animated corpse, do I need to eat? The truth is, not really. It’s more of a habit from previous lives. Not my previous lives, all our previous lives.

   If I eat, I need to eliminate. Urinate the liquids and defecate the solids. It’s a messy business so sometimes I go weeks without eating. Nonetheless I like to eat and drink.

   It makes me feel human.

   Can I die? Fucked if I know!

   My heart beats, my brain works but can I die? I do not know.

   All I know is ‘tricity flows through my body at all times.

   Do I weaken if my blood flows away? Again, I have no idea whatsoever.

   I still have blood, my heart still beats, my brain still works. That is enough.

   I am good at surviving. I have to be, to stay one step ahead of the Creators.

   The first true animated human. They all want me, the Creators that is. To know how I work.

   Maybe they will cut me up into little bits to find out. That is why I stay one step ahead of them.

   I know them all. From a research point of view anyway. I know where they live, what they like to create and what they want to make in the future.

   The fog was getting thicker. We would get to the city soon. Getting off would be no problem. I had my ticket. In fact, I had a whole load of tickets.

   Everything had been tucked away in my long trench coat. A big black leather one it was, that went down to my knees. There were so many pockets in it, I couldn’t count them up. Normal pockets, hidden pockets, clockwork-magic pockets. Even one that needed steam to open it.

   On top of that, my backpack. That too had lots of pockets though it was not large. Just a little pack like walkers use.

   It was dark outside but then it always was from the train. City magic and the rest of the country did not mix. They couldn’t see the cities and the trains, those from the country.

   I saw someone with a music box. Just a little one, smaller than the palm of my hand, churning out a horrible tinny little tune that sounded discordant and annoying.

   Fog was seeping into the carriages now. The floor was like a carpet of gloom. Good, that meant the station was very close. A whistle echoed down the train and the lady put her music box in her long pouch.

   I did not grab it or hurt her. That would be rude. She had done me no harm. She had not overcharged me.

   As we embarked from the train, we queued to return our tickets to the guard and leave the station. As the lady got her ticket punched, I cut the cords to her pouch with a tiny razor blade. The music box dropped into my hand and was in one of my pockets in a flash.

   I was then impatiently waving my ticket about and the guard took it and I passed through. I went in the opposite direction as the lady. I was going towards the Murky Café.

   All was gloomy on this street. The fog made my vision ahead into a haze so I could barely see ten feet. Steam powered trams were rocketing past on the roads making them difficult to cross. The lights were from gas lamps, the poor man’s choice but used by the city to light the area at night.

   Wealthy people, even middle-class people, lit their houses with clockwork magic. A few used this new-fangled ‘tricity that had been invented some years back. Invented but not quite trusted by most. Clockwork magic could light and heat your home at the flick of a switch so why use this untested ‘tricity? It was mostly the flashy new rich that did it. The more steady rich stuck to the old ways.

   The poor, all they could afford was gas and then only for lighting. Heating their little hovels would have just cost too much.

   I went into the café and ordered a Roo pie and a cup of java. The Roo pie dutifully jumped around on the plate until I speared it with a fork. It wasn’t alive, just a magical effect to make the food more interesting. As I ate, I took apart the music box.

   I did not nick it out of spite or even because of the horrible noise it made. It had components I needed. I took it all apart until it was just cogs and gears and bits of metal on the table. The flywheel was rising and dropping just slightly on the table, thus showing it still had magic in it.

   I took out my jeweller’s screwdrivers and a magic battery from one of my pockets. I rearranged the music box and its components around the battery and fitted it to the end of my cosh. The cosh had lines of sparks running up and down it now. There was only a little metal box left of the music box. I screwed this onto the base of the cosh and the sparks stopped. Tapping that box would make the sparks flow through the cosh or stop them if it was on.

   The café was quite large but also dingy. Grease slid down the once painted brown walls, fog carpeted the floor. The wood of the chairs and tables was cheap, indeed the legs of some of the chairs were quite spindly. They would not survive another year.

   There were no table cloths here, just the tops of the tables, discoloured by many years of use.

   I drank some java out of the ceramic pint mug. Suddenly my pie was snatched away and a goon was leering at me and laughing. He crammed the whole pie into his mouth, crumbs and bits of food spreading across his face or dropping on the floor.

   This café was for solitary folk, but sometimes the clients were not the best brought up.

   “Give me money for java, runt!”

   I was no runt at six foot tall but he was no runt either. He had a couple of inches on me and was built like a brick train station.

   I stood up. He just laughed, spitting what remained of my pie on the floor. There was no doubt of it, he was a big man. Dirty, heavy overcoat, big black hobnail boots that might have been from a Crusher. Leather knee britches with patchwork cloth gaiters to cover up his wool knee-length socks. A cap that looked like it had been dipped in oil.

   This man was a roadman. The sort that slept outside under the train arches, who stole for a living and moved from area to area in the city to avoid the Crushers catching up with them. Hard as nails and twice as thick.

   I think this one has been on the guano juice. The guano was a fruit that only insects ate because its smell was disgusting. Its taste was supposed to be worse. If you had the stomach to drink its juice though, it had a psychotropic effect, as well as getting you pissed in one second flat.

   “I need money for java, runt, and so you got to pay.”

   You never showed your purse to a roadman. He would steal it the second you went to give him a coin. He would then punch you in the mouth to say thank you.

   “He won’t leave!” complained old Tucus, the owner. “He leaves and you eat for free for the night. He never comes back and you always eat for free.”

   I understood what he meant, though the roadman probably had not.

