"One can know an existence by its frogs..." - Charles Fort Smashing through the boundaries lunacy has found me cannot stop the Battery Pounding out aggression turns into obsession cannot kill the Battery --Battery, Metallica The Clocks are the main thing And they'll start reversing The Clocks are the main thing And they'll start reversing And then the Dead are getting up. --The Darkest of the Hillside Thickets, "House of Clocks" -------------------------------------- NEW HAVEN where hell isn't just other people Scene 1-10: Infernal Mechanism By King in Yellow -------------------------------------- Charlie looked at Karen, a pitiful look on his face. "Sis, does this mean that we're accessories to theft?" She sighed and looked at Kramer pleadingly. Kramer coughed and scratched the back of his head. "Well, considering the circumstances, I'll put this purchase on tab. Just this once, mind you." He took a sip of his tea. "You'd best hurry and catch up to Mr. Basquain." Charlie nodded and ran out the door, Karen following shortly behind. Ned turned to Kramer. "Why didn't you tell them?" "Why didn't I tell them about what?" "About everything aside from Harlukia." "Oh, you mean like how the sheer number of paranormal, supernatural and occult incidents have created a massive supernatural/paranormal- ecological disaster, whose sheer scale has created something like a occult gravity well which is pulling more and more powerful and alien entities and phenomena to New Haven, and that this gravitational pull will eventually collapse the chronomantic barrier around New Haven and cause the end of the world and possibly the universe?" "Yeah, that." "You know, it never occurred to me that that they would have wanted to know." [9 9 2 0 .2 2 9 9 8 9 2 1 2 .3 3 4] In a titanium vault beneath what was left of the Rascombe Building sat the Antikythera Mechanism. It was not a large device, standing only two feet tall. At its centre was a tangled mass of brightly polished fine-toothed bronze gears of varying sizes. The gears were sandwiched between two circular lead plates, supported by three smooth black iron shafts. The top plate resembled the face of a clock, covered in acid- etched ancient Greek letters, numbers, mathematical and astrological symbols. Three clocklike hands of brilliant silver jutted out from the centre of the face. From the side jutted out something resembling a small bronze sextant. Discovered in 1900 by sponge divers who had drifted off course near the island of Antikythera in Greece, the Mechanism was found aboard a sunken ship of great antiquity filled with marble statues. Despite its damaged state, it caused quite a stir among academics. Most assumed that it was some kind of ancient clock or possibly a primitive astrolabe used by astronomers to measure the elevation of heavenly bodies. However, in its damaged state, nothing could be certain. It was studied intensely for ten years, but soon people lost interest in the Mechanism. It was placed away in the back of a museum and soon forgotten. However, some questions about the Antikythera Mechanism were never answered. Why was it among all those statues? Why had all the faces been chipped off the statues? Why had no algae, sponges, coral grown on the statues and why hadn't the bronze corroded? And why did its crew scuttle the ship that carried the statues and the Mechanism? There was still one person who was still interested in the Mechanism: Nathaniel Winsley Carroll. An amateur scientist and mathematician whose hobby was collecting medieval clocks, Carroll was absolutely fascinated by the Mechanism. Using his great wealth, he purchased the Mechanism in 1928 and began to rebuild it. Then strange things started to happen. Carroll first himself feeling tired and drained when he woke up. Soon afterwards, he began to find himself waking up in his workshop, the Mechanism lying in front of him, one step closer to completion. Soon the pull of the Mechanism began to affect his waking moments and he found himself feeling restless and irritated when not working on the Mechanism. He began to stop eating and sleeping and devoted all his time to the mechanism. When the Mechanism was completed, Carroll seemed to return to normal. However, he was frustrated by the fact that no matter what he did, the gears