Dead flesh hanging off a metal chassis/
Dead dreams drooping from ports/
Heavenly dreams from hellish machines/
Some can't remember, but most just forgot/

I hate having been born a philosopher.
Cursed to ponder.
Damned to wonder.
Ever curious. Ever unsatisfied.
Born with a quill for a finger and ink for tears.
I don't want to know, but can't stop thinking.

25.07.2023

AnoTeam Logbuch Tag 1:

09.03:

Wir wurden losgeschickt, weil eine Anomalie im Schwarzwald-Gebirge gemeldet wurde. Jedoch konnten bislang keine Zeugen befragt werden. Der einzige offizielle Bericht beschreibt das scheinbar spurlose Verschwinden von drei Wandergruppen, die sich am Wochenende auf Routinetouren begeben haben.

Suchtrupps wurden losgeschickt, doch auch diese wurden nach wenigen Stunden unresponsiv. Diese waren jedoch ausgestattet mit zentral kontrollierten GPS-Systemen, wodurch ihre letzte bekannte Position aufgezeichnet werden konnte. An dieser war bislang nichts ungewöhnliches festzustellen, da es sich um eine scheinbar zufällige Position im Gebirge handelt. Wir sollen nun mit verbesserter Ausrüstung das Auftreten dieses Phänomens untersuchen und dokumentieren.

Wir sind zwölf Personen, ausgestattet mit GPS-Systemen, Messgeräten und einfachen Waffen, falls etwas gefährliches auf uns lauert.

10.24:

Nach beinahe eineinhalb Stunden in Bewegung ist nichts von Interesse zu dokumentieren. Die Wanderwege entsprechen den Karten aus dem Tourismus-Shop, was darauf schließen lässt, dass keine Sabotage dieser stattfand. Gleichzeitig sind wir aber auch noch einige Kilometer vom vermuteten Ort des Phänomens entfernt.

12.03:

Wir nähern uns langsam dem letzten verzeichneten Standort des Suchtrupps und unsere GPS-Systeme bekommen vermehrt Probleme mit der Standort-Feststellung. Inzwischen vermuten wir, dass der Suchtrupp - oder was davon übrig ist - nicht an unserem bisherigen Zielort zu finden sein wird.

13.48:

Laut unserem Schätzungen müssten wir den Zielort inzwischen erreicht oder bereits passiert haben. Unsere GPS-Systeme haben nun komplett aufgehört zu funktionieren und wir haben beschlossen, dem ausgeschilderten Wanderpfad weiter zu folgen.

Der Wald durch den wir gehen ist ungewöhnlich still. Zuerst haben wir es nicht wahrgenommen, doch Mitglieder unseres Trupps geben an, dass die Anzahl an Insekten und das Zwitschern von Vögeln stätig abgenommen haben.

15.00:

Es ist jetzt merkbarer, als zuvor. Komplette Stille umhüllt diesen Teil des Waldes. Lebewesen sind rar und diejenigen, die wir sehen, ziehen in dieselbe Richtung, wie wir. Ein leichtes surren ist vernehmbar, wie eine Art Hintergrundgeräusch.

16.23:

Als wir um die letzte Kurve des Pfades gingen, tauchte es vor uns auf, fast als hätte es vorher nicht existiert. Als wäre es nur hier, weil es hier sein muss, um von uns wahrgenommen zu werden. So fremd sieht es hier aus, das riesige Loch in der Mitte des Pfades. Das Surren ist stetig lauter geworden und geht von dem Loch selbst aus. Fast als wäre es ein Schlund, der in die Stille des Waldes ruft.

Nach kurzer Beobachtung fiel auf, dass immer wieder Insekten und Vögel in das Loch hineinfliegen, nicht als würden sie fallen oder gezogen werden, sondern mit voller Bestimmung. Als wäre dort unten ein riesiges Nest verschiedener Spezies.

Das Team wird unruhig. Einige wollen sich dem Loch nähern, um es zu untersuchen, doch ich hielt dies bisher für zu gefährlich. Wir platzieren zunächst ein paar Messknotenpunkte für Routinemessungen an Anomalie-Orten.

16.42:

Während der Routinemessung ging ich die bisherigen Log-Einträge durch und mir ist eine Stelle mit Korrekturbedarf aufgefallen: Anfangs beschrieb ich, dass unser Team 12 Mitglieder beträgt, doch nach erneutem Zählen sind wir nur 10. Der Grund dieser Fehlkalkulation ist mir unschlüssig. Keines der anwesenden Mitglieder kann irgendjemanden als fehlend melden.

Die Mitglieder werden immer unruhiger und bewegen sich mit verschiedenen Ausreden immer näher an das Loch. Ich muss sie ständig zurückrufen, da noch keine Entscheidung zur näheren Untersuchung getroffen wurde.

17.05:

Wegen des vorherigen Fehlers habe ich die Mitglieder erneut durchgezählt. Es sind scheinbar doch nur 7. Weiterhin kann niemand als fehlend gemeldet werden. Niemand kann sich erinnern mit mehr Mitgliedern aufgebrochen zu sein. Ich habe befohlen, einen engen Kreis zu bilden, aus dem sich niemand lösen darf, während wir besprechen.

