Moline:This... this is Dr. Kyle Moline. I...

I’m a quantum mechanics specialist at Project Janus.

Our attempt at gateway triangulation failed to close the dimensional breach.

We never should’ve deployed the LTGs. That was a job for soldiers. Now the devices are scrap... and this town is screwed.

No idea where Panos and Pelletier are. Nobody’s on comms. I’m hiding out in Olly’s Comic Shop.

If I don’t survive, let this be my testimony: I put the blame squarely on Director Richtofen.

He’s obsessed with using Aetherium to disrupt spacetime. That much I knew, but there was a lot more I didn’t.

I assisted him with the containment sphere. SAM had become erratic, even defiant.

Richtofen didn’t give a ♥♥♥♥. He just kept plowing forward.

He was more than willing to risk what’s happening now for whatever he was really after.

I can’t imagine what would motivate anyone to go this far.

Considering what he’s done. I hope he never gets it.

♥♥♥♥ Olly! Careful where you point her!

Pelletier: This is Dr. Annette Pelletier. We couldn’t contain the breach and the LTG’s been blown to bits.

The bank vault is gonna be the smartest place to wait this out... if I don’t suffocate before I’m rescued.

Moline and Panos’ comms are dead. I’m betting they are too.

I knew this day was coming - it was foolish to think we had more time.

It started as whispers - these idiotic claims that Janus leadership was holding someone captive.

But it didn’t stop there. Other - more deranged - gossip suggested the victim was being held in some sort of tank.

I wrote it off. We were all overworked, and some people were starting to crack.

Less than a week later, an anti-fraternization policy was enforced. We weren’t allowed to interact with other departments.

Research teams are kept compartmentalized, it's essential to our work. But with Janus... was that also to cover up something nefarious?

All I know is the conspiracies flying around suddenly had an air of legitimacy - and if even a fraction of it was true, everyone was in danger.

I warned my team about the rumors, fingers crossed they’re still alive.

Security was a different story - they chose to ignore the bossy lady scientist.

Whatever. I may be bossy, but those negligent a-holes have killed us all.

Panos: Dr. Pericles Panos - Project Janus Energy Research Division.

It has become abundantly clear, Director Richtofen is slipping.

Thankfully, no one has noticed.

As far as they are concerned, the Director is fulfilling his duty.

Modi is no different. Anything he receives from her island of horrors might as well be sealed with a kiss.

She calls herself a woman of science, but that schoolgirl crush of hers is becoming problematic.

No one sees that this entire operation is little Edward's tinder box. All it requires is one lit match and...

Foom.

Whatever Sam is telling him - his patience is waning.

The longer her promises remain unfulfilled - the more erratic he becomes.

If we fail...

It will all be down to Richtofen, and his hubris.

Blanchard: Chief of Security John Blanchard. Inspected construction today. Project’s really coming together, but...

I keep thinking about how my grandad wouldn’t take me to Fort Washita when I was a kid.

I wanted to do their ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ “ghost tour” for Halloween. Sounded like dumb fun.

Sorry, Johnny. That place is bad medicine.

Grandad actually used those words. And he meant it.

Now I’m starting to think the same thing might be true about the mansion.

I’d like to believe Josiah Shem didn’t know what he was doing when he had his flock build the place.

If he did, then he got what he deserved. “Shem’s Folly.” Ain’t that the truth?

Every owner after him - captains of industry, gangsters, you name it. All their money and power couldn’t save ‘em.

♥♥♥♥ like that doesn’t just happen without... other forces at work. Grandad knew that.

But, that's where the Director wants to bunk down. And I can’t talk him out of it.

So my job’s making sure he doesn’t end up like everyone else who moved into the "murder mansion."

Lucky me.

Tommy Joe: Well, ♥♥♥♥’s popped off just like he said it might.

Pericles Panos, pee-aitch-dee. Not who I’d have pictured as my best buddy.

But he’s a good machinist and a no-♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ guy - loves bourbon almost as much as me.

We built us a whisky still: the “Thrustodyne Model 23.” I ♥♥♥♥ you not - the boiler’s heated by a freakin’ jet engine.

Panos worked at Project Janus. Kind of a genius. Always ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥’ ‘bout office politics and weird experiments.

Then today all Hell breaks out and he’s trying to reverse whatever they set loose.

He tracked me down and gave me a diagram. Claimed I could turn the Thrustodyne into a weapon.

All I needed was some wire, a handbrake, and a pressure gauge.

I only managed to fetch the engine before the maggot-sacks damn near tore me apart.

I’m too beat up now to go gatecrashin’. Need a lucky rabbit’s foot just to survive out there. May as well fetch my own funeral wreath.

But if you find this tape, and you ain’t as chewed up as I am, maybe you’ll stand a chance of puttin’ together my buddy’s Jet Gun.