   Get him out and eat my fill, kill him and I would always be fed here.

   Old Tucus was the owner of the Murky Café. He was in his fifties, old for this part of the city. He was as fat as a porcine, a good thing for a cook. I never thrusted thin cooks. He was always sweating but then it was hot back there in the kitchen.

   He was a good man Tucus, a man you could trust. A man who had fed me for nothing on more than one occasion

   I pushed my head backwards and it tapped my neck support. Though it was not really a neck support. I pulled the piece of metal at the back of my neck and as it slid upwards and out, sections of metal dropped down to form a crossbar. As it slid totally out more sections dropped into place and there was a sword. A good sword. One of my own design.

   I shook it to make sure it was rigid and all the bits were in place. The handle was long so I could use with a one hand grip or two. By the looks of the roadman I would need two.

   Now he was looking at me with apprehension. Roadmen are bullies, plain and simple. They get out of their heads on guano juice and bully all around them to get their food and drink. The only ones they didn’t bully were café owners. They needed places for shelter in the day, hot food and drinks so café owners were safe. Hurt one and the cafés all across the city could ban them.

   Worse, the café owners could get Crushers to guard them.

   I swished the sword through the air. It cut through the air with a satisfying breeze.

   The roadman was no fool. He slipped on a metal gauze glove and pulled a knife. The glove was to grab bladed weapons, the knife to cut me and make his point.

   “Leave naked or don’t leave,” I told him to wind him up some more. His whole life would be in his pockets. He was a roadman.

   I stood there, breathing easily but doing nothing else. Tucus was hardly breathing at all I saw.

   A flash of movement and the huge man was charging me, one hand out to grab the sword, the other hand held back in readiness to thrust deep when my move was exposed. I did not move and, hardly believing his luck, he grabbed the blade . . . and I let the sparks flow through me into that sword and from the sword into that metal gauze gauntlet.

   Cooked flesh, smelling like porcine, wafted its odour through the room as the man screamed and snatched his hand back. The blade swept through its arc and the roadman’s head came off clean. Blood spurted like water from the neck in a fountain. One second, two, three, four and the body fell, spraying blood onto the tile floor.

   “Sparky, you excel yourself!” Tucus seemed exuberant, maybe too happy to just have rid himself of a roadman. Maybe he actually cared whether I lived or died. “You come back later and your old mate Tucus will lay on a feast for you. Porcine with ogre-berries, you like that. Your favourite, yes?”

   “If the Crushers come in, it was Chunky here tonight, not Sparky.” I gave him the stare to show how serious I was.

   He looked a little lost for a moment and then caught on.

   “Chunky, the fat boy, yes. He carries an axe. That one?”

   I grinned and left the café.

   I was wary of Crushers.

   What’s a Crusher?

   Like a policeman. I think that’s what your word is. Securiza they were on Old Earth and on the Old, Old Earth world, I am sure it was police. Or was it polite?

   Our Crushers are nothing like polite. They are seven foot tall with huge feet in hob-nailed boots. The Magistrate is in charge of them but they follow no rules.

   It is their job to stop trouble. If they see a theft, they catch the wrongdoer and give them a beating that puts the culprit in the wellbeing clinic. If they see a criminal beating on someone bad or killing them, the Crusher will kill the culprit, just like that.

   I once heard of a word called Law – there are no laws here. You live with each other peacefully or a Crusher beats your brains in.

   I left the café and hit the fog. Night-time fog was the worst. Soot covered buildings reared out of that mist, trams flashed by on the roads, hardly to be seen. Paths always full, people busy from dawn to midnight. Everyone being careful not to be pushed into the road. The trams would not stop. They were going too fast. Fall into the road and you were probably dead. The tram would ride right over you.

   I hit the shadows for two backstreets and then saw my room from the rear. No light. The curtains looked to be open but in the dense fog it was hard to tell. The streetlamps were not bright and could not cut through the fog, they made patches of light and gloom with the odd patch of good vision up to ten feet away.

   I shinned up the drainpipe. Nothing. I hung over and peeked in. Nothing. I slid from the drainpipe onto the window ledge and carefully eased up the window. I heard a pin drop, which was good. No-one had entered this way.

   I flicked a spark from my finger to the globe above my bed and it lit up my room. Empty. In I went and rushed to the door. I checked it. Yes, there was the wedge in the bottom, there was the wedge in the door-crack, there was the pin at the top. No-one had been in here.

   Every month I put money in the landlady’s safe. I opened it without a key and locked it after. The coins were always in a blue cloth pouch so she knew it was I paying. Just to be sure.

   For that, she rented the room and did not pry. Which was good. Anyone opening that door would get a crossbow bolt into their body, aimed for the trunk, not the head. I never used the door, only the window.

   I stared at the glow bulb and drifted off into my thoughts.

   First was The Ark. Praise be its name. Don’t know what that means. They taught to me in school in my real life, over sixty years ago.

   Here’s what I do know. A planet called NEBULON 6 (now called Clock) was to be colonised. Great Earth was overpopulated and had problems with something called solar radiation.

   The Ark came here many years ago: some say an age, some say two or even more. Hundreds and hundreds of years, maybe thousands, no-one really knows.

   The Jezel Ark had been carrying the ten thousand new inhabitants. Instead of the smooth landing it had been supposed to fulfil, it crash-landed. All of the scientific equipment was damaged. It was in the rear of the ship and that part blew up.

   After that, life was basic. There were two factions. The modernists who thought they could somehow bring all the technology of Great Earth to this world by building it. Opposing them were the veterans, the armed forces that was supposed to protect the others in case of hostile beasts. The veterans wanted a basic existence, hunting and fishing. Farming for all who would not hunt.

