RBYDark — Roleplayer Guild

The vast majority of humanity has nothing to fear from magic. It may be incompatible with their technology, and a handful of magic-users may be able to take on armies, but there is no real danger in magic.

No real danger, until recently. It's the middle of summer, with the occasional blackout, and a victim has turned up. A security guard working his night shift, in a locked room. He is covered in small burns. Police are baffled, especially when another victim, in similar conditions, turns up in the next week. It almost looks like the victims were struck by lightning, but certainly no form of magic nor any known humanoid can use lightning in such a way. Even the most well-read of magic-users are baffled. Whatever it is, it needs to be stopped before it racks up a real body count, and they need to know how it's doing this.

Room 125

"Who are you? Why are you in here? Why did the doctor act like you didn't even exist until Arthur asked?"

"Who I am? Do you seek the answer to as who my mind is? Who my memories belongs to, or as to what I am called? Funny, isn't it? The name you carry throughout your life, is something that you didn't even have a chance to choose. Your parents knew nothing of who you were to become, but yet that name would define you. I can now only answer the latter, but you already know that name; in the archives of Miskatonic, and from the investigator, August Dupin. You both know my name, seek me, and shall soon both see me."

The voice paused for a moment, a loud sound of someone breathing barely audible from the other side, before it continued. 

"As to why I'm here, like everyone else; I was normal, until the rest of society decided I wasn't. But if you'd seen the things I've seen, dreamt the dreams...no, nightmares I've had, and know all the truths that one should never have to carry upon your shoulders, you would never become normal again. I can't remember everything, but what I remember changed me, and I know that other things must have happened, are happening and will happen, like Atkins jumping; like you coming to this door with the other professor and your students. And August. And Jeremy. I knew that, I saw you."

"Dr. Gabrowski? I'm his best patient, at least that's what he thinks. He tests me, and tests on me, to prove his theories. He wants me for himself, not even the nurses visit me. But for all his knowledge, he does not understand me. He thinks he does, but he has but scratched the surface of the mystery that my mind houses, the power my head contains."

"And who is Mr. Colombo?"

"You already met him. I sent him to greet you in the reception. He was to run into Emil Günther, the student with a troubled mind, and warn you. Warn of my wherabouts and of Gabrowski's evil. But I failed to see his trick, his ace up the sleeve, my mind can only see as far as the honest go. But I can see you, as clear as day now. As you were before, as you are now standing behind that door, and as you'll be in your grave, Dr. Dupree."

_______

Well. Jeremiah had known enough to know that this woman was not trying to menace him or frighten him. That alone sent a chill through his body far deeper than anything in the asylum, the cold dampness or the crying and shrieking patients, had yet to inspire. 

She simply stated what threads she could see, where they went to. She had apparently seen where his thread and hers had overlapped, and apparently the threads of others - Emil, the student, a name he now had and hesitated if it ought to be used so cavalierly, that it had been gained from a woman who had likely never seen his face; Jeremy, who took Jeremiah a few seconds to understand this was likely someone he was to meet; Dr. Atkins - surely the inmates were not granted access to the reports from the outside world, a doctor may have discussed it, but with the knowledge of Emil's name, Jeremiah felt it was fair to be skeptical that she had gained knowledge of the name by everyday means; August, who he had already met and had already decided was deserving of help. The big question was, how did she gain all this knowledge? There were... certain means that various cultures claimed to have, and certainly a few methods could not be dismissed as tradition and self-deception, tricking oneself into believing they could see the connections of the universe simply because they wanted to so badly. Few of those remaining were so specific in identities, usually leaving such mysteries to those who had found the connections to determine such details alone. Jeremiah had decided to ask that next, to try to understand and hope she would grant him the same vision she had gained, no matter the cost. She knew, she could see, and if he had a chance at it too-

Instead, with a dry mouth, he asked, "...Faye? Faye Desdemona?"

He knew her name. By August Dupin and by its presence in the Miskatonic archives. It was the sole name August shared and pursued single-mindedly. He may have been wrong - she spoke of her name as if it no longer belonged to her, like a moth-eaten dress thrown to the trash for vagrants to pick over and otherwise be disposed of. He supposed he could sympathize.

There was so much to take in, to question. But this actually would be important to first confirm. And surely, if she knew as much as she did, she might understand why.