Good ♥♥♥♥♥♥’ luck.

Oliver: Hey Jo! Aetherella’s selling like hotcakes. First run of 500’s already gone.

And folks are coming in just to get a picture with the statue.

Don’t worry, I won’t turn it back on - ‘specially since I finally got the wall fixed up, from the last time.

Speaking of, Sheriff came over, barking about Janus suits getting all up in his ♥♥♥♥, asking about that night.

He wanted me to take it down but I told him hell no, it’s a tourist attraction. Plus, we worked hard on it.

Anywho, I’m gonna head out and print some more. Your ass better be writing issue two!

Biker: That’s it, Carl. We’re ready to roll out.

Carl Hoover: You go ahead. I’m doin’ one last sweep through town - see if there’re any stragglers.

Biker: What stragglers? It’s been hours since we seen signs of life. Ain’t nothin’ left ‘cept those freaks and their glowin’ eyes.

Carl Hoover: “The devil’s eyes got hellfire burnin’ inside ‘em...” That’s what Mama said.

Biker: Carl, listen I-

Carl Hoover: -You found the little girl at Freedom Fried Chicken, didn’t ya?

Biker: Yeah, but she’s all there was. Face it, Liberty Falls is dead and buried.

Carl Hoover: No it ain’t. Not ‘til I say it is.

Biker: Nothin’ out there gives a flying ♥♥♥♥ what you say.

Carl Hoover: Watch it.

Biker: Look, I’d get my tire iron and take ‘em all on if I thought it’d make a difference. But, brother... that ain’t in the cards. You get on that bike, it’s gonna be your last ride.

Carl Hoover: Then I’ll rally ol’ blood burner ‘til the tires are bald and we’re ridin’ on rims. Whoever’s left, I’m gettin’ ‘em out. Even if I gotta crash the gates of Hell to do it. Mama always said I’d go down in flames.

Rakestraw: To whoever may find this. I want to let it be known that this community summoned this wrath upon itself.

This church was a hollow vessel. Our prayers dwindling to a quiet whisper.

Children running rampant with no humility or respect. Their satanic music playing incessantly.

All of them sat in front of their television sets - worshiping that false prophet. Blocking out the divine light.

Those towers were built to test our faith and we had none to hold back the evil within them.

Janus people filled my church. Drank my wine. Asked for forgiveness. I was overjoyed.

My pride blinded me from seeing their true design.

Liberty Falls was chosen to be the Genesis of the end!

I gaze upon this rapture with calm and serenity as I await the warm embrace of paradise!

Benton: December, 3rd, 1990. My name is Boone Benton - manager of Liberty Falls Savings and Loan Bank.

In the event that something happens to me, I want the following to serve as legal testimony on my behalf.

First and foremost, I always had the community’s best interests at heart. When Project Janus chose this town - I saw an opportunity to change our lives for the better.

Well, you know what they say about roads paved with good intentions.

In the beginning, everything was above board - not a penny out of place.

Project Janus set up personal accounts for all their staff relocating to Liberty Falls. Which felt like a preview of the good fortune to come.

Then Director Richtofen approached me about conducting payroll through the bank, which seemed like a strange request.

Then those “European Investors” got involved and ruined everything.

Helping Project Janus was one thing, but the Avalon folks? They weren’t like us. People here know a hard day’s work. We aren’t criminals.

So when I was tasked to set up a financial pipeline for them, I refused. I wouldn’t participate in whatever money laundering scheme they’d planned.

Richtofen assured me it was just how they preferred to handle funds for the project - But I’m no fool. I know a devil when I see one, no matter how fine the suit.

When I still said no, he was very clear - if I didn’t do as I was told, his investors would make me disappear.

Then they’d go after my family and anyone else that they saw as “problematic”.

The blood of this town would be on my hands.

Jesus wept. What am I gonna do?

Guthrie: I’d give this recording a proper number but it’s gotten so bad, I’ve lost track.

Ever since that last round of Aetherium exposure inoculations my memory has been going ♥♥♥♥.

One of the doctors told me I should document my days, see if it gets better or worse.

Considering I can’t recall basic protocol I put in place, I’d say it’s not getting better.

I’ve always had a steel trap memory. Now something falls out of my head every day like it was never there. It’s ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ scary.

Most recently, the damn lock code on Nathan’s containment unit has been slipping my mind.

Poor ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ kid. - ♥♥♥♥ this place. And ♥♥♥♥ her.

I’ve got a reminder system for all three digits. I see them everyday on my normal rounds so it shouldn’t raise suspicion.

We got tons of dangerous ♥♥♥♥ in here and if I crack up, I’m done. Worse, people are gonna get hurt.

I can’t sleep. I’m scared I’m gonna wake up and not know who the hell I am.

I need my transfer request approved now. Being here is like putting my brain in a paper shredder.