   The veterans won. They had the weapons and the skills to use them. They went out of their way to kill all scientists and modernists so there could never be an advanced society.

   The air was breathable, there were beasts to hunt for food, fruit on trees and the grain was plentiful. The planet had been selected as it was a veritable Eden.

   Unfortunately, within a hundred years, the thing called science was near enough forgotten, it had become myth.

   Life was very primitive . . . until the punkawathas came forth. The punkawathas were the true inhabitants of the planet. Something that did not appear on the checks before colonising this planet. They had their own city. One that was shielded from scans or even Neo-Earthling eyesight. Unless it was shown to you, then you could not always see it.

   It was a city of clockwork and magic and steam.

   The punkawathas showed this city to some of the brightest men they found. A thousand men and a thousand women were selected.

   I can only tell you what the punkawathas looked like from the myths that have come down from generation after generation. They were twenty foot tall and looked a little like baobab trees. A dull purple flesh with green rush like hair. The masses of green hair surrounded the purple body so it could hardly be seen. Seven arms projected from under that green hair. Each of these arms had hands that seemed to have a dozen fingers. Long delicate fingers with many different joints in them.

   This is just the myth, of course. They could look like regular human beings for all I know.

   The punks, as they were called, taught the chosen people, men and women alike. They showed them how to use these things of the city, how to make them. How clockwork magic was better than any technology or science. They taught these select people how to live in the luxury of the punkawatha way. The humans mastered these skills with the teaching of the punks. It did not happen overnight. It took over a hundred years and the human numbers increased fourfold.

   By then other cities had been built and connected up with the steam railways. The  punkawathas smiled on their efforts and then just vanished. Maybe to another city like the first one or maybe to another sort of civilisation altogether.

   The human numbers grew. They stayed in their cities that the Veterans could not see. They made another city and another, linking them up by steam railways that had clockwork magic to make the trains invisible to the outsiders.

   Years passed and now there are now thirteen cities. Each about a hundred miles apart.

   I awoke. I must have dozed off. I had arrived in the city on the train in the evening. It was now night. About three at night on the ten-hour clock.

   Our clocks are ten hours in the day, from dawn until dusk. Ten at hours at night when the third moon joins the other two. When the first moon goes down, that signals daybreak. It is odd to some but anyone hunting werewolves was cool with it.

   Three moons, two suns and glorious weather, only raining at the weekends to help the crops grow.

   Out of my window I went and onto the ledge. I felt out to the light globe and the spark returned to me and the light went out of the room. I was then closing the window and sliding in a pin.

   Down the drainpipe and sliding through the backstreets quick as a warehouse rat.

   The one constant on all inhabited planets in the Universe – rats. All planets seem to have them. Ours were grey furred and about eight inches long, another eight for the tail. Those were city rats. The ones outside the cities came in all shapes and sizes.

   Like crocogators, they are supposed to be on all the planets too. I had never seen one but they were supposed to be on Clock.

   I did not enter the Murky Café immediately when I got there. First, I stared through the window. No Crushers. I opened that door a bit and slid through without the door even hitting the bell at the top.

   Tucus was cooking and had his back to me so I sat down, quiet as a sewer rat. When he looked around, he near enough jumped out of his skin.

   “I bribed the Crusher,” he informed me. He was grinning. He had good cause. No café owner wants a roadman setting up residence there.

   Crushers making up their own rules cause people to be nervous of them. People will always report a robbery to them or suchlike but never want to socialise with them. The Crushers get fed at the cafés. They sleep at the boarding houses. They get booze at the public houses.

   And they never pay a ha’penny.

   If a Crusher eats in your café, he will guard your café, he will hunt anyone who makes mischief in your café. Same for the pubs where they have their own private little room.

   Crushers, though, are always open to a bribe.

   They are huge men with massive strength but is said when they retire, they shrink down to normal size and then have all their wealth to keep them going in their old age.

   They retire at forty. It is a risky life being a Crusher. Most do not make it to thirty.

   “How much?” I asked, meaning how big the bribe had been.

   “Ten shillings.”

   I offered it and he nodded.

   I took four half crowns from the purse in my secret pocket and went to his counter and offered them to him.

   Ten shillings was a lot of money when a loaf was a ha’penny. I paid two shillings a week for my room and though not large it was a tidy room with no leaks or damp patches.

   “No, you don’t pay me, Sparky. I feed you. That was Tucus’ promise, remember? Crusher Bill took the bribe and the body with him. We both knew the roadman, Crusher Bill and me. He has been causing quite a problem down here in Whitechapter. Best him dead. Tucus will gain more customers now without that ‘un hanging around scaring them.”

   He pulled a plate out of his magical oven. The food would be hot, the plate cool. On that plate was a mountain of porcine meat and ogre-berries.

   “You eat here now, heya? Nowhere else. And you eat free. When you here, you guard old Tucus. When you are not, no matter.”

   Tucus was no young one. He was getting on in years. He was a tubby man, portly, with a sweaty face that no-one could call beautiful. On the other hand, deep down, he was beautiful.

   It was said after work he took food down to the ‘street rats’. They are the homeless kids that survive by thieving. Most nights they were hungry, maybe ravenous if they had not got a mark in a day or two. They were all around the city. Tucus had food for any who were at Grim’s warehouse, a decrepit old place that had shut down years ago.

