Artifact 401211.312
by Nequ

The events here related occur on a campus of a prestigious California university, on a somewhat temperate spring day. The chief subject is Professor Lovitz, who is currently traversing a corridor on the way to his lecture. Observe the ease of his walk, the tall gait which has earned him the affectionate nickname "Longshanks". A gnat pricks him, and he wavers not at all, slapping at his neck in order to quash the offending insect.

His life, as he knows it, will be over in less than ten minutes.

The professor enters the lecture hall, minutes after the start of the hour. His somewhat attentive students have not been waiting long, and settle quickly.

In the third row sits a student named Tom Imus. He is somewhat bored by the class, and spend a portion of it browsing social networking websites, as do several of his classmates. Only a few notice when Longshanks begins to sweat slightly-strange, considering his occasional complaints that the air conditioning is set too high. The ones that do register the sweating, and the slight look of distress on his face, attribute it to some problem of digestion.

The professor, for his part, feels the discomfort as something radiating from his neck, spreading slowly into the marrow of his bones. It centers in the crotch of his legs, and he finds himself unable to concentrate upon the lecture at all. Murmuring some brief excuse into the microphone, he makes for the door, and, ultimately, the nearest restroom.

He does not make it.

Half-asleep as she was, even Vera Minh notices the bulge in Lovitz's trousers, the way his steps faltered as he stared at it. He licks his lips nervously, and gets out "I-" before something explodes from his pants.

Young Tom, among others, at first assumes the fleshy mass is some sort of balloon, and spends a half-second wondering if he should look for the camera crew before realizing that no inflatable could glisten so, could hold such lifelike texture. No balloon, no matter how cunningly worked, could have such legs moving in horrid, lifelike fashion. The raw, diseased-looking patches of skin had not been worked by any artist's hand. It was with a sense of deep confusion that they come to realize that their lecturer's penis has been increased to a size far outstripping the promises of any prescription medication.

A student in the first row steps toward Lovitz. "Sir-"

The lecturer, for his part, is staring in disbelief at the mass, at the insectile legs protruding from it. At the student's address, he starts, causing him to fall down, still staring. Miss Minh begins to rise from her chair, her right hand sliding toward her cell phone.

The legs suddenly increase in activity, stretching the mass, which resembles a hideous worm, upward and down, left and right. The professor stretches a trembling finger, and the mass suddenly turns it's "head" to face him. Bare instants later, the professor find his limbs seized by a powerful force, leaving only his head with any degree of autonomy.

It was later remarked upon, by those who remark upon such things, that Lovitz's concern was not for himself, but for his students.

"Run," he screams. "Run!"

The students, of course, know which way to turn, but a certain amount of panic still develops, even as Lovitz finds his back arching upward, and his limbs moving in such a fashion as to assist the movement of the mass. His arms spin unnaturally in their sockets, twisting backward, painfully. The body, in which Lovitz is now but an interloper, looks left and right, before centering on the student who offered assistance.

The student snaps out of his stupor, and begins to run.

Those who watched the footage from the security cameras later found it remarkable that the creature was able to move so quickly, overtaking and downing the student in seconds. It moved rapidly up and down his body, much like a dog sniffing unfamiliar meat, heedless to his and Lovitz's screams. It then released him, only to have the limbs of Lovitz wrap around his legs, preventing his escape.

The mass chose that moment to assert it's dominance over Lovitz's head. The professor was actively weeping at this point, even as his lips closed around the youth's penis, suckling it right through the pants. Tendrils emerged from Lovitz's mouth, and crept behind the waistband. The student feels such fear that he soils himself, which does not dissuade the creature at all. Indeed, it seems to spur it on to greater effort, even as hands desperately try to pull the tendrils from his penis and anus. His efforts are for naught, and his penis begins to swell, to change.

Vera notes the sudden further atrophy of Lovitz's limbs, their only purpose now to bind the luckless student to the original mass. The professor's clothes hang loosely off of him now, and are damaged as more insect-like legs sprout from Lovitz's skin. The student's body is already repurposed, resembling that of Lovitz's moments before.

"Vera, c'mon!" hisses Imus from the doorway.

Vera jumps, having forgotten the danger to herself. She looks around, and realizes she's the only student left on the floor. Unfortunately, Imus' plea has served only to draw the beast's attention to her. The anonymous student's head tilts ninety degrees upward, so that it turns from the floor to focus on Minh with all the focus of a lighthouse's ray.

Vera's heart jumps into her throat, and she steps slightly out into the aisle.

The creature shifts slightly. Through her horror, Vera has difficulty trying to understand it's physiological relations. Which head is the true head? Lovitz's head? The glans of the transformed penis? Or the unknown student's head, which was now mouthing "run" even as it's owner charged her?

It does not waste much on the chase, this time, preferring to simply leap forward and trust the weight of the two grown men to bear her down, knocking the cell phone out of her hand. The heads at both ends sniff frantically all over her body, and Vera suddenly recalls her halmoni's overly friendly dog, the one that would try to use you as a bed. The legs, the pricking little legs, made her think of a spider. She hates spiders.

The creature stops "sniffing", and turns its "lower" head to face Vera's face. She has the impression of bubbles rising to the top of soup and then popping, leaving behind round smooth black stones.

Eyes.

She screams.

Imus is suddenly there with a fire axe, and raises it above the junction of the student's body and Lovitz's. In the instant it takes him to swing, the two bodies somehow detach from each other, leaving two creatures, one remaining on Vera, the other well in the clear by the time the fire axe glances off the linoleum floor. The haft snaps. The student's half of the creature turns to Imus and hisses, eyes appearing in the same fashion on its engorged member.

Imus stares at the haft, its head hanging limply from the shattered wood, then looks at Vera.

"I-I'm sorry."

Then he drops the axe and runs. The student half of the creature pursues, but Imus has learned from the fates of his fellows, leaps from seat to seat, gaining enough for him to leap through the fire doors and shut them behind him before the creature can reach. It rams itself against them and hisses impotently.

The Lovitz segment has wasted no time, using the professor's arms and it's own insectlike legs to remove large portions of Vera's clothing. She writhes under it, trying futilely to push it off. It reaches her underwear, and she wonders, absurdly, if it's going to eat her out.

It does not.

Taken by a sudden frenzy, the creature rips into her panties, and rears back, like an animal waiting to strike. Nictitating membranes flick over its eyes before it drives itself into her vagina.

And does not fit, able only to fit the tip of it's massive girth in. It rears back, and thrusts again. Oddly, the girl would swear that it goes in slightly farther. The creature rears and thrust again, and again, each time gaining more depth, more purchase, until Vera stares in disbelief at the massive bulge protruding from her midsection.

She begins to change.

It starts with her tongue, feeling suddenly stiff in her mouth. It grows larger, and the texture changes from pebbled flesh to smooth, the tip eventually poking out of her mouth. A stretching feeling in her head follows, her eyes sliding backward on her head, even as the head itself reshapes itself towards a curving point. The tongue emerges from her mouth, and spreads, much like a mushroom, over most of Vera's face. The head itself goes larger, and Vera cries as she feels her skull reshaping itself, her neck widening, until there is little to separate it from the body.