_______

That name, it was laughably familiar to the entity behind the thickness of cold metal, if it could have uttered such joyous waves of vibrations. Dr. Gabrowski had used that name many a time, and it's connection to his patient was well-proven in all manners. But the way it was uttered, asked and questioned by Dr. Dupree, filled it with a new sense of meaning; a spark of life and curiosity. 

"Yes, that is my name. Faye Desdemona, the name used by those who know and care for me, and the man needing me. To all others I am but The patient in 125, She. I'm glad Miskatonic still keeps their records intact, even after all those years and after all uses from them have ceased. Did you see my photograph? Was I pretty then, 20 years ago? I have not seen my own face since then, I don't think my mind can even comprehend the changes I must have underwent in all those years...When I was happy..."

The voice went silent, but the sound of someone - or something - standing up and walking away from the door could be heard. Was that...a silent cry? It didn't last for long, however, as the entity of still no proven mass returned to the coffin's hatch. 

"...Does your mind truly warp around the question as to why you are here? I know why, and I understand that you think you know why; out of a perverted sense of curiosity, a need to know why Arkham has taken this turn for the darker shades of insanity and death. But there is more to it, der Jeremiah, much more than you can see. The reason for your presence here is more than your visible curiosity, however important that has and will prove to be later; it is what lies in the Dark, what you cannot see but face in total blindess, that your quest is about. But I can't say much more until your allies join us."

_______

That... Jeremiah blinked, trying to mull over and comprehend what she was trying to say. The fact that, somehow, external forces conspired to bring him here wasn't all too troubling. He had long believed in patterns, and if he was part of one, it made all the more sense. No, it was what she said the true reason was. Something that hid in the Dark, something that could not be seen. A memory rose unbidden, illuminated by flames and moonlight, and he shuddered.

"Allies... the names you gave?" Just to be clear. "That, ah, may take a while. You at least know I don't know any Jeremy right now, correct?" Where was he to even start? Combing through the archives again? Asking Officer Lexington if Dr. Atkins knew a Jeremy (please not that option)? Reviewing his articles to learn if Jeremy was in another wing of this building? "Emil, I barely know the boy. We only met yesterday and did not talk much. He is around now, though I suppose you know that. Told him to go to a restroom until he felt better. You may have heard." If she did not simply know already. "August, I can bring fairly quickly - all I have to tell him is what your name is. I think he'll be ecstatic to meet you, Ms. Desdemona. I know the doctor said you were due to be released soon but... pardon me if I feel that's quite untrue." He had been right in how much she knew, so what were the odds she would still leave with such awareness? Dr. Gabrowski would simply relocate her somewhere hidden, he would write on her file he needed more time with her or she still had symptoms (what a lie), a final treatment would render her blind to the workings of the universe once more, the knowledge would simply be confined to the cell itself somehow. Jeremiah had to actually ponder, if that was truly the case, if it would be worth giving up his research and studies in the world for the actual knowledge itself in a padded cell.

In fact, it was in the middle of such thoughts he considered his words. "I... hope you know I was not trying to say you deserved to be in there. I doubt you'd stay if you had any sort of input on the matter." Not that he could afford to offend her either, but it had been true regardless. He considered her, considered her file, considered the strangled choked-off sound he had heard however briefly.

"I - they did keep your photographic plate in the archives, yes." He hesitated on how to continue. Even she didn't know how she looked now, something that raised several questions. Clearly, he would be going to the university library later on afterwards to try to trace her path from graduation to institutionalization. But to say she 'was'... "It was beautiful." That was the best he could settle for. Oh, he knew, on the occasion he bumped into past acquaintances from that old boarding school. And they'd talk over a drink or two, reminiscing about better memories and talking about the niceties of their lives. And then she'd look at him and sigh and say he had been so beautiful then, and the nausea would begin- He hoped at least that was kinder for her than to say she 'was' 'back then'.
Was that a footstep? He tensed at the sound, possibly imagined. He had been at this door for some time, hadn't he? The echo made it impossible to tell which direction it had come from. Perhaps a nurse arriving to deliver meals, or Dr. Steiner realizing Professor Dupree had been away for quite some time. He looked to the door - even compared to the other doors, this one was impossible to get a glimpse of the patient within. 

"...I will be back later, I promise you. And next time, I will have everyone." He stepped back from the door and began to head down the hall, looking forward for whoever may have come back for him - remaining alert for whoever may be behind him now.

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