would not turn. Then one day, his friends noted that he seemed strangely elated. He told them that the gears had begun to turn of their own volition. He began to spend all his free time recording the letters, numbers, and astronomical symbols that the hands pointed to. When the gears stopped turning a few weeks later, he had hundreds of pages worth of transcripts from the Mechanism. Carroll then set out translating the manuscript. It is worth noting, that after the Mechanism was completed, people began disappearing from the surrounding countryside. Houses were found empty of inhabitants with no sign of struggle, meals sitting partially eaten on tables, laundry sitting half-washed. These disappearances continued up until Carroll's death. After translating fifty pages of the transcript, Nathaniel Winsley Carroll died. He was found in his study by his best friend, slumped over his translation, a hole in his chest and his chest empty of all organs. When his best friend read what he had translated, he burned the entire manuscript, translation and all, and slit his throat with a razor. When Carroll's corpse was examined, blue pus was found around the wound. When examined under a microscope, the pus appeared to be comprised of what appeared to be rapidly evaporating microscopic crystals. The Mechanism was sold during the auctioning of Carroll's estate, bought by a catholic cardinal who sent it to a monastery in Germany for safekeeping. It remained there for six years before SS Chief Heinrich Himmler's Sonderkommando H seized it during a raid. For nine years it was studied and extensive transcripts of what symbols and letters the dials pointed to were made and translated. In the closing days of World War II, a desperate SS researcher, Dr. Gunter Frank, attempted to conduct a ritual that was described in the transcripts, in hopes of turning the tides of the war. The exact results he desired were unknown, but the final effect caused the small town of Nodabaum to disappear off the map, leaving only a deep hemispherical pit. After the war, the Mechanism, the surviving transcripts, and a number of the SS researchers were seized by Smersh agents on behalf of Stalin who had become increasingly interested in life extension experiments. Most of the results and subjects of most of these experiments were shipped out into the Siberian taiga to where men with freshly dug pits and fifty-five gallon drums of acid waited. By 1953, however, Stalin's researchers studying the extensive Antikythera transcripts announced they had made a breakthrough in unlocking the key to immortality. They set out immediately to manufacture the "elixir of life". However, the idea of an immortal Stalin did not go over well with many of the top Russian military officers. Most of them had barely maneuvered their way through Stalin's previous purges and had no desire to try and maneuver through another. The research facility, its staff, and the transcripts were disposed off and a Mechanism was recovered by a Spetsnaz team, who were quietly given a large sum of money afterwards and sent to live the rest of their days in South America. The Mechanism passed through many hands before ending up at in the hands of Walter K. Rascombe, an eccentric British millionaire and businessman who owned Rascombe Industries, a successful scientific research and engineering company. After examining it and finding nothing unusual, the disappointed Rascombe sent it to his facility in New Haven, where it remained in a vault, gathering dust for forty years, it's gears remaining motionless. On September 29, 2001, shaking off the dust of four decades, the Antikythera Mechanism's gears began to turn once more, the symbols glowing eerily in the darkness of the vault. [9 9 2 0 .2 2 9 9 8 9 2 1 2 .3 3 4] Grauswein stormed towards the Oval Office. This is bad, he thought, as if the New Haven situation wasn't bad enough all ready. He flung the door open. Inside, the President seemed happily occupied by seeing how quickly he could stab the spaces between his fingers with a letter opener. Behind him an aid who looked suspiciously like Jean Reno, and probably would be played by him in a movie appeared to be setting up recording devices. Stiletto sat in a chair reading a heavy book whose weathered leather cover was marked in