Her legs wrap around the creature, binding them together, as dozens of small black eyes suddenly open on her head. A split appears near the tip of what was once her tongue, and the bulb opens up into three flaps, with red wetness inside. Vera is long past screaming or tears, and barely conscious. She is barely aware of her arms warping, more arms erupting from where her waist once was, and her body swelling and bursting through tattered clothes.

The creature stops moving and checks itself. Yes, all is well. The sheflesh had been successfully integrated. No threats detected. Other attempting to breach portal. Investigate other means of egress.

And add to the flesh.
+++++
Imus grabs the nearby fire hose, and pulls it hard enough to gain several feet of slack. He threads it through the handles, ties a know, and leans against the door just as the thing hits it. The impact is quite nearly sufficient to knock him off his feet. He has little purchase with his Birkenstocks, and he kicks them off so he can brace better.

A man in the familiar khaki of Campus Security runs up to the door, and joins Imus in holding it shut. "What's going on here?"

Imus looks at the guard as the door bucks. "There's some kinda...creature in there. It's killed Lovitz, and at least two more."

"What, like a rabid dog or something? Should I call Animal Control?"

Imus smiles grimly, not noticing the tendril curling under the door and around his leg. "I think a SWAT team might be better."
+++++
Meanwhile, in the same building, a teacher's assistant examines a clear plastic container. The intern is fairly certain he had sealed it the night before, but as he had already taken a small hit of a cigarette made of a somewhat illegal plant at the time, his memory might not have been as clear as later on.

"Hey," queries the intern. "Hey, professor, how many of these genetically-altered, radiation-exposed mosquitoes are we supposed to have?"

The professor lowers his mug of Tazo Awake tea and his copy of the New Republic. "Five. Why?"

The intern looks down at the Plexiglas box. "Oh. Oh *crap*."
+++++
ARF 401211.312

Name: N/A
Gender: N/A
Date of Acquisition: 2009-03-31 23:06Z
Sentience: Minimal
Weight: approx. 81.5 kg
Height: approx. 1.04 m
Volume: approx. 121.1 liters

CoRe forces were called in to a building on the [REDACTED] campus. (CoRe report 4414.3531.) After following proper procedure, Artifact was obtained and taken back to the nearest facility.

Artifact resembles an human being, albeit one with a greatly enlarged, mutated phallus. The rest of the body is largely vestigial.

According to eyewitness reports, the organism has the ability to add human beings to its mass. This is done by contacting the target via the "appropriate" end.

The "appropriate" end is defined by the original gender of the body. More details in the excerpted report, below.

CoRe report 4414.3531
***ATTACHMENT***
The original host, Prof. Lovitz, was male, and according to eyewitness reports, claimed some distress in class and tried to exit. Before he could do so, his phallus mutated suddenly into a larger form, with "insect legs" sprouting from the sides. It propelled itself towards the nearest student, with some control over the bulk of Lovitz body. Lovitz's body also displayed slight mutations.

Upon reaching the target, it somehow removed the target's pants and forced its host's mouth to close around the target's phallus. The target began to mutate, most noticeably his phallus. Lovitz mutated further, and the organism controlling him seemed to gain further control.

The gestalt organism then targeted the next student, Vera Minh. Unlike the previous host, the "phallic" area of the creature vaginally penetrated Minh after partially removing her clothes.

During this time, Thomas Imus attempted to attack the creature with a fire axe. The creature split, and the newer portion chased Imus from the area.

Despite the initial difficulty, Minh was eventually fully penetrated. Her head and upper torso mutated into the new phallic area.

Despite the efforts of students and campus security, the organism left the lecture hall. A perimeter was established and maintained until CoRe personnel arrived.
***END ATTACHMENT***

According to security camera footage, it is possible for the creature to split into the approximate forms of the individuals it is comprised of. All segments display compete autonomy, and greater response to the "appropriate" stimuli when split.

SENTIENCE
Partial. The creature seems to recognize stimuli and photographs of the individuals it's comprised of. Field test insufficient to determine sentience.

EXPERIMENTS PERFORMED
N/A

HYPOTHESISES
Artifact may have some connection to the "Flesh-Wyrm" briefly mentioned in **SECURITY LEVEL GAMMA REQUIRED**

NOTES
Standard sentience evaluation reccomended.

ENDF

Experiment 11236.5578
by Nequ

11236.5578.mtx

Location 06.47

Experiment 11236.5578

Senior Rese...

11236.5578.mtx
Location 06.47
Experiment 11236.5578
Senior Researcher 02316.2

HYPOTHESIS
***ERROR 371.45***

MATERIAL RESOURCES
Rsh 02316.2, redesignated TS 02316.2
***ATTACHMENT***
Name: Dr. Alex Tergin
Gender: Male
Date of Birth: 1978-02-17
Race: Caucasian
Weight: ~80 kg
Height: ~1.85m
Volunteer: N/A
Allergies: N/A
***END ATTACHMENT***
***ATTACHMENT***
02316.2.jpg
***END ATTACHMENT***
Level One BioHazard Testing Facility

VIDEO TRANSCRIPT

2009-01-29 16:17Z T0000.00 Experiment starts.

T+0000.37 Subject enters testing area.
+++++
[ACS Testing Facility 06, Lab 47, Observation Room]
The first inkling Mike had that something was wrong was when he walked into the lab and found Alex sitting in the testing area.

He blinked.

Alex was naked.

Mike hit the "talk" button on the intercom. "Alex? Did you get into the pear schnapps again last night? Wander into the lab after hours and somehow lock yourself into a class one BioHazard test room? Please say yes."

"On the contrary," said Alex, his voice tinny through the speaker underneath the observation window. He pointed at the table in the lab, despite not actually being able to see it. Mike picked up the few sheets of paper.

"This looks like a will."

"And so it is. You can have legal take a look at it. It doesn't implicate the company in anything."

"Very funny Alex. Open the door."

"Did you know that in some cultures the moon was associated with rabbits and madness? Not so much with wolves. That means a were-*rabbit* is more likely than a were-*wolf*. Have the boys look into that."

"Alex, open the door!"

"It started after the last experiment. I got cut by the plexiglass. Tests came back clean, but the 'Unconventional Contaminants' guy is still on vacation. And I've been having these weird thoughts lately."

"So you're a Kinsey 2. That doesn't mean you have to lock yourself into a testing room." Mike knew he wouldn't have much of a chance at shaking the solid steel airlock door off its hinges, but he had a good try at it anyway.

"Best case scenario, I sit here for twelve hours, nothing happens. I come out, I get sent to counselling, get tested, possibly fired, and nobody gets hurt. Worst case, I change, break out, and help Ess-"

"Don't say it!"

"Oh, I'm sorry. I help 'Nathan Nine' take over the earth, reducing all life to rut."

"That's nice. Open the door."

"It wouldn't be a very good biohazard door if it opened from the inside, would it? No, I locked it with a code before I came in. I won't give that code to you until I'm far gone, and even then the lead researcher has to declare the experiment over first."

"Isn't that you?"

"Not anymore."

Mike felt a brief spurt of hope. The next rank down was *him*

"I switched it to Chief Kenlin."

"Why?" Mike gave up messing with the door, and slumped against the wall.