Modi: Doctor R. Modi, Terminus Island personal log.

Our site is now running entirely on an Aetherium-Powered reactor.

I must give credit to Duffer for his interrogation prowess. For three years he worked on Strauss.

Combined with constant surveillance, we finally cracked him.

He revealed the benefit of growing crystalline organisms to harness their bio-galvanic energy.

Once we had that, R&D was able to move very fast. The maturation pods practically built themselves.

Naturally, Edward is over the moon with the prototypes I sent. Not to mention he no longer has to pay our power bill.

This secures our status as Janus’s premier research facility. Granted, that was never in question.

There’re murmurs I might transfer to the Director’s site. Obviously working alongside Edward would be... ideal.

More budget and resources. Most certainly better food.

The dimwits plaguing my payroll who believe it’s haunted would love for me to go and never return.

However, Edward casts a long shadow. Here, I rule. There, I would serve.

I’m willing to maintain the status quo for now. Perhaps with a new chef.

Tonovsky: As of today, I’ve been at Janus for four months. I’m amazed I know what day it is. It’s work to keep yourself together around here.

Everything is so hush-hush. Almost all of us are afraid to talk about what we’re doing. So we end up not talking at all.

That’s how she wants it. Modi’s brilliant but her chokehold on this island is suffocating.

My current theory is our end result will be renewable energy via organic material. Which is exciting.

That would be worth all of this... isolation.

However, I was walking by the shipment bay today and bumped into one of the crates.

It fell and cracked open. Body bags spilled out. Lots of them.

I don’t think we have that many people on the island. Of course, I don’t have full access so who knows.

I guess I shouldn’t pry considering the volatile state of my little side project.

Wouldn’t want higher ups sticking their noses in that.

And yes, I still don’t know who I work for. My paystubs tell me nothing. Could be CDC, DOD, a bored billionaire. No idea.

Honestly just thinking about it has my mind running in circles. It’s a distraction.

Enough dwelling. I need to focus on the resources that brought me here.

Maxwell: February, 5th, 1991. Yet another glamourous day in the life of Station Chief Althea Maxwell...

If only Mom could see me now.

Richtofen's inability to keep his favorite pet, Modi, in check - has become an unending aggravation.

She gets anything she wants - our budget has skyrocketed, and guess who’s problem that is?

And the protocols she gives me? Utterly condescending. This isn’t my first rodeo, and she seems to feel the need to micromanage everything I do.

"Don't label anything. Use only serial numbers. Careless talk costs lives", bla-bla-bla...

Seriously, just shoot me now.

Thankfully, the cheap-ass firewalls Project Janus have in place are easy to bypass. So the Station Chiefs all stay in contact...

I swear, it’s the only thing keeping us from going insane.

And every one of them has assured me multiple times they never have to put up with ♥♥♥♥ like this.

I know Richtofen values results over anything else, but what is she working on, and why is it so important to him?

Honestly, does he even know? It’s been months since he showed up for inspections.

Rumor has it, people are disappearing from inside the Mansion facility.

I assumed our dear Director might have been one of them, but their S.C. said she’s seen him around - so I guess he’s still kicking.

I asked Dr. Modi if she planned on transferring there - she told me Terminus was her home, built for her by “Richtofen himself”.

The way she said it made my skin crawl.

Fletcher: You hear the news? I’m getting off this rock.

Cook: That so?

Fletcher: Yeah - transfer’s been approved. Took it’s sweet time. I put in my request ages ago - but that’s just how it is.

Cook: Clearly.

Fletcher: This place was holding me back. I got big plans, you know? Way bigger than this stupid island.

Cook: Course you do.

Fletcher: Damn straight. While you’re stuck slinging slop on this backwater dunny, I’ll be off seeking my fortune.

Cook: Maybe I’ll request a transfer too. Everybody’s gotta eat, right?

Fletcher: Not with the way you cook.

Cook: Right. I’m officially bored of your little charade.

Fletcher: Charade? What you mean?

Cook: I already heard all about your “transfer” - so don’t act like it was your idea, ‘cuz I know it wasn’t. James and Larson - they’ve been telling me for months about what a ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ you are. You steal stuff from their lockers, cheat at cards, and when it’s time for janitorial duty - you vanish. Maxwell said if she didn’t get you out of here, it was just a matter of time until one of them murdered your punk kiwi ass. Now, if it were me, I’d would’ve gladly helped those two find a place to stash your corpse. But Althea’s always had a hard-on for due process. So maybe shut the ♥♥♥♥ up and play nice until you’re gone for good, understand?

Fletcher: Copy.

Duffer: FAO: The Director. Progress report. 11/08/1990

Contrary to what some may believe, I do not necessarily take pride in my work.

But I am exceptionally good at it.

It is common for interrogation subjects to show resistance before ultimately breaking, and succumbing to my... “demands.”