bold gothic print, 'The Book of Inverted Darkness, Or How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Love Shambling Extradimensional Horrors From Beyond The Unplumbed Depths Of Space', while popping another pill cocktail. "Mr. President!" The President looked up at Grauswein, a bad idea when one is stabbing a letter opener between one's fingers. "What? Ow, fuck!" The President removed the letter opener from the fleshy spot between two fingers. The aid passed him a handkerchief to stop the bleeding. "What is it? Did Marty Thought Ideawasgood screw up?" The President paused. "...Again?" "No. As far as we know, Operation ELIMINATION is going according to plan." "Did something else go wrong then? Did the Mole uncover hidden catacombs filled to the brim with shambling, cannibalistic proto- hominids?" Grauswein blinked. "...Not to my knowledge, no. No, my news is much more serious than proto-hominids." "More serious than cannibalistic proto-hominids bent on devouring the populace of New England?" "...Probably, if said proto-hominids existed. Which they don't." At this point Disaster and Fortune smirked and popped open a bottle of vodka and got nice and toasted. [9 9 2 0 .2 2 9 9 8 9 2 1 2 .3 3 4] Unbeknownst Grauswein, and indeed almost everyone else, there was indeed a complex network of tunnels under New Haven. First discovered on June 16th, 1956 by construction workers working on the new subway system, the tunnels were rather mundanely chalked up to erosion caused by underground streams of water. This explanation satisfied most, however, the sewer workers disagreed, wondering 'if the tunnels were created by water erosion, then why were the tunnels' insides rough and looked like they had been dug out by some giant mole. These questions went unanswered. After about a week, the town soon lost interest in the tunnels. Then pets started to disappear. These continued for about a week or so, then stopped. Then people started disappearing. It was children at first, then as more and more people began to disappear, adults began to disappear as well. The construction workers refused to go back down under the town. Then as abruptly as it began, the disappearances stopped and the town's folk soon stopped asking questions and moved on with their lives, forgetting the two terrible weeks of terror. The blame for the disappearances was placed squarely on serial killing communists, as was the fashion of the time. Few people ever decided to link the explosion of July 4th, 1956 with the end of the disappearances. It should be noted that the explosion led to the conviction of one Landon Kramer for arson, post-humously. He had found the only body while on a dare from the other workers to check out the tunnels shortly after the disappearances started. He never discussed the circumstances of the body's discovery with anyone, though a few people wondered why the loaded revolver that he had brought down into the tunnels with him that day was empty when he came back to the surface with the mangled body. A few days later, on the night of the fourth of July, Kramer returned to the subway tunnel after stealing fifty pounds of dynamite from the construction site and detonated it, collapsing the tunnel and burying himself under tons of rubble. The tunnel was never reopened. The Mole's passing gouged a hole through the earth like a maggot through flesh. In the darkness of that tunnel, earth began to shift and a wall of a long hidden tunnel crumbled outwards, opening the catacombs beneath New Haven once more. And in that darkness, things began to move. Hi-ho. [9 9 2 0 .2 2 9 9 8 9 2 1 2 .3 3 4] "Anyways, what's so serious?" asked the President in a bored tone of voice. Cannibalistic proto-hominids were far more interesting. "Our security has been breached by a foreign power." There was a long pause as Grauswein let this sink in. The aid looked vaguely uncomfortable. The President blinked. "So?" "So?!" "It happens all the time. Why just last week I found three Russian, two Chinese, and four Belgian bugs in my shoe." Stiletto looked up from her reading. "Belgium doesn't exist, though." "What?" The President's face was a light blend of disbelief and confusion. "It doesn't exist." stated Stiletto firmly. "But I was there last week. I shook hands with their President!" "That