17.10:

Agent Schmidt hat den Verstand verloren. Er versuchte wie besessen, auf das Loch zuzulaufen. Er wird von Agent Meier festgehalten.

17.13:

Agent Meier ist verstorben. Er liegt tot auf dem Boden. Niemand weiß, wieso. Ich habe mein Logbuch gecheckt. Im letzten Eintrag schrieb ich von einem Agent Schmidt. Niemand sagt aus, jemals von einem Agenten Schmidt gehört zu haben. Scheinbar nimmt die Anzahl unserer Mitglieder ab. Wir sind zu fünft, einer davon tot.

17.33:

Das Loch ruft mich. Wieso wurde ich nur mit Agent Meier losgeschickt? Was auch immer ihn getötet hat, ist noch immer da draußen. Ich habe Angst. Aber das Loch ist sicher. Alles scheint dorthin zu fliehen. Ich sollte es auch tun. Es gibt keinen Grund, dies nicht zu tun...

Rechastaad Rogue

Michael Staffer was the owner of a small casino on the edge of Rechastaad. Not a particularly honorable occupation. Most do it for the money or the protection of local gangs. Michael had neither.

The city itself isn't much concerned with local businesses. Its government is moreso concerned with giving the Graber Corporation grounds for mining - pretty much wherever they please and people can't pay the extornionate amounts of money to ward off the demolitioners.

This at first drove people to the entertainment industry, as it promised a chance on large returns. But sooner or later, they couldn't afford to wager their chances anymore. Now, only the miners come to watch the dancers.

Michael decided long ago, that he would leave the town as soon as he had saved up the money. But running a business is a wager aswell and luck had ran out in Rechastaad.

He was on his evening walk home, a stroll he took at leisurely pace with room for experimentation along the route. Noone waited for him after all.

Tonight, his feet carried him across a hill, from which he could observe the city centre. Everpresent stood there a spire constructed by Graber only a few years back. Back then people didn't mind, since they thought big business in town meant big returns for all.

The tower itself was slender and ominous. Strange blue light eminated from the sparingly placed windows and thick wires ran up its entire height. Graber-owned buildings sprawled along the root-like cabling that sprang from around the foot of the tower.

Noone knew what was going on inside the tower, or noone talked about it. Michael himself was contend in not knowing. Too often knowledge only meant trouble, especially if large corporations were involved.

Michael shook his head, he was weary of worry and just wanted to head home. The view of the Spire somewhat spoiled his mood.

When he passed along a block of residential houses, a voice came from an alley, sounding strong, but secretive. "Hey, good sir. Could you spare a moment of your time?" Michael responded: "A moment I have to spare, but no money today." "I don't need your money, but you could lend me your ear."

Michael was walking slowly towards the alley while they were talking and he could discern evermore from his conversational partner - first a ripped and sewn coat, made from a collection of dark materials that fit more or less together, obviously fashioned rather to make the wearer less seen, than to be 'en vogue'. Then he could see the rim of a wide hat, a dark brown colour, almost as beat up as the coat. So the wearer of these items already seemed quite shifty to Michael, but the stature of the man beneath the clothes spoke of a man with a purpose, which impressed him in his heart.

"My good fellow", spoke the shifty man, "would you care to be my asset?" "Well, it depends.", said Michael, "an asset in what?". "In murder, my friend."

Michael was taken aback. He knew of shady people and shadier business passing along the streets of Rechastaad, but he hadn't been involved in any so far. He thought to himself his business was kind of shady itself, a lot of folks used it to launder their ill earnings and he himself would cheat the good folks out of their hard earned money to make ends meet. But murder was to him not only shady, but pitch black, which is a whole lot of shades darker than he considered the dirt that had accumulated on his hands along the years.

"Well, I thank you for considering me in such a delicate affair, but I consider myself not the kind of man for this sort of job." "Well, you haven't heard they payout yet, have you?" This intrigued Michael. From the looks of it, the figure shouldn't have enough money to use as means of persuasion. Michael thought, a little haggling never hurt a man. So he asked: "Well, how much could you offer for me to care?" "I offer you a single thing: A Life. You see, I left one behind in another town far away, and you could take it up." Michael was surprised by the proposal. "Well, what would constitute a life?" "A house and enough money to make it to a new stable job." "So if you have a life to give, what are you doing here?" "You see, I am supposed to be dead.", Said the Stranger and disintegrated before Michaels eyes into a fine, shimmering blue mist, before assembling right behind him in the same raggedy form as before. "And I hope to take revenge on the one who is responsible."

This compelled Michael. A chance to escape Grabers grasp. A shot at freedom. A new life. But he thought again to himself: If taking up the life this Stranger had to abandon meant he would have to aid in taking another life and also him abandoning what hes built here for an uncertain future, that would be two lives lost for one gained. Was it worth it? Someone else would surely take up this quest if he doesn't. Maybe someone with nothing to lose. One life lost for one gained.