"Because you'd say it was over just to get me out, and I can't risk the Lab like that."

"Wait, are you saying you have a thing for me?"

"No. I still owe you twenty bucks. I figure not turning you into a rabbit hermaphrodite will about make us even."

He paused. "Ah, subject is experiencing discomfort. Sensation of heat centered on erogenous zones."
+++++
T+00012.05 Air sample collected.
+++++
[ACS Testing Facility 06, Lab 25, Processing]
"Rick!" Thompson called.

Fajihed Rickman paused on his way to the vending machine. "What is it? I'm on my lunch break."

"It'll only take a second. Remember how the test subject escaped from that thing with the egg two days ago?"

"And how Containment/Retrieval contained and retrieved her? Why are you keeping me from my Big Mac and health drink?"

"It, not her. These are the blood samples of all the people who were in the observation room, whether they were visibly hurt or not. We already tested them for all known pathogens, and the Unconventional testing guy got held up by a storm in Dallas."

"So why am I not antioxidizing myself right now?"

"Dude, those drinks are a ripoff."

"Answer the question, Thompson. I'm hungry."

"Right. Well, I carried it through the break room this morning."

"...And?"

Thompson swiveled back towards his computer and Alt+Tabbed to the camera footage. It was him, carrying some test tubes in a rack. As he walked past the room's grandfather clock, the pendulum stopped moving normally and pressed up against the glass.

"Wait," said Rick. "Isn't that the clock with the pendulum with the negative magical polarity?"

"Yep. It was obviously being attracted to one of the samples." On the screen, Thompson had stopped moving and stared at the clock. "Fast forward through several hours of testing and math, and two samples had more than a negligible reaction." He bought up a graph, with two large spikes. "One is Dr. Alex Tergin, sitting-or possibly humping-in the testing area of Lab 47 right now." This one"-he pointed to a much larger spike-"is Dean Biers, who's supposed to be at home."

The two men stared at each other.

"Shouldn't you call CoRe?" Rickman said slowly.

"Oh, I did," Thompson said cheerfully. "Five minutes before you walked by. They're sending a team over right now. I just wanted someone besides them to know how *awesome* I am."
+++++
T+0025.48 Subject begins to become aroused.

T+0025.53 Subject: "Subject begins to become aroused."

T+0026.05 Subject reaches full arousal.

T+0026.07 Subject: "Subject is fully aroused."

T+0026.17 Subject: "Subject feels compulsion to masturbate."

T+0026.22 Air sample collected.
+++++
[Haddock Apartments, Apt. 2S]
Sheldon Cahill rolled over and looked at his clock. Nine thirty-three. Good thing he didn't have to go into the lab for another six hours.

"Dean!" he called.

"Yo!" his roommate responded.

"Remember the rabbit?"

"The freaky one that came flying at me through a pane of glass? No, not really. Why do you ask?"

"Okay, I was thinking last night, and I wondered what the point of it would be."

"Dude, it was in the jungle." Sheldon heard the sound of water running. "He Who Wai-"

"Don't say it!"

"Fine, the 'Shadow-dude' might've hoped some native Cambodian dude or chick would've picked it up, stuck it in their harbls, and then infected the rest of their tribe."

"In 1964? The government would've investigated."

"Who said that's when they sent it through?" The sound of brushing. "Ih mif'b been deh fouh cehthuies."

"Fine. 'Double-N' sent it so it would infect the world and make way for his arrival. Except he put it out in the jungle where no one ever found it until the mid-60s."

Dean spit into the sink. "Right. Like an a bomb. Except with dongs."

Sheldon shook his head. "You're thinking Halo, not Starcraft. Unless your situation is really bad, it's better to deploy a lot of low level units than your expensive supersoldier. Unless the Shadow-thingie was just testing to see what he could get through. I mean, he's had at least forty-four whole years to experiment."

Dean came in with towel around waist, toothbrush in hand, Colgate foam around his mouth. "Closer to forty-five. So, what you're saying is, he'd Zerg Rush. Kekekeke."

"Right." Sheldon said, as Dean crossed the room. There was an awkward silence.

Sheldon cleared his throat. "Dude, you're kinda staring."

Dean suddenly dropped the towel and toothbrush and dropped onto the bed, pinning is roommate in what Sheldon could've sworn was a variant of The People's Elbow. Except this one somehow pinned his legs and arms *and* covered his mouth. Naturally, he struggled. Something rubbed against his leg, where Dean was sitting, and he paused. Yes, there were testicles, but also something that felt like...folds...

Oh.

Sheldon tried to scream.

"So," Dean said, as the angles of his face grew slightly softer, a little more feminine. "Tell me more."
+++++
[ACS Testing Facility 06, Lab 47, Observation Room]
"So you're *not* gonna get him out of there?" Mike yelled.

CoRe Chief Kenlin might've been carved from stone. "Son, ah don't think you undahstand the threat yo' li'l boyfriend in there poses to this faciliteh."

"He's not my boyfriend."

"Don't listen to him." Alex yelled. "We're having a spring wedding."

Kenlin glanced at the intercom. "Is this thing on?"

"N-no," Mike's face was scruched up in confusion. "Well, we're receiving, but not transmitting. I don't know how he ..."

"I'm an excellent listener. A very good listener," Alex said, in a downright *eerie* Rain Man impression. "And I'm getting bettARGH! ARGH! WHAT!? What just happened to me!"

Mike tabbed the intercom. "We lost you there for a second buddy. Just...be cool."

"I can hear it, Mikey." Alex's face had become pale and drawn. "It's *winning*. I've been trying to fight it, but nothing works."

"Dead kittens? Margaret Thatcher?"

Alex did something that looked like a smile. "I'm scared. I'm scared." His hands crept toward his lap. "And I don't think I can stop it."
+++++
T+0048.22 Air sample collected.

T+0048.31 Cracks and pops audible. Subject's feet appear to be reshaping.

T+0048.52 Subject: "My-ah-SUBJECT's penis seems to be shrinking."

T+0048.58 Subject reaches for perenium with free hand.

T+0049.02 Subject: "Subject feels tenderness in per-pur-behind his balls but before his butt. Butt. Butt. Putt putt. Subject feels ache in lower abdomen and lower legs. Suspect growth of female genetalia and reproductive organs, reshaping of feet into those of an anthromorphic rabbit, like Test Subject-Test Subject..."

T+0049.37 Subject: "I can't remember. I CAN'T REMEMBER! It's all going sideways slideways like the lights the pretty lights the pretty promise the pretty words-"

T+0050.05 Subject: "Subject's balls appear to be changing shape."
+++++
[Haddock Apartments, Apt. 2S]
By this point, the foam had dried on Dean's lips, giving him something of the look of a mad dog. His voice gave the lie to this, his calm voice. In-control voice. Madness just below the surface.

"Dude, it's better, it's so, so much better." Dean said. He was visibly changed now, and still going. Anyone joining them at this juncture would think that Sheldon was being held down by some sort of pre-op transsexual.

Which, technically, was the truth.

"Why aren't you like the other one?" Sheldon whispered. Dean had done something to his pressure points, and now he couldn't even talk. Which meant he couldn't call for help.