   He never had to worry about being mugged on the way home. Crusher Bill escorted him to the warehouse and home. Tucus made him his favourite meals as an exchange. Whatever was on the menu. If Crusher Bill decided he wanted frog burgers then that is was he got. Or flayed porcine stew.

   (The porcine was flayed just before it went into the pot, not while it was still alive.)

   I tucked into the food, a mug of steaming hot java was handed to me to help wash it down. Tucus was busy making sandwiches. He then popped them into poly bags. Each time the poly bag sealed itself to keep the food fresh.

   Poly bags are made of a thin, blue, almost transparent material. Sometimes they’re big and used as shopping bags: they don’t seal but are very strong and will never break, not even if you put broken glass into them. The smaller bags sealed themselves when tapped and are for preserving food. Years could go by and the food would still be fresh.

   “Onyx eggs and pepper sandwiches.” Tucus wiped trickles of sweat from his brow. “For when you go adventuring again.”

   He looked at me and I knew what he was after. Souvenirs. I sold them sometimes or used them to make things with.

   I patted my pockets until I found something. It was not big. I pulled it out.

   “This is a werewolf’s tooth,” I explained to Tucus. “You can only get them while fighting the werewolf while it is its wolf form. A few days a month and they have to be alive when you take the tooth. After they die, they revert to the human the Creator made them from. This was from a werewolf who was humanlike. He was as tall as me. Saberfang, he was called.”

   The tooth was three inches long and an inch wide. There was a strange blood red patterning in this fang. The crimson marking running through it made it almost look alive.

   “I think this werewolf was made by Lady Molly, her who lives up in Castle. I could be wrong. There was a whole pack of them both in and out of the city. How she got them all from Castle way up north down to Hex in the west I do not know.”

   “In cages?” he asked, loving the stories as much as the curios. “Or maybe she used one to bite humans and turn them?”

   “Werewolves cannot make other werewolves by scratching or biting,” I told him. “That is a myth. When they die, they turn into the corpse of the human that were used to make them. It depends on what Creator made them and how. They can turn into the corpse of a wolf. This will be much smaller than the werewolf who is a huge thing, ten foot long and massive in bulk. Mine was smaller than that. A different type from the norm.”

   I then added more explanation. All of this he would relate to his customers when he showed them the tooth: “The moon is actually full only for a brief time, seconds or minutes. It appears to human sight though to be three days. That is how long it is for the werewolf who turns when seeing it. They do not turn back until the full moon is totally gone three days later. Sometimes the moon is still visible in the day. The moon does not go away; merely our perception of it in daylight is affected. It is always visible to werewolves. They change at night, have a day and a night and then another day and a night and change back at dawn. They are then completely normal for the month. There is no way of telling them from normal humans in the month. They always know what they are, after their first change.”

   “You know so much.”

   I was grateful for his praise. Hunting werewolves was a thankless task.

   “I have to, to hunt the beasts. It is said there are werewolves on all the planets. Can you believe some planets have only one moon?” I shook my head. It was hard to believe. “The werewolves around here are triggered by the rising of the green moon, Leaf. When that is full, they cannot help themselves. They have to turn. They have no control of it.”

   He tried to give me a sovereign for the tooth, a gold sovereign that was worth one whole pound, twenty shillings, no less. That was ten weeks rent for my room.

   True, werewolf’s teeth were rare and this one was a beautiful one at that. No use trying to take them after the creature had died. By then they had gone back to the original human they had been made from by a Creator.

   “Trade you.” I ignored the money and continued on with my story: “This one was different from usual. Normally they move around as a wolf, sometimes they fight that way too. They can assume man shape, a bipedal shape, which is only natural as they are men or women for every night of the month bar three. This one was pretending to be human in the city. Big heavy overcoat, muffled across the face, top hat and in the foggy lamplight he could pass. He was moving towards a music hall and there were too many people in there so I had to fight him, right then and there. He did not become the beast at all, just fought in his human form, his face a mass of fur and teeth with two long fangs sticking out of its mouth. One of those two was knocked loose by the butt of my sword before I beheaded it.

   “I think it was the leader of the pack. More than that, he was trying to achieve something. Not just tracking a victim but up to something. Maybe for his Creator, maybe for himself, when he was human. The rest of the pack were outside of the city. When they feel the moon start to rise, they rush out of the city. They want to be in the wilderness when they go wolf. They love to run as wolves, hunt as wolves, be part of the pack.”

   Tucus was hanging on my every word, rapt, drinking in all the information he could get. So he could gossip about it and appear knowledgeable to his other customers. I knew this.

   Why not? He was always good to me!

   He bought a little globe lamp from under his counter. This one did not glow a pearly white or even a true white. This one glowed an eerie green. Its glow seeped out to encompass the room until I swear you could see bushes moving on the walls.

   “This is a momo globe!” he told me and I just stared at it. I would give all my stolen earnings for that thing. They were very rare. I had never seen one before. I would love to take it apart and see how it worked. It was rumoured that there was no clockwork or even steam in them, just a different sort of magic.

   On this planet there was only clockwork magic, that sometimes was linked up to steam.

   “The person who came in with it called it a Terra Orb, but that’s just a fancy name for it. I knew it was a momo globe.”

   Most Terra Orbs did use unusual magic but at their heart was always a flywheel. Momo globes did not have them. No clockwork at all, no metal at all.

   “Who were they, the person who bought this in?”

   “One of those Cult of the Green Earth freaks. You know the type. They say everything is connected, all throughout the whole of the planet, the universe even. They like to grow their own food and everything is wonderful.”

   “So, they grow their own food, do they come in for java?”