was a carefully disguised Luxembourg. The President of Belgium you shook hands with was actually a Australian stage actor who is a member of Majestic 12's Australian counterpart conspiracy." Stiletto took a sip of coffee. "But..." "Belgium was created as part of a long lasting link in one of Majestic 12's conspiracies to help cover up the existence of extra-terrestrial and extra-dimensional lifeforms." "My God... What other countries don't exist?" "Well New Zealand doesn't. I mean, have you even heard of an Old Zealand?" "I see... it's all beginning to make sense now." "If you don't mind, I was giving a report here." Grauswein stated irritably. "No, Mr. President, I was not talking about trivial everyday spying. No, I'm saying that they may know about New Haven." "...Oh. That's bad, isn't?" replied the President. "Yes, it's fucking bad. Sir, you obviously don't understand the seriousness of the situation. If a foreign power got a hold of the New Haven data there would be serious repercussions for the United States. Depending on the country, we might be able to negotiate with them, but if our sources are correct, the country in question may just decide be completely irrational and nuke the U.S. clean." "What country is this? Russia? China? Tonga?" "No, it's none of those. In fact, Russia could prove to be a valuable ally in dealing with this situation, as they have had agencies devoted to these kinds of thing since the Tunguska explosion in 1908. Contacting their President and requesting the assistance of GRU operatives trained for these kinds of matters may become necessary. No, this spying is so insidious, so twisted, that it could come from one source: France." The President blinked. "France?" "France." "Why can't we negotiate with France?" "Sir, how can you expect to negotiate with a country that has three- hundred and sixty-five different kinds of cheese?" "I see your point." "This is very serious, sir. You must remember, France is a nuclear power and they have dealt with similar incidents on their own soil rather... heavy-handedly. I mean, there was the whole Fauxville incident ten years ago." "Where's Fauxville?" "Exactly." "I see your point. Don't worry, we'll upgrade security on all fronts. There's no way any frog spy will get past our security, isn't that right Jacques?" The aid turned and smiled. "Oui." [9 9 2 0 .2 2 9 9 8 9 2 1 2 .3 3 4] Harlukia lay on the floor in a pool of human excrement, his face devoid of emotion, his mind deep in thought. He still didn't have his soul. He had broken out in hives thanks to that little man and his dirty type AB blood. He was consort-less and his bitter ex-lover showed up. Oh, yes, and to top it all off, it seemed that ever since he came to this town, he had been hit in the head with bedpans, some of them still filled. His right eye began to twitch. Something would have to be done about this state of affairs. [9 9 2 0 .2 2 9 9 8 9 2 1 2 .3 3 4] "Well, fuck." Alicia said as she eyed Jebdorn and his giant fox. "I think we should start running now." stated Michael, Alicia nodding in agreement. They turned to run and found, much to their dismay, that there was giant mongoose behind them. The mongoose hissed threateningly. Alicia and Michael backed away slowly. Jebdorn bared his massive teeth and roared, advancing towards the pair. Jebdorn was not happy. Firstly, he was having problems finding Harlukia, most likely due to the massive psychic interference from the myriads of extradimensional monstrosities that created too much 'white noise', so to speak. Secondly, he was rather annoyed and embarrassed with the whole fiasco with the giant alligator. He was a vampire for Cain's sake, he wasn't supposed to be forced to run away from a giant alligator. To add to the insult, most of his animal followers had disappeared or died. He lost his tigers to a pack of shamblers, and had lost most of his other animals in a brutal crossfire between the giant fishmen and the giant chickens. To be honest, he was just feeling... inadequate. Thus he was quite determined to do something vampirely macho, such as drinking the walking bloodsacks dry, thus soothing his ego. "Don't worry, Alicia, I have a plan." whispered Michael. Fuck, fuck, fuck, he thought eloquently, we're fucking screwed. Wait, he thought, I work