"Because I'm *special*." Dean had hit the sweet spot for androgyny now, and he waved his dick in his roommate's face. "Girlbits and boybits. Look! Look at how special I am-no! NO! You are *not* puking." He-or she-reached around her roommate's head and pressed something on the back of his neck. The nausea instantly subsided. Dean pulled her roommate to her nearly-vestigial breast. "Thirsty?"

Sheldon tried to headbutt her.

"Oh, you naughty, naughty *boy*!"

"Listen. Listen," Sheldon gasped. "Just let me go. Just let me go, alright? I won't tell anyone. I'll just, I'll just

(fade away)

leave, alright? I won't tell anyone. Just let me go. Please. Please let me go."

Dean, or whatever she was, considered this for a few seconds.

"You lie," she said, and it was a high, cold voice. "I shall make you speak only truth. Not with your tongue, but with your very flesh."
+++++
T+0102.15 Subject: "Subject-"

T+0102.18 Subject's eyes defocus.

T+0102.20 Subject: "Subject's line. Subject lying. Subject lion subject line subject loan subject learns. Oh yes. She learns."

T+0102.32 Subject blinks, shakes head, and looks at observation pane. Subject's eyes are focused.

T+0102.35 Subject: "Mikey...tell my Dad...tell him he was right. He'll know."

T+0102.39 Subject uses back of hand to wipe tears off.

T+0102.44 Subject: "He'll know."
+++++
[ACS Testing Facility 06, Lab 47, Observation Room]
"Coffee?" asked Kenlin.

"You're offering me coffee from my own coffee machine? It's, what, eleven?" Despite his words, Mike yawned.

"Coffee with Scotch?"

"Oh. Yes, please."

"I take mine with Jack Daniels'," Alex contributed. "Takes the edge off in the mornin's."

They ignored it, and sipped in silence.

"You know about Biers?"

'Yep."

"Have you sent someone to check out his apartment?"

"Yeah, they're on their way now."

Inside the testing area, Alex pricked up his ears. Literally.
+++++
[Haddock Apartments, Apt. 2S]
Dean stopped, and seemed to be listening to something. "Your hounds approach. I must be quick."

Sheldon finally figured out the difference between the Dean listening to the voices, and the average crazy hobo. The hobo never stopped and listened, never changed timbre and cadence and tone.

Dean had defeated all of Sheldon's efforts to escape or get up so far, with a minimal amount of effort. Given that some of his moves had been repeated, it seemed like he had knowledge of some sort of wrestling-based martial art. Like judo. But with rape.

"To know He Who Waits in Shadow is to know truth," Dean started to trace something on Sheldon's forehead. Sheldon felt a sudden sense of...*displacement*, like something was being taken away. Then he saw the faint glow on Dean's hands reflected in the mirror, and understood-

"Stop *screaming*," Dean said mildly as he completed his first rune.
+++++
T+0105.12 Air sample collected.

T+0105.23 Runes begin appearing on subject's arms.

T+0105.54 Fur has reached subject's crotch.

T+0106.37 Subject reclines.

T+0106.42 Subject's labia visible. Runes visible on labia. Subject's penis seems to roughly occupy the position of the clitoris. Subject's penis is now no more than approximately two inches long.

T+0107.13 Subject's breasts cease development.

T+0107.28 Subject begins to grow secondary pair of breasts.
+++++
[Haddock Apartments, Apt. 2S]
"Can I tell you a secret?" Dean asked.

Sheldon didn't object. It was doubtful he even heard, being mostly concerned with his tongue turning into a dick, along with other alterations, not all of them dick-related. Dean didn't even have to restrain him now, and she leaned over and whispered into the last remnants of his ear. "I was already changed."

The hideous abomination his roommate was becoming began to weep. White, and thick, and sticky.

Dean's head bobbed up and down. "It's true. He Who Waits In Shadow sent one of his servants to me, and they asked nicely, and I said yes. I agreed to undergo the Walk of the Seven Bandits, the Dance of the Bear, and, I dunno, a coupla others that don't even have names in English."

She stared at her hand. "It was worth it, I think. I can't change shape as much as, ahem, my retarded little brothers, but I can do magic, and isn't that what counts?"

"No," whispered Sheldon's original mouth.

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Can I tell you another secret?"

Sheldon's right eye was mostly gone now. That was okay. He had a spare. A few dozen spares, in fact, in places they were never intended to. He also had breasts, though he lacked the faculties to enjoy them adequately. Like hands. Or muscles. Dean leaned close to him and whispered again.

"Earlier? I was using *your* toothbrush."

Several of Sheldon's penises suddenly jerked, spewing a clear, waterlike liquid. Dean watched the tears land on the mass of flesh before him with satisfaction. His brow suddenly wrinkled in mock concern. "Wait, if your harbls and eyes are all mixed up-" She grabbed the nearest breast and squeezed, then licked the resulting fluid off her hand.

"Ah. Lemonade." Her hand came back from the nearest vagina all white. "Just as I suspected. Milk." A sly, conspiator's wink. "I don't *want* to know where fudge is made."

(I'm sorry,) Sheldon said, in a rumbling whisper, like someone had turned the bass up to eleven. It came from all his mouths at once. (I should have...listened...to Mom.)

"That's right, you should've." Dean grabbed one of Sheldon's jackets out of the closet.

(He will...use you up.)

Dean paused. "Pardon me, oracle?"

(You are disposable.) And then there was something like laughter.

"No. That's impossible. You're not done yet. You're all turned-about, ol' buddy!" Dean slapped Sheldon in the approximate location of his back. "I'd better go get a *doctor*!" She stood up and crossed the room, pausing by the door to the hall to pick up something off the table.

"Dibs on your iPhone," she said, and left.
+++++
T+0119.28 Subject's penis has vanished entirely.

T+0119.54 Subject seems to be experiencing difficulty self-stimulating.

T+0120.32 Subject's penis seems to have become clitoris.

T+0120.37 Subject: "The access code is-is-is-sis-IS, uh, 00042. Let me out! I'm all better now! Let me OUT!"

T+0120.52 Subject attempts to self-stimulate using wall.

T+0120.54 Subject: "I'M OKAY! I look different, but it's still ME in here! Let me OUT!"
+++++
[ACS Testing Facility 06, Lab 47, Observation Room]
"What a mess," Mike muttered as he looked through the observation pane.

"I'll say," agreed Kenlin. "Y'all are gonna hafta boil everything in there. Steam, disinfectant...salt. Maybe some holy water."

A schlicking sound came from the room.

"I meant the situation."

"That ain't looking so good either."

"You know, if I hadn't gotten one of those green tea energy drinks, I might've been able to stop him."

Kenlin looked askance. Mike pointed at the bottle on the table. "I checked the logs. I would've gotten here fifty seconds earlier if I hadn't been trying to antioxidize."

"Then," Kenlin observed softly, "everyone in this room woulda ended up like that. We mighta lost the lab."

The noise got faster.

"Everyone?"

"Well, not *me*."

Mike smiled as he rested his forehead against the plexiglass. "I just wish I could've...done som-"

Something collided with the glass, and Mike jerked back, nearly falling. The creature formerly known as Alex had thrown itself at the place where Mike had been, and was now pressing itself against the window, staring at him with naked hunger. It thrust its hips at the windowframe, blocking the light like some sort of spider.