   “It was a little missy. One about your age, early twenties. Her hair all braided up with multicoloured ribbons. She was as pale as a ghost. Looked like one of those zombies you told me about. Turns out their harvest failed and the whole group of them down at Sewerditch was starving. This was their prized possession. They knew I had a hunter who came in.” He nodded at me and smirked. “One who changed things from this to that. A tinkerer, she called it. She offered to trade it for food or money.”

   “How much did you give them?”

   “Two sacks of rice, one small sack of salt, three of flour. They don’t eat meat, see. Meat is murder to them, everything being connected. A sack of tung beans and a sack of cobza corn. It seems a lot but all those things I buy wholesale by the cartload. She seemed very happy with the deal and got her hairy friends to take them away. I did warn her my hunter would not be pleased if this was clockwork magic. He would stalk them all. She just giggled.”

   “Giggled, you say?”

   So, either it was false and she did not live with the other Cult members of the Green Earth down Sewerditch, or it was true but there was something else going on.

   He had paid a lot for it, whichever way you looked it at it. Sacks of food. He just laughed and said the golden sovereign he had offered me for the werewolf tooth was more.

   We haggled. Him starting out at one werewolf tooth for the momo globe. We finished up him getting the tooth and five bob in two half crown coins. I had haggled him up not down. He could have sold that globe for a bag of sovereigns to any one of the Creators or even one of the mystics down at Bankside.

   Bankside was where the rich lived. The mystics down there were the top of their trade. They had made their money and went to live with idle rich. After that they tended to research magics, especially any magic that worked without clockwork parts.

   I was getting tired, my eyelids felt droopy.

   Hey! I did not get tired. I did sleep but only to let my brain process all that had gone on. Not because I needed recovery time.

   I put a shilling on the counter and took down a glow globe from the ceiling. I twisted it open and the glow stopped. I put a finger to its flywheel. A spark seemed to naturally flick across to the flywheel. It span faster.

   I was not tired.

   “Sleep, there is much to do tonight,” I heard and I looked around café. Nobody but me and Tucus. He was using a poly bag. He folded it just right and then put the werewolf’s tooth in it. As it sealed itself shut, it looked like a small display case.

   Who was the one speaking then?

   “You know who it is! You sleep, I will work.”

   I had only been Alive for about one year and bits of that were still new to me. This magical body for a start. I was learning things about it all the time.

   Was that a Creator speaking to me through the ether? I hated Creators. They all had to die. If they did not, they would hunt me down. I was the first being with artificial life. The first monster, if you will.

   Many things can be done to living subjects but none can be done to the dead.

   Dead is dead, that is the rule. Until Doctor Gory raised me.

   Every Creator wanted to know her secret but she would not tell. Creators did not mix. They were secretive, dangerous people. Geniuses that were more than a little insane.

   I did not look like a monster. Apparently, I had been hideous before I came to life. Lots of bits of bodies all stitched together. The second I came to life though, I looked like any other human. No scars, no stitch marks, no blemishes, just a couple of blood marks from when a vampire tried to bite me and got herself electrocuted.

   “Sleep, peaceful sleep, no nightmares, no ill omens, just peaceful sleep.”

   You did not get peaceful sleep much when you were on the run from the Creators. When you hunted beasts and dark creatures of all kinds.

   It sounded so promising. Even a normal dream about my last life would be good.

   “I promissssssssssseeeeee,” I heard, though there was nobody to say the words but Tucus and now I could hear this was a woman’s voice. I could not recognise it but it was a woman’s voice.

   I nodded. I took the sandwiches from Tucus, telling him tomorrow I would be going out for adventure. I doffed my cap at him and left.

   I entered my room the same way as before, not trusting the place until the pin dropped and I had gone through the room and checked the door.

   Without lighting the globe, I stripped and got under the moth-eaten bedclothes and went to sleep.

© COPYRIGHT Michael Sheppard 2024

reblog for next chapter

[nodawnesperia]

Current Status Report (faction status part 2)

The second part, this should be the final of the worldbuilding posts at least for now. After this, I'd like to start getting into specific characters/events. Not sure who I'll start with so if you have a preference, do let me know (same for specific events). Reminder that the Graveborn faction is mostly the same but I will point out the few things that changed. The Hypogeans will be more about their general structure as a faction since the canon provides little to no info on it put concisely. The Celestials though? That's where things will get a little more curious.

This one is short, much shorter than the previous posts. Have fun!

Graveborn

The School of the Dead: The Metamorphs

Previously: The School of the Dead is split between two factions: The Spiritualists and the Metamorphs. While the Spiritualists practice necromancy through magic only, the Metamorphs utilize alchemy and experiment with various other substances in order to further the limits of necromancy. Currently: With the Hypogean backing and support, the Metamorphs of the School of the Dead came up with a new way of reanimating bodies – using Hypogean magic. The resulting creations are tireless, hardworking, intelligent, and brutal warriors.

The Boneyard: The Whispering Doom

Previously: A massive tower looming over the Boneyard, it is filled with sinister spirits known as the Harvesters who collect the lost souls of Esperia, purifying them and stuffing them in new bodies, creating legions of submissive Graveborn soldiers. Currently: With Annih back in the picture, lost souls are no longer present in Esperia. However, for the sake of the alliance, fragile as it may be, Annih allows Niru as the head of the Whispering Doom to choose a limited number of souls for the Graveborn armies.

Hypogeans

Creatures of chaos and destruction exist all over the universe, spawned by the leaking powers of the elder god Lutos. Most of them are disorganized and chaotic, barely capable of any rational thought. In Esperia, however, many influences affected their creation to the point where many are born sentient and even intelligent. There is a wide variety of them now, the only thing tying them all together being their natural draw to destruction.