for the Fortean Times! Now, what would Charles Fort do? [9 9 2 0 .2 2 9 9 8 9 2 1 2 .3 3 4] [London, England 1922] Charles Fort sat placidly in the Royal British Museum's library, jotting down notes, as he often did. One of the museum aids came running up to him. "Mr. Fort! Our collection of mummies has formed an alliance with the collection of Zuni fetish dolls and they're wreaking havoc across the Aztec artefact collection! Remember what happened last time the statue of Huitzilopochtli was awakened!" Charles Fort put down the notes he was writing. "They are, are they? We'll see about that!" He rolled up his sleeves and ripped open his shirt to expose his mighty hairy chest and proceed to calmly walk out the door, stopping only to pick up a stout board of wood. Half an hour later hours later, the mummies and Zuni fetish dolls were sitting back in their exhibits, looking quite inanimate and thoroughly battered. [9 9 2 0 .2 2 9 9 8 9 2 1 2 .3 3 4] No, that would never work, mused Michael, my chest isn't nearly hairy enough. He sighed and looked over at Alicia, whose bosom was heaving as she breathed deeply. He shook his head. Reality, he prayed, please let me do something heroic and impress her. Just a little. He eyed Jebdorn advancing towards him through a large pool created by a smashed fire hydrant. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the downed electric pole, powerline sparking dangerously close to the water. Michael leaned over and whispered to Alicia, "Here's the plan; take my notes and run over to that powerline. I'll distract him and when I say now, kick the powerline into the water." Alicia nodded, looking mildly impressed, and slowly circled over toward the powerline. Michael began to walk towards the vampire, trying to look determined while not letting his bladder empty itself. He stopped at the edge of the pool. He looked over at Alicia, who was still working her way to the powerline. Michael stared at the hairy, smelly creature in front of him. Great, he thought, now I'm going to have to distract him. I'm a reporter damn it, not a rodeo clown. Well maybe I can intimidate him, he thought desperately. Michael ripped open his shirt exposing his unimpressive chest and struck a pose that he hoped looked intimidating. "I should warn you, I work for the Fortean Times!" Jebdorn halted his advance, a look on his face that was a combination of puzzlement, anger, and... fear? "Fortean... Fort... As in Charles Fort?" Jebdorn's eyes were shining dangerously. "Um, yes." answered Michael honestly. Jebdorn rubbed his nose and snarled. [9 9 2 0 .2 2 9 9 8 9 2 1 2 .3 3 4] [South Africa,1896] The small town was aflame, people fleeing as Jebdorn and his Wild Hunt wrecked havoc. "Flee mortals, flee! Tonight the Hunt is afoot and you are my prey!" Jebdorn snarled gleefully. While he didn't normally speak, Jebdorn found that sometimes speech helped terrify his prey, helping to give them a pleasant 'gamey" flavour. "Oh, we are, are we?" Through the smoke stood a figure. Built like a walrus and with a mustache to match, Charles Fort stared down Jebdorn. Fort rolled up his sleeves and tore open his shirt. "Time for a world class lesson in pain boy-o." Fifteen seconds later, Charles Fort bit off Jebdorn's nose. [9 9 2 0 .2 2 9 9 8 9 2 1 2 .3 3 4] Jebdorn advanced on Michael, face full of fury. This... mortal was tied to the only human who ever injured Jebdorn. Oh, sure, the nose grew back, but the insult was still remained. Jebdorn dropped down low and prepared to leap at Michael. Michael looked over at Alicia, who had positioned herself by the sparking electrical wire. Grinning at Jebdorn, looked over at Alicia and yelled, "Now!" Jebdorn quickly followed Michael's gaze, his eyes widening as he saw the sparking power line about to connect with the water. Fortune and Disaster polished off their vodka and passed out on the couch. What should have happened next did not happen. Much to Michael's dismay, Jebdorn did not writhe around as his body was pumped full of high voltage electricity, nor did he fall into the pool a smoking heap. There was a very good reason for this. [9 9 2 0 .2 2 9 9 8 9 2 1 2 .3 3 4] [New Haven Power building] "Damn it Bill, if I told you once, I told you a million times, I don't swing that way." Marcus Jones, the lone