Kenlin knelt. It followed him, staring into his eyes, at his crotch, and Mike thought of vampires.

"Subject's penis and glans have entirely disappeared." Kenlin noted, with almost no trace of an accent. Not for the first time, Mike wondered how much of his colleague was an act. "Entirely female, this time." He turned toward Mike. "That seem right to you?"

"Roughly consistent," said the researcher. There was no dignified way to pick yourself up from a fall.

"Consistent with *what*, doctor?" Accent was back. "My boys need to know what we're facin' he-"

His cell phone beeped. He ripped it off his belt, glanced at the screen, flipped it open. "What've ya got?"

"Sir," said Parkman, "It's...not good. Sending photos."

Five seconds later, Kenlin blinked, and handed the phone to Mike.

"Are those pictures?" said the not-Alex. "I wanna see!"
+++++
MATERIAL RESOURCES RECOVERED
TS 02316.2, redesignated ARF 401142.431
***ATTACHMENT***
Name: Answers to "Alex Tergin". States that it has another name, but refuses to divulge it.
Gender: Female
Acquired: 2008-01-29
Weight: Approximately 81 kg
Height: Approximately 1.62m
Subject appears to be a female human-Lapin hybrid. It is covered in white fur, and has red eyes. It has no trouble communicating using standard North American English, and a small amount of Spanish, consistent with that of Test Subject 02316.2. Spanish proficiency matches that of TS 02316.2 at time of High School graduation, accounting for several years of decay.

Subject is apparently extremely fertile in a female capacity. Subject has retained no trace of male reproductive organs or reproductive capacity.

Subject's heart generally beats somewhere between 72 bpm and 130bpm. Its internal anatomy is arranged in a fashion resembling both rabbits and humans, including reproductive organs. Subject seems to have two pairs of breasts arranged vertically. Upper pair is a "C" cup, under the American bra sizing system, while the lower pair is a "B" cup under the same system.

Subject has also undergone significant hormonal changes, with several unknown chemicals in their body, being emitted by previously unknown glands. Subject also has significantly altered pheromone production; any sentient being within inhalation finds it, at minimum, mildly attractive. This effect is consistent as low as five parts per ten thousand. Subject cannot control this effect at will, and only proximity intensifies the effect. Robotic handling and/or BioHazard Level One recommended.

Subject seems content to meditate all day if allowed, usually in the "Lotus" position of Buddhism. Has made no attempts to escape, obeying the directions of CoRe and research personnel. Occasionally asks to see "brother" and "sister". Subject seems to prefer portion of cell closest to ARF 401136.325. (Similar behavior observed in ARF 401136.325.)

Interviews attached. There has been difficulty performing an MRI, due to machinery not being designed to fit a rabbit-human hybrid.

***ERROR: ATTACHMENT CANNOT BE OPENED FROM INSIDE ATTACHMENT***
***END ATTACHMENT***

CONCLUSION
***SECURITY LEVEL DELTA REQ'D***

NOTES
Recommend stepping up to Level One BioHazard for any further experiments and containment of/involving ARF 401142.431 and any byproducts thereof.
Recommend further investigation of the link between ARF 401142.431, ARF 401131.325, ARF 401136.325 and the being codenamed "Nathan Nine".
Suspect connection with incident described in CoRe report 4517.5493.

ENDF

The Curious Tale of Jack Lime, once A Sailor, as related to Amelia Eames
by Nequ

The ACS series is inspired by The SCP Foundation.

And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover;
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.
-"I must go down to the sea again", by John Masefield

Amelia Eames woke up with a start.

Like many people, she glanced around wildly before settling back in her chair. She was in the rooms she shared with her mother, the Penny Dreadful she had fallen asleep with having slipped to the floor.

She rose and crossed to the window; outside was an old man staggering up the lane. He passed under a gaslight, and she recognized Mr. Lime, a lodger at the apartments owned by her mother. A smiled pulled at her mouth, and she hurried to let him in.

Her mother despaired of her ever Finding A Worthy Husband, but she preferred older gentlemen; they were more experienced, more sedate, and their lecherous attentions were generally limited to a pinch or a wink. And given that they were old, they weren't even good at that--

Mr. Lime had reached the door. Amelia hurried to open it, and grabbed for Lime as he staggered through, nearly falling.

She smelt Lime's breath as she steadied him: he had not been out drinking tea. There were footpads aplenty in the dark alleys between Eames' Lodgings and the nearest pub; 'twas a wonder Mr. Lime had arrived with his throat and purse intact.

When he had taken a room at the Eames lodgings, merely a short distance from Plymouth harbour, the old man had signed his name as "Jack Lime". Mrs. Eames, a sailor's widow, had recognized the joke easily enough, and so did Amelia. "Jack" was a common nickname for an English sailor, as was "Limey". Of course, there were many secrets among seagoing men, and though Mr. Lime claimed nothing, he still bore the rolling gait so common on the streets of the town. Even more common after the pubs closed.

Amelia rather liked him.

He wasn't particularly untoward in his affections toward her, and seemed to live entirely on drink and good humour. If she found him reasonably sober, he was frequently willing to regale the young women with tales of a sailor he had known-not himself, mind you-a sailor he had known who had left bootprints all over the continent, the South South seas, and even the Americas.

The girl employed a well-practiced maneuver, and managed to get Mr. Lime's arm over her shoulder. Closing the front door, she half-carried her burden in the direction of his room. She pulled the master key from her belt, and opened the door while the old sailor hummed an off-key rendition of "God Save the Queen". She hung his coat on the convenient rack, and from the doorway, it was only a few quick steps to the bed, where she lowered her tenant onto his matress, and bent to remove his boots.

"Mother wanted me to be a doctor."

Amelia looked up. Mr. Lime was staring at her through reddened eyes, but seemed steady enough. This seemed a good enough oppourtunity to prise information from the sailor; many were the heroes of her novels who had plied a man with rum until he was drink-sozzled enough to reveal information he had held dear to his heart. Mr. Lime was conveniently pre-sozzled.

"Did you listen to her?"

The old man laughed. "No. But I should have."

The indirect approach wasn't working.

"Who are you hiding from?"

He stared at her, and opened his mouth. Then he closed it again. Then he opened it again. Amelia, naturally, thought of fish.

"I'm going to need a drink."

Amelia silently removed the bottle of rum and glass from an old pair of boots sitting in the corner.

"You know me so well. Now, where should I start?"

"At the beginning." Amelia smiled. It was an old joke between them.

"Right. I had been a score of years since I walked out of my parents' house with naught but the clothes on my back, all full o' swagger and cocksure. Time...had done some humbling. Maybe not enough. Either way, I took a berth on the 'Molly' from a small town in Italy. Don't recall the name, but they made an excellent whiskey and soda."

He paused to remember the whiskey and soda.

"The Captain, O'Bannon, was rather fond of drink, but I know few captains who aren't. The first mate, a Scot named Mochrie, liked to gamble. Dr. Dymock, now he was what they call a natcher- a naturil-"

"A naturalist."

"That too. The Captain had just...'accquired' some manner of map or guide, and none of the crew were in any condition to look too closely at any possible misdeeds. He said it would lead us to a large treasure."