However, united under the leadership of Annih and Uemiss, the Hypogeans are a formidable force. Annih appointed two high commanders of the Hypogean armies, Kane and Conrad, to lead the lesser Hypogeans and make up for their lack of intelligence. Kane is a strategic attacker while Conrad takes care of the Hypogeans' steadfast defense. By promising domains, power, and their pickings of prisoners and captives, Annih managed to sway the will of most other powerful Hypogeans as well, using their vast array of powers and skills to form a strike force the likes of which have never been seen in Esperia.

Celestials

When Dura created the Barred Gate, she made the remaining gods swear a divine oath to protect it and guard it from ever breaking again. However, when Uemiss began trying to reclaim his power over Altor, many Celestials abandoned their posts to go and combat the galactic threat. When the Gate shattered, so too did the gods' divinity. And as more and more of Esperia fell to the Hypogeans and the mortal faith weakened, even the remaining demigod powers quickly weakened.

At present, the Celestials are either scattered around Esperia or hiding within the deepest parts of the Celestial Sanctum, unable to shed their physical bodies or put up much of a fight. Some died, others got captured. Most of them remain free but it is only freedom in the name. The worse the situation gets, the more desperate the Celestials grow, employing means they once deemed beneath them to secure even the smallest of victories. Mortal faith no longer sustains them so they, in turn, no longer care about the mortal lives. If a hundred mortals die to kill ten Hypogeans, the Celestials only see the dead Hypogeans. Those who are unwilling to submit to such cruel methods are abandoned, left without a faction, allies, or place to belong.

[h3rb3rtw3st]

The thing is, Herbert West would be a lot less awful if he had just been given a pair of noise cancelling headphones and maybe some stim toys. He quite literally just has undiagnosed autism, give him the right tools to deal with it and he'd be fine.

[quantomeno]

Francesco Gabbani x bionicle

I was lying in bed one Sunday morning and I guess Francesco Gabbani's song Pachidermi e Pappagalli was on my mind and as I thought about it this really dumb idea came to me and I just had to put it to paper.

(Per gli italiani: mi sono svegliato una domenica e per qualche motivo Pachidermi e Pappagalli di Francesco Gabbani mi è entrato la testa. Poi mi è venuta un'idea sciocca che ho dovuto scrivere qui).

For those who don't know, Francesco is an Italian singer, most famous for representing Italy in Eurovision 2017. The song Pachidermi e Papagalli (pachyderms and parrots) makes fun of conspiracy theories and the like.

If you'd like to follow along with the original and see the lyrics, here you go (for easier reading, go here, although I prefer the other translation. Bear in mind that he is mocking these conspiracies and doesn't believe in them, because some might be a little offensive maybe).

Anyway, here's my Bionicle version of Pacchidermi e Pappagalli:

Lo sai che l'universo è dentro un robot

Ed i bohrok sono evoluti dagli Av-Matoran

E se se ne svegli uno, ne svegli tutti

e l'amica tua ti spia serve i Vahki.

Arrenditi o corri

Velika un Grande Creatore

"Keetongu è un'invenzione"

e che Roodaka si è salvata

Mahri Nui è affondata.

Le catastrofi naturali

tutta colpa del Makuta.

Antidermis e Brutaka,

yo yo Piraka!

Ritornello:

Mata Nui!

Sai l'universo è un indovinello

e non è mica chiaro.

Mata Nui!

Fortuna abbiamo punti fermi e saldi:

unità, dovere e destino.

Mata, Mata Nui!

unità, dovere e destino.

Mata, Mata Nui!

Lo sai che Metri Nui è dominata ormai

da Turaga Dume e Teridax,

un padrone solo?

Che adesso Ahkmou vive qui a Po-Koro

ha aperto un banco

vende Comete

e fa affari d'oro.

Tuyet è duplicata

fatta a pezzi, rianimata.

I Visorak non hanno freno;

Il veleno è un mutageno.

Non esiste prova alcuna

dei dispersi av-matoran

E nella Stella Rossa

sono Kestora!

Ritonello

E a questa nostra nuova leggenda

Amici riuniti, ascoltate ora.

E le antiche lezioni vanno riccordate

perchè questo è il mondo dei Bionicle.

Ritonello

English translation is below the read more

You know that the universe is inside a robot

And the Bohrok evolved from Av-Matoran

And if you wake one you wake them all.

And your friend is spying on you

She’s serving the Vahki*

Surrender or run.

Velika is a Great Being

"Keetongu is made-up"**

And Roodaka saved herself***

Mahri Nui sank.

The natural disasters

are all Makuta’s fault.

Antidermis and Brutaka,

yo yo Piraka!

Mata Nui!

You know, the universe is a riddle

and it's not clear at all.

Mata Nui!

Luckily we have solid and fixed points:

unity, duty and destiny.

Mata, Mata Nui!

Unity, duty and destiny.

Did you know that Metru Nui is now dominated by

Turaga Dume and Teridax

A sole master?****

That Ahkmou's living in Po-Koro

He's opened a stand

he sells Comets,

he's doing a roaring trade.

Tuyet has been doubled,

broken in pieces and reanimated*****

The Visorak won't stop;

their poison is a mutagen.

There exists no proof

of the scattered Av-Matoran

and in the Red Star

are Kestora!******

Chorus (Mata Nui etc)

And to this, our new legend,

gathered friends, listen.