surviving worker of New Haven Power was currently fending off a zombie. Marcus Jones was quite blind and mostly deaf and had yet to notice that the rest of his colleagues were dead and zombified. Thus, for the past half-hour, Marcus was convinced that his co-worker, Bill had been coming on to him. However, the zombie had no interest in Marcus aside from gnawing on his ganglia. The zombie tried biting Marcus again, only to end up drooling on Marcus's face as he fended the zombie off once more. "That's it! Bill, co-worker or not, I'm taking you down." As Marcus pushed himself up, he accidentally placed his hand firmly down on the master leaver that controlled power, moving it to the off position, shutting off power all across New Haven. Unfortunately he was unable to rectify this mistake, as the zombie had finally managed to get its teeth on his jugular. [9 9 2 0 .2 2 9 9 8 9 2 1 2 .3 3 4] Still lying in a pool of excrement on the floor, Harlukia was plunged into a world of darkness, which suited the vampire just fine. In the stygian gloom, Harlukia stared intently at the phosphorescent writing that was appearing on the walls. After reading a few lines, Harlukia shot up from the floor and began to climb the elevator shaft as fast as he could. [9 9 2 0 .2 2 9 9 8 9 2 1 2 .3 3 4] Jebdorn readied himself to leap once more. Michael steeled himself, determined not to let his bladder empty until after he was dead. If he was going to die, he was going to go out like a man. He closed his eyes and waited. The killing blow never came. Instead there was a piercing squeal as Jebdorn's giant fox fell to the ground and began to writhe in agony as acid ate through its side, spilling its entrails onto the street. Jebdorn and Michael looked on in shock and horror as the fox's attacker came running down the street. It was big. It had lots of limbs. It had a fucking huge mouth. It was charging this way. [9 9 2 0 .2 2 9 9 8 9 2 1 2 .3 3 4] "Hey, Marty." yelled Sarge as he looked at the hole the Mole came through. "What?" "Out of curiosity, what's keeping those... things..." "The Jaws of Death." Marty testily replied "Yeah, the Jaws of Death, what's keeping them from attacking us or running back down the tunnel to rampage across the state of New England?" "A complicated piece of technomantic machinery that must be operated constantly and that only I know how to work." "Oh." Sarge sounded disappointed. "That's too bad then." He checked his gun's magazine and took off the safety. Marty paused, digesting that. "...Why's that?" Sarge eyed the seething mass of shambling proto-hominids issuing from the Mole's hole and raised his gun. "'Cause we're all going to be dead real soon." Hi-ho. [9 9 2 0 .2 2 9 9 8 9 2 1 2 .3 3 4] The Jaws of Death charged past a cowering Michael Lime and slammed into Jebdorn, trying to shovel the vampire into its vast mouth. Jebdorn struggled to avoid being swallowed, wedging himself in the jaws of the beast, trying to keep them open. The giant mongoose dashed over to aid its master, nibbling at the haunches of the Jaws of Death in an effort to get it to release Jebdorn. The Jaws whipped around, flinging Jebdorn into a building as it wheeled around to face the mongoose. A spray of acid made quick work of the mongoose, dissolving the giant animal. The Jaws turned to face Alicia and Michael. Alicia ran over to Michael and pulled him to his feet. "I think we should start running now." [9 9 2 0 .2 2 9 9 8 9 2 1 2 .3 3 4] Marty was caught in a moral dilemma. While he could run and abandon the control mechanism for the Jaws of Death, that would mean letting the Jaws of Death run free. Alternatively, he could take the time to shut down the mechanism and place the Jaws in a dormant state, but that would mean certain death at the slavering horde of proto-hominids. He stared long and hard at said proto-hominids, who were in the process of dismembering the choicest pieces of Johnson and still trying to take down Sarge. "Fuck it." Marty ran like hell. [9 9 2 0 .2 2 9 9 8 9 2 1 2 .3 3 4] "Why is it not doing anything?" asked Alicia, looking nervously at the Jaws of Death as she and Michael backed away. "How should I know?" "Well, you said you worked for the Fortean Times. Isn't this fortean enough?" snapped Alicia. "Forgive me, but I don't have much experience