The Stranger disturbed Michaels thoughts: "It will happen tonight regardless. You are but a security, aswell as assurance, that none of these Graber-Numbnuts get hold of my old home. I can do this without you. I was merely feeling generous." Michael answered: "I will do it." He was surprised himself, but hearing that this is his only shot, he just had to take it. "Fine. Come with me, I will tell you the plan on the way."

The Stranger finally fully emerged from the shadows, exposing a soft transparency in his skin, as if he was barely held together out of his dispersed form he took just a minute ago. Though, at closer inspection, his hat and cloak were of just the same makeup. Perhaps this was all for show?

Heading towards the tower at the town square, the Stranger explained his origin. He was once an esteemed employee of Grabers, where he worked in a division researching the effect of overloading the particles of different objects using a special gas that is rich in energy. He found, that the objects in question would vanish or sometimes change form. Organisms even seemed to be able to keep a consistent form sometimes, but breaking up into small particles shortly after. Graber suspected, that a being of higher intelligence could control their form using these discoveries and pushed for human testing, but when the Stranger expressed concerns, Graber volunteered him. He escaped, because he passed through the floor after being hit with the energising field created from the gas. Now, he seeks revenge from the person responsible: Chief scientist Steven Leuffer.

Leuffer had been transferred here, after the Graber site in the strangers hometown was closed, because the experiment seemed to be a failure after he escaped. In Rechastaad, he hasn't lost any of his old ways though. He carries on his wicked experiments on townfolk hoping on a big payout for being a labrat.

This enraged Michael. Corporate greed really knew no end. Not only would Graber come to Rechastaad and take all the land, all the jobs, all the business. Now, they took the people, too. He was never too much in love with the town. But in the people, he could confide.

The plan was simple: This night, Leuffer was supposed to appear at a small gathering of the Graber group, where the heads of all sorts of different fields would appear to present their findings - and Leuffer would bring demonstration. A chamber such as the one the Stranger was exposed to the gas in would be brought up on stage to demonstrate, how the method of superpowering materials could work. The catch is: it is supposed to all be smoke and mirrors. Leuffer considers it too risky to do it for real. Would his experiments fail again, his funding would be pulled and that would be it for him.

That's where Michael would come in. He was supposed to dress as a Graber employee, just a low-level worker. The sort noone would remember the face of. He would then get hold of the chamber for "inspection", so the stranger could hide inside.

It all went smoothly up to that point and Michaels part was done. He had gotten detailed instructions on how to collect his prize beforehand. But something didn't allow him to leave. Something inside him just couldn't leave this spectacle without seeing it. So he hid in the scaffoldings that held the monstrous amounts of wiring needed to support this show.

At first, it was quite boring. Much was spoken, but little said, as these kinds of official deals went. Financial officers gave inflated statements on returns, board members gave heated speeches on productivity and not a single voice belonging to a hard working person was heard.

Then it happened. Leuffer was announced. The Belle of the Ball. He came on stage to a triumphant tune, grinning from ear to ear. In his mind, nothing could go wrong. Never had man been more wrong.

After a long-winded speech about science and his many successes, Leuffer finally gave the sign to bring the chamber on stage.

A stagehand struggled and pulled a heavily wired metallic capsule into view. Only Michael knew, what lurked inside. And he couldn't help but grin.

Leuffer took theatrical strides towards a podium with a giant button, asking an audience member to step forward and have the demonstration done on them. Someone in the crowd immediately raised their hand, not even attempting to hide the fact, that they were hired to do so beforehand.

While they slowly walked towards the stage, Michael recognised the person. It was a former seamstress who used to frequent his establishment, if mainly for drinks and attention. Now, she was obviously strapped for money and desperate to earn it. Michael liked talking to her though and knew her fate would be sealed, if she got on stage: The Stranger would make no exceptions in the death he wrought. So he untangled from the wires he hid in and started making for the stage.

A gasp went through the crowd as what they could only assume a construction worker ran through their mids towards the volunteer. But noone moved a finger as he sprinted towards the now very scared woman and pinned her to the ground.

Everything went quiet for a few seconds. The the woman broke out into panic. Michael tried to calm her down and shut her mouth with his hand, he really didn't need people to help her. But as he looked around, the crowd seemed mesmerized by the stage, where a fine, blue mist started to emerge from the metallic capsule in the center.

Leuffer was petrified in shock and stammered, obviously not caring about the microphone on his body: "But-- but-- it wasn't supposed to work...".

And then, a ghastly voice rang through the theatre: "Curtain call." As a familiar face to many seemed to compress through the crevices of the chamber.

"Brenner?!", shrieked Leuffer, suddenly stumbling and falling to the ground. Terror broke loose in the hall and people started making for the doors. Michael let go of the woman he had pinned to the ground and she too ran for the exit.

"Long time no see, old friend", remarked the Stranger, "you look, like you've seen a ghost."