And old lessons should be remembered

because this is the way of the Bionicle.*******

Chorus (Mata Nui etc)********

Notes:

*the vahki in my mind were bordakh (staff of loyalty), so it’s a ga-matoran

**in quotes because he isn't made-up. It sort of ruins the song that it's not true (and everything else is) but it scans too well to change

***I was tempted to put Teridax instead, but I mention him later. Also this way it rhymed better in Italian. It's a reference to the end of Web of Shadows, but it also plays on the fact she would indeed save herself and abandon everyone else

****i.e. they're the same person

*****A strong contender for this was Hydraxon, but 'fatto a pezzi, risuscitato' from the original lyrics just reminded me of that bit in Into the Darkness

******I was tossing up between Kestora and zombies, but Kestora rhymes better and also evokes the 'marziani' of the original better.

*******The Italian version of MoL has Vakama say "this is the world (mondo) of the Bionicle", which I find curious given modo (way) would match the English and it's only one letter off. I chose to stick with what the Italian film used, if only so it better matches what Italian fans would have heard.

********I left out this bit where there is like radio broadcasts of news reports with 'shocking news' that the conspiracies are true because it's just repeating lines from the song with variations and it's a lot of overlapping voices and fragments.

[moony-myles]

Dan + Herbert Fics <3

This is part two of compiling some of my favourite DanBert works that I've found on AO3. As I did last time, all the links are added and I wrote little summaries for each!

✶ ✶ ✶

Hoping to Hit You Somewhere Vital - xXHacksawXx

Dan presents Herbert with an ultimatum; for Dan to stay, Herbert needs to stop taking his reagent. This is all fun and games until the withdrawal kicks in and Dan is the one there holding his hand. Overall a really heartwarming work, in my opinion about Dan being there for Herbert in a low place.

Determined Heart and Resolved Will (Or, The Son of Reanimator) - Anonymous 

Recommended to me by biscuit-boxers, this is a chapter work about Dan reconnecting with Herbert five years after the massacre at Miskatonic. Herbert has effectively given up on the work and as much as Dan tries to tell himself that he hates Herbert for what he did, he can’t stop himself from helping him. Trouble ensues and they’re back in the mess. 

Within the first bit of the first chapter I was hooked, this work was so good and I don’t want to ramble too much about it, but it’s a must read in my opinion. 

Reanimator One-Shots - Sad_Gay_Whore

Just as the title states, a collection of one shots for our favourite comrades in science. This one features a vampire au in one that I found interesting as well as showcasing Dan's lesbian aunts in another. Overall, the prompts for each weren't like anything I'd seen before and they were a fun, quick read.

Jealousy - nekromantik

A collection of times that Herbert's jealously for Dan's love interests got in the way of Dan's love life, until the moment that Herbert realizes why he's jealous in the first place. A pretty quick read, just one chapter but I found this one kind of fun-- jealous Herbert is a goofy guy.

The Less We Say About it, the Better - StopTalkingAtMe

Primarily a sick fic of Herbert not feeling well and Dan insisting he get some rest. Herbert goes in and out of dreams while he tries to get better, about the past and the crypt where he nearly died. All the while Dan is there to take care of him. This was a really sweet work, showing lots of intimate moments between the two while Herbert gets some rest for once.

There Will Always Be Life After Death - Sad_Gay_Whore

A currently unfinished work, it has three chapters so far (and un-updated since January) I'm really hoping the author continues because I really love this work. It falls post Bride, where Herbert survived the crypt and finds Dan some months later. Sprinkle in some underlying feelings and you have my preferred poison of mad scientist slow burn.

[hannahwatcheshorror]

THE RETURN OF THE LIVING DEAD (1985)

😿dog half un-dies (I guess?)

This is a wild follow up to NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD but is an extremely fun time and a great movie. Just don’t expect it to be like its predecessor. Special effects were a treat, use of the F-word felt very natural (who wouldn’t be saying it in their situation?), and the characters felt genuine and likable. You can see how it is inspired by the previous film and that influence only makes this one better. This movie is a romp and a half, I highly recommend it, (and as long as everyone is okay with a little female nudity) watch this with friends!

⭐⭐⭐⭐.5

Right off the bat, let me just say that I love how the whole premise of this movie is based around the US Army royally screwing up AND making faulty equipment. At first I wasn’t sure how they were going to make this punky and colorful sequel have anything to do with its black & white dramatic predecessor but they used it as non-fiction in universe movie lore (think like Grave Encounters only it doesn’t lead you to the place where you die, oh wait).

Freddy is our friend who now works at a medical supply place (the kind that sells real skeletons, cadavers, and half-dogs) with this guy Frank who wants to scare the new kid with these sPoOkY metal barrels the army left behind back in 1968 (though Frank claims 1969), he says they contain bodies from the actual events that inspired the movie NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD. They go down to investigate and to prove their strength Frank slaps a barrel like he’s a car salesman and the thing immediately starts to spew a thick yellow gas that knocks them both out. 

When they come to, the cadaver in the freezer is dancing a jig (and his little half-dog too) but here is where I have my first problem, the zombies are just so damn fast. For a reanimated stiff that was frozen, you’d think this first guy would be a little more… Stiff. But he runs out that door like a sprinter and doesn’t stop squiggling and squirming until they roast up his pieces in the crematorium. Not thinking about the smoke rising from the chimney (all thick and yellow) the team falsely assume the night is over. Rain pours the chemical smoke back down to earth and now the party really begins because Freddy’s punk friends are all rocking out in the graveyard (aptly named Resurrection) and suddenly this acid rain is gonna wake the dead.