"Pull the other one, it's got bells on!"

"Right, lass! We had all heard *that* chestnut before, but we set out nonetheless. Made it out of the Mediterranean, and went down the east coast of the continent. At some point we found a river, and the Captain took us right up it."

"Did he let anyone else take a look at the map?"

"Nay, lass. He was a canny one, O'Bannon. Didn't trust anything but the inside of his own head, and he was wary of that, too. Didn't even let the first mate, Mr. Mochrie, have a peek at it. Didn't even let us know what the treasure was. If we had known, we probably would've thrown him over the side and blast the treasure."

"Such *language*, Mr. Lime!" Amelia grinned at him.

"Oh, I am *sorry*. I beg milady's pardon."

"See that it doesn't happen again."

"I shall."

Both managed to keep a straight face. Barely. Amelia lived in a harbour town; she heard worse language purchasing tea.

"Where did you anchor?"

"There was nothing to distinguish it from any other stretch of jungle, but O'Bannon had us anchor offshore, and we took the ship's boat it. We were a small vessel, shallow draught, and could make our way a good distance up most rivers. 'Twasn't 'til we made land before O'Bannon deigned to inform us we would have a few days walk into the jungle."

"'We'?"

"The Captain left the ship with Mochrie, Dymock, and me, ordinary seaman Lime. The four nations of Great Britain, stumbling through the dark."

"I'm not sure the Captain would agree with you about the 'British' part."

Lime grinned. "That he might not."

"Did you have provisions?"

"All of us were experienced men, and we had bought a week's worth of food and water. Mochrie kept muttering about how fast we were going through the stores, and Dymock had a few specimen jars and butterfly nets and such. At one point, he halted us so he could takes notes on a certain kind of claw mark.

"The Captain employed curses I have never heard the like of, calling down fire and damnnation on the doctor's head. The doctor, for his part, just fixed the captain with a sneer and sneered in that Welsh accent of his 'With all due respect, Captain, there are somethings more important than wealth.' The captain wanted to kill him. I could see the blood standing out in his veins from where I stood, but he held his tongue."

"What for?"

"There was an appointed time for us to find whatever treasure he sought. Whether it was governed by the phases of the moon, or the locations of the heavenly bodies, I know not. I do know that he kept glancing at his pocket-watch every few minutes.

"We saw precious little life on that journey, come to think. There was the jungle, yes, but no animals, no birds. The air itself was still, waiting. Unnerved us, it did, so much so that Mochrie took to the bottle even more. I was the night watch after him, and I would find him staring into the dark, checking the cartridges of the gun, then holding it on his lap until worry compelled him to repeat the action. He would sometimes count the bullets in his one of our two revolvers, for variety. He spoke little."

"Did you find the treasure?"

"Aye. It was in a sort of temple, in the centre of a dead city. There were rooms full of gold, strange items we did not recognize. O'Bannon had eyes only for the central room, where the object he sought lay on a pedestal. It was a kind of statue, though of what I never learned. I suppose that the other treasures in the room did not matter to him, though they interested Mochrie greatly. Dymock was babbling something about 'flora not seen since the Diplodic age' and suchlike. O'Bannon took the statue, turned around, and said 'Take only what you can carry.'"

"I assume Mochrie didn't like that."

"I saw the sense in it. If we came back with anything we couldn't hide on our persons, the crew would get a cut. Even after being reminded of that, Mr. Mochrie still grumbled, stuffing treasures into a sack he had bought with him. Didn't even stop when he pricked his finger. For my sins, I picked up a knife, having forgotten to bring mine from Molly. Ornate, yes, but serviceable enough."

"Clearly you survived the return journey, and yet..." The young woman's gesture somehow took in the squalid little room, the lodgings, and the run-down part of town they were sitting in. "....you're here."

"Aye, so I am."

"Why? Was the statue worthless?"

"Probably not. It never made it back out of the jungle."

"Why not?"

"To understand that, you have to know what happened to Mochrie. First of all, he fell asleep the following night."

"That's common enough."

"He never woke up, despite the doctor's best efforts. And we had to make a choice; the treasure or the first mate."

"And you chose the treasure. Distrustful, you each tried to kill the others in a number of devious, subtle ways, and you emerged the only survivor. Although you lost the treasure, you learned a valuable lesson on the worth of life, and secreted yourself in one of the busiest ports in the Empire as just another ancient mariner, lest someone try the secret of the town's location from your reticent lips."

Mr. Lime gave her an an appraising look. "You're quite the mercenary lass, aren't you, Miss Eames?"

Amelia grinned. "Mother says I read more than is good for me."

The sailor stared at her for a few more seconds. "No, we didn't. O'Bannon didn't seem too concerned by the loss of the sack. He told us that the sum he would get for the statue would be more than ten sacks."

"And you believed him?"

"He didn't have any say in the matter. O'Bannon hadn't been too particular in his hiring. As a result, he had ended up with the worst crew of criminals, blackguards, and ne'er do wells to sail the seven seas, outside of the British Navy."

Amelia giggled.

"If he lied about the amount, they would likely kill him. If he ran off with the treasure, whatever it was, he would have nowhere to hide. The second he spent any significant money, we would know." His smile exposed his yellowed teeth. "What good is money if you can't spend it?"

A cough.

"The jungle was full enough of life, then. We could hear it, the three of us. All sorts of skittering, scampering things, always out of sight. Worst of all was the way they made Mochrie toss and turn in his sleep. We realized later they were...calling to him."

"They?"

Lime leaned forward, and whispered. "The creatures."

Despite wearing a warm dress, despite sitting in a room in a reasonably decent part of town with the door locked behind her, Amelia felt a chill run down her spine. "What creatures?"

"We never got a proper look at them. They were big, maybe human sized. Maybe even human, once."

"What do you mean?"

"Three shifts. Me, the Captain, Dymock. The doctor had the one closest to morning, and he was there when Mochrie...changed."

"Changed? Changed to what?"

"He woke up suddenly. Dymock said he was scratching all over, until he got close enough. Then he looked up at the doctor suddenly, bit him, and ran into the jungle. The doctor's shouts were enough to rouse us, and we decided against chasing him."

"You left him to die in the jungle?"

"You have to understand; we had no way to track him, and we thought he was infected. Perhaps he had been bitten by a mad rat, and it hadn't started to show until the worst possible time. Perhaps he was simply sick. A sailor's life is a perilous one, and so on. That's what we told ourselves.

"'Twasn't long before we realized what we were truly dealing with. These weren't tigers or baboons or savages. We all knew how to deal with those. Whatever those creatures were, they were...You've heard of werewolves?"

"Of course I have! One terrorized London just last week!"

Mr. Lime raised an eyebrow. "That was a rabid dog, lass, and one scared banker does not count as a 'reign of terror'."

Amelia frowned. "Your point?"

"These...creatures were like werewolves."

"Oh, come off it! You're trying to tell me that there were big hairy things with fangs and claws in the bloody jungle?"

"For a lass who believed a mad dog was a werewolf, you *certainly* are skeptical."

"But still!" She made fangs with her index fingers. "Grr!"