in slavering walking mouths that spew acid." snapped back Michael. The Jaws of Death's eyes began to stare at the bickering duo in a new light. It roared and charged at them, splashing through the pool. "Shit, so that's all she wrote." muttered Michael as his field of vision was rapidly being filled by a gapping maw. Seeing Disaster and Fortune passed out on a couch, Dumb Luck, Fortune's bitter bastard child, smiled to himself and worked his magic. [9 9 2 0 .2 2 9 9 8 9 2 1 2 .3 3 4] At the same time, the zombie that was once Bill slipped in a pool of Marcus's blood. As its stiff limbs flailed, one connected with the power control leaver, switching it to the "on" position. Power was restored to New Haven. [9 9 2 0 .2 2 9 9 8 9 2 1 2 .3 3 4] The Jaws of Death suddenly found itself in a *very* electrified pool. Shrieking in agony as smoke poured from its skin, the beast collapsed in the pool, fried, ironically enough, like chicken. Alicia and Michael looked at each other. "Huh. Smells like alligator." remarked Michael. "Think it's dead?" "Let's not push our luck." They ran. [9 9 2 0 .2 2 9 9 8 9 2 1 2 .3 3 4] Kramer put down his empty teacup and walked over to the hole that used to be the door, taking his tweed coat off the coat rack and picking up an antique shotgun from beside the hole. Ned looked at him oddly. "So you're really going to try and find it?" "Yes, if the catalyst that started this disaster can be found and destroyed, then chances are the rest of the problems can be resolved one by one. However, if we don't find the catalyst, then worse and worse entities are going to begin to show up and well, the chronomantic barrier won't be able to hold them all." Kramer loaded two shells into the shotgun. "Feel like coming along Ned?" "Can I finish my tea first?" Kramer smiled beatifically. "There's always time for tea." [9 9 2 0 .2 2 9 9 8 9 2 1 2 .3 3 4] "Johnny, slow down!" Charlie yelled as they ran to the Morgue. Johnny looked back. "We don't have time to take it slow. You want to save Alicia, right?" "But there's a bylaw against running on this street." Charlie stated. Karen shook her head and sighed. The trio rounded a corner and froze dead in their tracks. There were five bone shamblers here. They were all dead. [9 9 2 0 .2 2 9 9 8 9 2 1 2 .3 3 4] In the darkness of the vault, the Antikythera Mechanism's gears continued to grind, slowly turning its hands. [9 9 2 0 .2 2 9 9 8 9 2 1 2 .3 3 4] Author's Notes Well, that was fun. While this chapter may have been a bit to Lovecrafty, I think it fit in well with the rest of the chapters. Hope the next authors have fun with the Antikythera Mechanism and the Francophone Menace. I should probably mention that I originally planned to have Grauswein and company be part of Majestic 12, as it would explain a lot of their knowledge, but never got around to writing it, thanks mainly to Resident Evil on the Gamecube. Anyways, thanks go out to my prereaders Zeroin and Wanderer for making sure my ideas were good and my grammar didn't suck to badly. -Tom "King in Yellow" Lewis And now for bonus definitions and field notes! Antikythera Mechanism - Surprisingly, it does exist. Unfortunately, it isn't nearly as sinister and interesting as I made it out to be. It's not actually a mechanism so much as a bunch of bronze lumps that probably were gears. Arthur C. Clarke covered it in his book "Mysterious World", in the chapter "Ancient Fires", along with other historical oddities such as the Baghdad Battery, the vitrified forts of Scotland, the crystal skulls of Mesoamerica, and the Giant Balls of Costa Rica. Sonderkommando H (Special Unit H)- They really did exist and they really did raid catholic monasteries outside of Italy, primarily looking for documents on inquisition witch trials that could help show the Catholic Church's "oppression" of the German people and justify the crackdown on the Catholic Church. The H stood for "hexen", the German word for witch. It may be of interest to note that many of its members were also members of Thulegesellschaft, or Thule Society. GRU [Glavnoye Razvedyvatelnoye Upravlenie] (Chief Intelligence Directorate of the General Staff) - The central organization of Russian military intelligence, along with foreign intelligence. It also comprises the Spetsnaz special forces.