Our girl, Trash, (that is her name, I’m not making fun of her), gets the death she always wanted, ripped apart by old men (the dream, really). The rest of the wildly named gang hightail it out of there and find themselves face to face with the original Barrel Boy. He is a goopy mess who not only knows how to use tools but understands the basics of leverage? This guy was really scary and freaky and wasn’t fast but he was persistent and I think that made him the worst of them all! He was also one of the Zoombobbies we watched just grab a character by the face and bite into their head which is a lot to process. Award for best/worst Z-Babe to the Gooey Basement Barrel Boy.

Speaking of dead people, Freddy and Frank just simply do not have vital signs anymore. They are talking and moving around but… Yikes, let’s get them some help. But oh, no! This sets off a domino effect of paramedics being called and eaten then cops being called then eaten. The wild thing is, it was the reanimated who kept calling for more help. That was very alarming to me. But it also confused me about what exactly these guys are. I joke around not always calling them “Zombies” but half of the time they seem like magical beings the way they have been decomposing in the ground for goodness knows how long but then were able to crawl out and now can sprint and have incredible strength? I don’t fully buy it (shenanigans). In NIGHT OF THE LIVING DEAD, the threat was in hoards and being overwhelmed, but in this film (much like 28 DAYS LATER) just one Zomb-o in your area and you’re basically already dead.

Finally when things came down to it they contacted the number on the barrels, they asked the army for help, they thought they could handle it on their own and just bury the problem but they couldn’t. Turns out the army had a contingency plan in case this sort of thing ever happened. They just NUKED LOUISVILLE, KENTUCKY. I understand WHY they did it, but there have to be some real ramifications from just casually launching a nuke. I don’t think the rest of the world would just sit quietly when the US bombs one of its own cities. Maybe it is just our political climate now (vs 1985 when this film came out) but I think it is wild that that was their solution and they just ended it there like US citizens weren’t rioting in the streets saying, “I had family there!” and that neighboring towns weren’t suffering radiation poisoning… WILD.

[thelemoncoffee]

Kokichi reanimating the dead

idk why but it's on my mind. be it a mad scientist au or a necromancer au, there's just something oddly interesting to me about Kokichi dabbling in the cheating of death. maybe it's his hatrid for murder that makes me go "yeah he'd un-murder someone"

regardless of how you go about it or what his motive for doing it is, i think it'd be neat if he reanimated Shuichi as his first sucessful attempt. Now Kokichi has to deal with both the fact that he has to take care of this undead man who is 100 years behind on technology, and the fact that of all the people he could have reanimated as a test he chose someone attractive as hell.

deranged, bent on cheating death, and gay

[aita-blorbos]

AITA for telling them

(OCS, followup to AITA FOR WANTING ULTIMATE POWER (I think that was the name?), 💎☠️ for ID)

I (forgot, 26? M) have uh, have been locked in this-this room for, uh, maybe years now? They won't tell me what year it is. I don't, uh, I don't even remember what year it was when they took me! Uh, but, anyways, they took me because I have the, the, uh, the ability to communicate with this, uh, eldritch? Ancient entity that appears as a, a, uh, big-ass crystal- that damn crystal, no, no, shut up shut up, I'm trying to- stupid fucking rock- uh, but, but it broke a while back, million pieces and- and oh god... not again, please...

But! But But But! My super sketchy, uh, university, they wanted to-to-to put it back together, harness the power and all. I-we didn't know it was sentient when they made us sign those-those-those, those GODDAMN FUCKING BULLSHIT CONTRACTS- ugh, hem, uh. My fiance, G (? I think he's dead. No, he can't be. Please don't let him be dead, God, please. M), is, uh, a, was a law major, he told me after we met that the contract and circumstances were barely, uh, probably illegal. Yeah, people, uh, di- oh God, they're all dead, it's all my fault, they- they- we shouldn't have signed. I lived longest, I had most un- unprotected contact with, with, with... with ıt.

It started talking, to me. Told me where the rest of it was. Told me to tell the university so it could be pieced back together. Told me it would make me powerful, make my parents proud of me for once, make my family whole, make my relationships work, make my grades go up, make my dreams come true. Make it all go away. ALL.

I, I didn't want to end the world. That, that sounds like a bad idea, right? So I tried keeping it, uh, to my- myself. Dean found out. Had me locked down here. I, I think I was already losing it then, already lost, from the dreams and the visions and the constant whispers. She locked- locked me down here, started aski- aski-aski- questions, took my food, my mess, my sleep, I can't sleep, I can't sleep, I can't... my, my old professor, H (old M), he tries to be nicer, it's a lie, he wants power, they all want power and they're all so stupid, this is power in the way the nuclear bomb is power, it's destruction. He gave me a rat corpse to reanimate. Off topic, sorry.

I, I, I didn't want to end the world before, but i... I can't... she hits and it speaks and he feeds me if I give the answers, and I'm dead anyways, we're all dead, Gre- G is dead, no, yes, I don't know, it- it says I am and that I'm living, dead, re-real proof of, of how rotten this world is, how unsaveable. I told them everything. They wouldn't listen when I told them the consequences. They're the experts, after all, I'm just THE ONLY FUCKING PERSON ON THE PLANET WHO CAN TALK TO THE DAMN THING.

I guess this is less me, uh, asking if I'm an asshole. I just triggered the apocalypse, doesn't get any more dickish than that. More of, uh, of me warning you guys that the end is nigh and all. Extinction level, like dinosaurs. If anyone gets this, please come- come find me, I can't stay down here forever, please, please, please-