Experiment

Seventh month, I think. Night.

Oh, man, I fucked up. I fucked up. I fucked up. I fucked up. I fucking FUCKED UP. Why did I fuck up, you ask? Well, you didn't ask but I feel like I'm losing my mind here, man. I need someone to talk to. Oh, Divines save me… [fragment illegible]

Still seventh month, I think. Night.

All I wanted was to make some money. Is that too fucking much to ask? All those shitty promises of happiness if you just have the right amount of coin. And you think you're not affected, I thought I wasn't affected. I was so wrong. 'Hey, honey, I signed you up to an interview, 'Hey, honey, I got you this belt with an enchantment that is supposed to be all the rage with adventurers', 'Hey, honey, have you done your three rounds in the mine today?', 'Hey, honey. Hey, honey. Hey, honey!'. That god-awful two-faced bitch that got me in this mess. Are you reading this, Rosa? Fuck you, Rosa! Screw you and your fancy ass belts! What kind of a fucking whore sends her fiancée to die just so that he can earn a couple of coins?! I hate you, hate you, hate you… [fragment illegible]

Oh, Divines… I just want to go home… Please let me go home…

Eighth month, by my count. Night.

It's still night here, it's always night. This place is horrible. I don't know where I am, I don't know how long I've been here. All I know is that it is very dark. It's all one massive… no… massive doesn't do it justice… it's infinite. It must be. It's just a series of dark corridors that go on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on andonandonandonandonandonandonandonandonandonandon…..

[Fragment goes on for several pages]

Mid Eighth Month.

I can't tell what time of day it really is anymore. I can't remember how I got here. I can barely remember anything anymore, I can't even remember my own name. Who am I? What am I doing here?

I started writing these notes in the hopes of making sense of all this shit going on; now I look back in the hopes of shedding some light on my past. It's this place. It's those things out there. The shadows in the darkness. I am losing my mind here… sometimes I am lucid, like now, but these instances are becoming fewer and fewer and further spaced in time. What's going on with me? All I can remember now is Rosa. Not her, just her name. What was she like? I must have really loved her. Everytime I think about her, my heart aches as if it had been ripped out and something is missing in me. What was she like? If you're reading this, I'm so sorry Rosa. Even though I don't remember you, I miss you with everything I have. Rosa, I'm dying, there's no way out, I… I don't know what to do. I'm scared.

Late Eighth Month.

[The writing of this fragment is warped, as if the hand holding the pencil was trembling]

This is the last time I will write anything. I am cornered, there is no escape.

I think it was a couple of days ago that I found this room. It seemed like a good idea at the time to hide in here and barricade the door. At first, everything was fine. Well, as fine as it gets in this piece of Abyss. I am in the Abyss, aren't I? It's the only answer that makes sense. I died and this is my torture.

Oh, Divines, one of those demons just managed to make a hole in the door big enough for its head! It won't be long now. I can hear them banging and scratching and clawing their way through. As I write these words I'm praying to whatever Divine will listen. Please save me, I don't want to be tortured!

Rose, if you're reading this I just want you to know that I love y- [Rest of the fragment covered in blood stains. For further information, please refer to the attached report.]

---

The man who had been reading the retrieved journal grunted as he repositioned his custom-made spectacles on his face.

In his late fifties, his face showed the signs of a long career reading reports, the sides of which were marked by wrinkles and a mouth in a semi-perpetual scowl; a testament of the ghastliness he had been privy to. His hair had begun to fall out many years before and he had lost all hope of ever having a full set of it on his head again. The appellative he was known by was Dr. Murf and he had been working for the Church since he graduated from university almost four decades earlier.

With the assurance that comes with knowing exactly what you're doing, he activated a viewing array which showed a series of images relating to the experiment conducted in the previous weeks.

The image showed a small room, similar to a medium-sized closet, and hidden in the corner furthest from the only door was a man cowering, curled up as much as he was able to. The image showed the man reach for a small book and begin to write in it, all the while looking back and forth from the pages in front of him to the door. Everything seemed to correspond with what the journal described. The images weren't accompanied by sound, but Dr. Murf made an educated guess that something was trying to break down the door. Suddenly, a hand broke through the weakened barrier and began to enlarge the breach.

Well, it wouldn't be entirely accurate to use the term 'hand', but so far all attempts to retrieve one of these specimens had been entirely unsuccessful and thus the Church possessed no information on the anatomical properties of the creatures in question. All available reports had been compiled after years of extremely careful observation. One false move had the potential of resulting in a catastrophe. Dr Murf wasn't about to let that happen.

Years of serving the Church of the Divines had hardened the man to levels of stoicism only possible for those who have witnessed true horror. He had long ago forgotten how many men and women had walked straight into their graves because of him. Subject S-099 was but one more drop of blood spilled necessary for the project's success.

Despite his resolve, Dr Murf couldn't help but let out a soft curse when the first creature burst into the small room where S-099 had been hiding. Two more creatures swiftly followed suit. That was it. If S-099 had possessed a minimal chance of survival against only one, there was nothing he could do against three at the same time. Nobody had ever been able to escape two without, at the very least, being at the Nascent realm; which was impossible considering the tomb's restrictions on cultivation.

The Church had begun calling them Sigma 134. Reasonable people called them Collectors. They had six limbs the colour of human skin, four arms with hands and two legs. They moved by crawling on four and using the two remaining arms to attack. The body of the creatures was dark and oval, covered in thorns or feathers; from the visual arrays it was impossible to tell due to the low quality and survivors accounts had differed, one even stating they were thumbs. From the front of the oval shape sprang a dark and elongated snout that ended in a jaw-infested mouth the size of a watermelon and two golden-coloured eyes. Collectors were capable of moving at almost 45 miles per hour, achieving such speeds in under five seconds, comparable to a first-class martial artist in the middle stages of the Foundation Realm well-versed in the power of wind.