"They weren't really bloody werewolves, you silly girl, just *like* them! It's a wonder you can hear anythign over the echoes in that big empty space you call your head!"

Amelia looked at him, shocked. Lime passed a hand over his forehead.

"I'm sorry," he said at length. "It's just...well, think about it. Look at the facts. All Mochrie did was scratch himself-not even a deep cut-and he had started to change."

"What about disase or poison? 'Twould make sense for the people who lived there to salt the earth behind them, so to speak."

"Have you heard of any poison that would keep, in the open air, for hundreds of years? What type of poison causes sleep and madness, d'y'know?"

"I just--"

"And there was the matter of the city itself. There had been many people there, and they all seemed to have just up and walked into the jungle."

"Like a ghost ship?"

"No, no, there was nothing like that. No plates left mid-meal or letters half-finished. It was as if they set their things in order, and never came back. As if they deliberately wanted to turn into the creatures, as if they did it to themselves."

"Why would they want to?"

"Dymock came up with the theory. We didn't believe him, at first. What really bought us round was the creatures."

"I thought you never saw them."

"We never did. It was their whispering, their mad whispering. Sometimes they rose their voices, and they all sounded like they were laughing at us. One sounded like Mochrie. He was out there. With them."

"Once we had...considered the possibility, it was easy enough to speculate on the why. O'Bannon hit on the idea of guards for the treasure."

"Then why would they let you reach the treasure?"

"Because didn't need to worry about people getting in, just getting out. If you can add folk to your number any time, with just a scratch, then all you need do is wait until they're too far in to do anything about it. Personally, I don't think they were guarding the treasure. I think they were guarding the statue."

"What makes you think that?"

"I'm no scholar, but it seemed different from the rest of the treasure. 'Twas placed in the most important part of the city, in the middle of the largest amount of the treasure-"

"A lure," Amelia breathed. "Bait, on a lure, in a trap."

"Yes. Once any treasure-seekers fell or turned, 'twould be a simple matter to return the statue and the treasures, to set the trap afresh. More concerning was the statue itself; what could it be, that an entire civilization would give their humanity to keep others from it?"

Amelia pulled her shawl tighter.

"We also figured out why the jungle was so quiet. All the animals had been eaten. Or maybe herded off by the creatures, to keep our path clear, or to psyker-psy--"

"Psychology. Trying to make you scared. What I don't understand is why they did not simply kill you outright."

"Because they thought it sport. What cat does not like to play with his food?"

"So they were werecats?"

"I say again, I do not know *what* they were or are. After we discussed the creature, we went to sleep. I had the first watch, then O'Bannon, then Dymock. We found his body the next morning."

"How did they--"

"To this day, I'm not sure if 'they' did. We found the shotgun in Dymock's mouth, and his hand on the trigger. It looked like he had done it himself, and neither O'Bannon nor I had tracking experience, so we couldn't tell one set of footprints from another. We noticed that the doctor's hand, it had started to change. The nails were longer, sharper, more like claws, and the fingers themselves seemed more bestial. I don't know what he was turning into, but he apparently knew enough. More than enough.

"Neither of us had heard the gunshot, and there was no suicide note. Why wasn't there a note? There was paper aplenty, and he had several fountain pens and charcoal. I suspected, later, this was a trick by the creatures; one of them could've killed him, yes, but so might one of us. And why wouldn't we? If the others were dead, there would be no one to contradict the survivor when he walked out of the forest alone, said the map was a lie, and sold the statue. Of course, the crew would search his quarters, but there are many...useful little nooks on board a ship."

"So I was right!"

"No, lass, you were wrong." He paused. "At least, I think you were wrong. O'Bannon could've killed the doctor, but the doctor might've killed *us*, after he...changed. If he did, I wouldn't have blamed him. The creatures might've done it, just as easily, or come upon Dymock before we did and stolen the note, intendin' to cause us to look sideways at each other."

"We didn't have time to bury him. If we stopped, if we slowed down at all, it would give those things another chance to...attack us. We didn't even have a proper lunch stop, eating and drinking while we were walking."

"That can't have been good for the digestion."

Me. Lime smiled, briefly. "I admit, we stopped for that. Not that we needed to very often. Sometimes fear has a way of sealing a man's bowels."

Amelia smiled politely while the lodger laughed at his own joke.

"Were there any further problems?"

"Well, lass, one small one, the next day. O'Bannon had burned the map."

"*Burned*?"

"He said...he said the crew might try to come back if they had the map, and they would. He said we were close enough to the river to make our way out on our own. And we were. He said the...creatures would try and stop us. And they did. He said that if anyone wanted the statue, they would have to pry it out of his cold, dead hands. I did that a day later."

"You killed him?"

"What? Me, no, *they* did. Herded us along a path, right into what's called a 'man-trap'. I had heard about it from some boys who visited the Malay tribes. It consists of a hole with stakes at the bottom, and a mat of leaves to make it look like solid ground. If you don't break a leg or your neck in the fall, if you aren't pierced clean through by those blasted stakes, you still have no way to get out of the hole.

"It was worrying, because these creatures still had some measure of human intelligence. Not half as worrying as losing the Captain, though. Suddenly I was all alone in a hostile jungle, precious little munitions and food, with who knows how many of those creatures between me and the boat. And how was I to know they hadn't gotten to the boat?

"At some point, I realized they wouldn't let me leave with the statue. Not alive, anyway. I threw it into the bush, and I heard them scream and rush toward it. Some rushed to retrieve it, but most stayed with me, laughing. I'm sorry to admit they got to me; I loosed a few wild rounds into the underbrush."

"Did you go 'Face me you cowards!'?"

"Yes," Mr. Lime admitted ruefully, "but I didn't say 'cowards'."

"How did you bear to sleep?"

"I didn't, that last night. I've gone without before, and I figured eight hours march would be worth tripping over my feet. Besides, I didn't have anyone who could keep watch.

"Now, these things were worrying enough in daylight. Worrying enough when you have a fire at your back and a loaded gun in your lap. Imagine stumbling through the dark, a torch in one hand, gun in the other, wondering if the ground is going to crumble under you, wondering if one of them is behind you, creeping, creeping on their little cat feet."

"Were they?"

"I don't know. Several times I thought I heard something, and fired into the dark. I'm not sure if I hit any, but I don't think it would make a difference. There were plenty of those buggers out there. They lived for their blasted treasure, they could die for it just as well.

"The last two miles were the hardest. There was a quarter-mile of open ground between the jungle and shore. Once I was out of the trees, the crew could cover me. One of the creatures...had been Mochrie, he knew this. That was why they hadn't pounced on me during the night; they were massing between me and the boat.

That part of the tale is not proper for a young woman's ears, but when I stumbled out of that thrice-damned greenery, I was down to the last few rounds in my revolver, and I had nothing but the remnants of clothes on my back and the specimen jar in my pocket."

"What jar?"

"Dymock's."

"Didn't you say Mochrie attacked him and ran away?"

"That he did."

"Then what was in the jar?"

"Dymock knew he was changing. He had forceps in his bag, so when he realized..."

"Oh no."

"He pulled his tooth out, put in one of his jars, and then...he ended it."

"Oh. His tooth. Why would he do that?"

"Because he was a scientist. He was--" a tap at the side of his head "--a *thinking* man. He wanted there to be something to study, something the professors could poke and prod and dissect. He wanted a legacy.

"I made it clear of the trees, the blasted things grabbing at my clothes. I had forgotten that there was a field of long grass between the boat and the shore. Imagine it, if you please. A grown man, running for the shore, screaming and waving his arms, with these weird...holes in the grass behind him, following him. The man fires three shots at the things before dropping his revolver and running for his life.

"The crew made good enough play with their rifles for me to shove off unhindered. Why the things hadn't hulled the boat during the night, I didn't know. Perhaps they weren't that smart, perhaps they had thought they would be able to stop me." He smiled. "They were wrong."

"What did you tell the crew?"

"The truth. I said Mochrie, Dymock, and the Captain were all dead, and the 'treasure' was nothing more than a trap for the foolish. I said I had barely made it out with my life. I did lie when I told them what had been chasing me; monkeys. The same monkeys, in fact, who had killed the others. We had been on a desperate run for my life from the beasts, and with no stop for rest nor succor, I had been the only survivor. The Captain had charged me with his last breath to--"

"Mr. Lime!"

"Sorry lass. Got a little carried away. "With his last breath, O'Bannon had told me of a...gentleman's club. It was where he had been planning to sell the statue. The crew were not inclined to look too closely at my story, and we set sail back home. Once we were there, I sold the boat, paid them off, and sent the rest to O'Bannon's mother. He had made me swear to that. Then I visited the club."

"Was it full of hard-bitten men of adventure?"

"No. It was a quite normal manor house. A butler showed me in through the tradesmen's entrance, and I showed them the tooth and told them of the fate of O'Bannon. The man I spoke to was an oily sort of character, with a thin moustache. Strong handshake, though. Didn't give his name. He paid me for the tooth, and hat the butler show me out. As I was walking through the hall, I noticed, for the first time, what was on the walls. Sketches of strange and fantastic beasts, along with a few stuffed and mounted specimens. And this was only a small portion of the house; we passed many closed doors. A few weeks before, I would've thought all of those artifacts to be false, cooked up in a kitchen in Mayfair. My views had been...broadened."

"So why are you hiding here?"

"Because of what I did next. I kindly requested the servant show me back, and asked for a refund. The gentleman refused. I tried to reason with him, to tell him about the danger of the thing, that it should be burned as soon as possible, but all he would think about was his blasted science. He went 'good day, sir' and turned his back on me. There was a plate on the table, with the end of a dinner on it. With a stake knife."

Lime reached up and closed Amelia's gaping mouth.

"The papers burned easily enough. The oils, the ether, less so. I made good use of their stores of lye, retrieved the tooth, took all of the money, all of their pocketwatches and left."

Amelia leaned back in her chair. "There was a fire in Brixton twenty years ago," she said slowly. "A mansion burned to the ground. They blamed it on thieves or brigands desperate for money. There were, I've heard, rumors of Irish Secessionists. The bodies of five were found, and one of the horses was missing."

"Was it?" Lime looked at her neutrally.

Amelia wondered at her chances, should Lime make a sudden lunge-- "What happened next?"

"I considered that the end of the matter, and sought myself a job."

"But you had the money they gave you. You were rich."

"And half-mad with boredom! I am not a sedate man, Miss Eames. I cannot abide long without a wind under my stern, not unless I'm..."

"Drunk," said Amelia flatly.

"Aye, drunk. Don't look at me like that. Many's the Jack Tar who enjoys the bottle. I would not even have tarried here this long if not for..."

"If not for what?"

"Nothing."

Amelia crossed her arms, frowning. She had only a short time before he was unable to perform, or simply fell asleep. "And then what?" she grumbled.

"Not a fortnight later, I was coming back to my lodgings after a day of seeking gainful employment-"

"And drinking."

"-Aye, a little drinking-when my landlady informed me that two stout gentlemen had been asking after me. As I looked out of her window, I saw them speaking with a bootblack across the way. I gathered all I could carry, and nipped out the back door just as they came in the front. Gave the bootblack a clout upside the head as I passed."

"And then what?"

"I laid a false trail," the old man chuckled. "I visited Mama, and told her I was making for the Indes."

"East or West?" said the sailor's daughter.

"Exactly. That 'gentleman's club' probably counted some powerful men in it's numbers. Seemed retirement deserved to be reconsidered. I found a quiet town and settled down. Grew a beard, colored my hair. A few months later, I moved to another town. I've been all over the British Isles by that method. Ottery St. Catchpole, Totleigh-in-the-Wold, Hobbs End, I've even spent some time in--" a shudder "--France."

"If these men were as powerful as you say, wouldn't they have had watchful eyes in every port here or across the Channel?"

Mr. Lime looked at her, a smile growing broader and broader upon his face, until he laughed outright.

"I fail to see what is so amusing," Amelia said stiffly.

"Bless you, lass, and bless your innocence. There are many ways a man can cross a body of water, and not all of them require papers and seals."

"Oh." She should have thought of that. She'd read enough of the adventures of "Cuthroat Jim and his Black Freighter", after all.

Mr. Lime yawned. She had roughly one more question before he fell asleep.

"Why did you stay here?" she asked softly.

Lime's eyes were closed, and she thought she had missed her chance--

"Did I ever tell you that I had a sister?" he said softly.

And he was asleep. Likely wouldn't remember which two words he put together the next morning, and the pounding in his head would send him into the morning light--too bright, too bright!--for a liquid breakfast. "hair of the dog!" he would say, toasting the bartender.

She drew the blanket over him, yawning suddenly. Dropping back into the chair, she considered Mr. Lime's story. An interesting pack of lies, but a pack of lies, nonetheless.

Surely, as a sailor, he had a surfeit of adventures to relate, embellish, and exagerrate without resorting to nonsense about temples and monsters. Perhaps he had read a fantastical story, or was misremembering a relatively normal expidition where the participants were set upon by monkeys. And the Brixton murders had been the talk of the nation fifteen years ago. It would be easy enough for an old drunkard to overhear, and later confuse the memories with his own.

It is perhaps not so surprising that Amelia rose, and examined Mr. Lime's coat. In the left breast pocket, she found a revolver, which explained something of how her tenant dared walk the streets alone. In another, cleverly-concealed pocket, she found a small vial, able to fit neatly into the palm of her hand, filled with a clearish liquid; ether. There was a pointed white object inside; a tooth.

She would, of course, want to examine it, as any young woman with her interests and tempermant might. It would be a simple matter of carrying the vial over to the gaslamp. And once there, how else would she be able to distinguish the thing from that of any animal without examining it? The stopper could be removed easy enough, and once that was accomplished, there would be nothing for it but to--pull--the tooth--out!

All things considered, Amelia could not be blamed. Perhaps the fumes were responsible, or the ether still present on the small white object made it difficult to handle. Perhaps both. In either case, it was not the young woman's fault that her grip slipped, and the edges of the tooth cut her.

Not her fault at all.

ENDF

ACS: The Curious Tale of "Jack Lime", once A Sailor, as related to Amelia Eames
By Eulalie "Nequ" Quentin
ACS is based loosely on the SCP Foundation
2009 Creative Commons By-SA-NC