S-099 had nowhere to run to. He simply stood and faced his attackers. Even in the poor quality of the surveillance footage it was easy to see that his knees were shaking. Had he been facing one, this might have worked, but with three in front of him, it was useless. After decades of study, the Church had observed that the Collectors did not engage in combat whilst the victim maintains a direct line of sight with them. They move and try to outflank you, but they do not attack. However, constantly staring at the three was unthinkable, particularly if you consider how tricky their movements are. Unsurprisingly given his poor mental condition - as evidenced by the contents journal - S-099 turned on himself and closed his eyes whilst holding his hands against his head. It was as if he was trying to banish the demons inside it.

As if that would work.

The first Collector to enter the room lunged forwards and covered S-099 completely with its body. At this, Dr Murf paid even closer attention and observed everything as accurately is his tired mind was able to. The Collector began to shrug rhythmically, it's snout moving wildly around the body. Suddenly, it stopped moving and stood absolutely still. The other two Collectors were casually observing the ritual, sufficiently separated so as to not be a nuisance. After about ten minutes of nothing happening, the first Collector began to move again and dragged the lifeless body of S-099 outside, leaving a trail of blood behind it. The other two quickly followed. After a short amount of time a team of the Church's field agents entered the premises with their swords and crossbows at the ready and, displaying magnificent efficiency, collected most of the evidence. Upon their leaving the scene after only having been there a few minutes, the image turned to black and the contents of the array were destroyed, in accordance with the Church's protocols.

"How long were they in there?"

"Six hours, twenty-seven minutes and twenty three seconds, Dr Murf." Replied calmly Dr Cyan. "There were no casualties. The operation has been heralded as a success and as a consequence there is a rumour circulating around the premises that the higher-ups may push our on-scene agents to reach the seven, or even seven-thirty, hour mark."

Dr Cyan's remarks were met with a hefty grunt of disapproval. The field agents had been in there for far too long. Dr Murf remembered the first time he'd observed a drop in the Collector's activity when he'd first been assigned to the case. It only happened when they caught their prey. That discovery had allowed them to take advantage of those gaps to build the entire infrastructure from arrays and inscriptions to a few access points in the highest two floors. It had taken them years, but that enabled them to observe and study a lot of the goings on in the tomb.

The pause in activity didn't last long, though. Many lives had been lost, many of them known personally to him; a few he'd known in the greatest of intimacies. And many lives were yet to be lost, ignorant of the certainty of their demise, blissfully unaware of their inevitable fate. Nothing could be done to avoid it; the relevant documents had been signed and the orders given.

After all this time, he still wondered if he had been wasting all his best years for a useless cause and that his efforts were futile. They still hadn't managed to descend to the lower levels of the tomb, for example. With a grunt, he dismissed that trail of thought. It ran counter to his objectives and was thus useless.

He leaned back against his very expensive and rather comfortable chair and stretched his sore limbs towards the ceiling while groaning. Feeling the weight of the years piling up on his shoulders, he brought a hand into his spotless white holy tunic and pulled out a large pipe. With deliberately slow movements, he lit one it up and replayed the contents of the visual array over and over in his mind as he calmly smoked his pipe.

Only after he had done so did he turn to face the other man in his office.

He was young. Far too young to be standing in that office, where secrets of untold magnitude were shared as if common workplace gossip. His hair, long and dark, fell neatly to his shoulders. He was handsome, with straight features lining up perfectly. Of an athletic build, he held himself in place denoting confidence. His posture was almost perfect, like an image taken out of old fancy etiquette guide books; evidence that the man was, without a shadow of a doubt, a cultivator. Dr Murf had felt a small twinge of envy towards his younger coworkers when the man had first been assigned to his Church division. Yet all positive feelings dissipated when the true character of the man had become known.

Cruel and unforgiving, often had Dr Murf asked himself whether they had sent that man as punishment for some unknown transgression. Dr Cyan, for that was the only name he allowed others to address him, stood patiently in a corner, seemingly enjoying a glass of fine dwarven barley liqueur and not for one second did he relax or release the tension of his muscles.

Dr Murf was fond of dwarven spirits, and his decanter was evidence of that. It was always a pleasure for others to come to his office as they were almost always rewarded with a glass of fine drink.

Dr Murphy did this for two reasons, firstly to loosen up the tongues of those he met with, and secondly to maintain good relations with those around him. In an environment with such sensible information, it was imperative to keep those under you on your good side if you wanted to survive. It was vaguely disturbing for Dr Murf to deal with an individual that did not exhibit the usual traits you'd expect of somebody in this particular line of work. The nature of their dealings was so taxing on their psyche that the Church needed strong interpersonal relations, which were very heavily incentivised. Their recreational facilities were top notch.

In their division, nobody ever wanted for anything, except for access to the outside. Leaving was absolutely forbidden, and for good reason. That was the whole point. Inside this particular division of the Church you became a cog of a very important machine, and you needed to fit in with the other cogs. They forsook the rest of the world and became a part of the Church as a member of its family. You're not supposed to leave.

Dr Cyan stood as a perversion of the principle of cohabitation. Yet his results were unquestionable. The higher ups would never allow for his relocation, especially considering he was the one who drew up the plan following the discovery at Groamburk.