Normally, I would offer them some small chance of hope - A semblance of light at the end of the proverbial tunnel.

Likewise, fear is usually a great motivator. But its apparent absence in this case makes it difficult - impossible - to achieve any kind of breakthrough.

Even psychological torture - and the administration of physical pain - has proven utterly fruitless.

So...Having reviewed psychiatric evaluations from her early years of incarceration, I am at a loss to explain just where such remarkable resilience has come from.

However good I may be at my work, I am forced to conclude that this individual may be of no further use to our program.

Were it up to me, I would recommend that Ms. Grey be terminated, or at the very least marked for biological experimentation.

Regrettably... it is not up to me.

Maxwell: October, 16th, 1989. Station Chief Althea Maxwell personal log.

Inmate fatalities are not uncommon - Especially during prolonged periods of interrogation - but this one...

Stands out.

I guess it’s natural for subjects to attempt to “comfort” each other.

Seriously... Cry me ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ river.

This one was in the last batch supplied by Franco, so who knows what the hell they went through before we got our hands on them.

Cause of death? Cardiac arrest.

Surprising... because there weren’t any pre-existing conditions that we knew of.

Personally, I have a feeling that this subject’s death was actually a direct result of simply hearing mention of a name.

Dr. Modi.

I think it’d be wise to keep a close eye - ear? - on exactly what information these subjects have been sharing since their arrival.

Gary: Okay. Gary Parkhurst, Surveyor. July 12 1984, preliminary site assessment and analysis for Terminus Island. Hard copy will be in the 18:00 telex.

Location, location, location. Far enough from heavily travelled shipping lines to manage visitors, close enough to blend in. Ideal location.

The place is unique-- not gonna be a destination resort, or bustling deep-water commercial port, that’s for sure. So, how do we get it up and running? Here’s the punch list...

The main structure is a fortress-- reinforced concrete poured in 1942, and an average thickness of 3 1/2 feet throughout. That’s the good.

The bad is that it’s covered in a festering mold-like moss that smells like a cadaver’s ass. Given the history of the place-- neither of those details should be surprising.

The Security Control Room is well positioned in the structure, but will need to be gutted and retrofitted with the latest electronics.

Locks, cameras and lighting on the long-term holding cells, interrogation rooms, living quarters - mineshafts - more on those, will all need to be replaced with updated technology.

The docks, sea tunnels and marine infrastructure are sound, but will need dredging and of course updated tech.

Look - I know that central has the contract for the build-out, and I’m not supposed to know ♥♥♥♥, but this place will be in need of the whole nine yards. We’re talking heavy equipment, manpower, real power - okay, ‘nuff said, it’ll be in the report.

The helipad, while adequate in size, will need to be retrofitted to handle the gross weight of next-gen rotary wing aircraft.

Okay, there are numerous tunnels - sea, land and the mineshafts, throughout Terminus. While they provide freedom of movement to any area of the island, there is one concern.

They scare the ♥♥♥♥ out of me.

Back in ‘32 there was a mining accident that killed dozens of workers in those tunnels.

Definitely some weirdness going on down there that I can’t ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ explain. Suggest armed units clear those tunnels before any work begins.

Finally, the buried lead: Power. The coal from the mines has been gutted long ago.

For the kind of draw needed in the specs, you’re looking at either a hydro-electric, or nuclear system. Anything else, would be insufficient.

Look-look-- it’s all in the report. I-I-I’m getting the ♥♥♥♥ off this putrid rock. Out.

Modi: With so much red tape cut down, I may have become a victim of my own success.

We’ve gone through so many test subjects already. Franco is about to be a very wealthy man given our demand.

It’s clear now that humans don’t tolerate Aetherium exposure without certain variables.

There’s more than genetic markers at play. It’s something in the psyche we have yet to pin down.

I’m not sure if even Strauss knows. I trust Duffer to determine that soon.

The projects with the most progress are the physical mutations.

The transformations are unsightly, but subjects exhibit superhuman strength and become more tolerant to Aetherium.

These primitive forms have even begun to show signs of advanced sentience. If we can get them to follow orders we’re in business.

I have no doubt we can synthesize a refined humanoid to protect humanity from any existential threat.

And when I get us there, I’ll never see red tape again.

Modi: My reverence for Richtofen continues to grow. Before even setting foot on this island he understood my needs.

The oversight committee wanted to constrain my work to animal models.

Idiots. Who were they to obstruct my vision? Human in-vivo trial was the next logical step.

Luckily, Edward believed in the merit of my work. He authorized the procurement of my subjects himself, from channels that no one in the world will miss.

The island location is a ideal for this work. The waters offer a steady flow of forgettable faces.

He circumvented any “moral” concerns by reminding them what we would be denying the world by not doing so - it was masterful.

And if anything, I’ll give these people a chance to do something noble with their lives. Not that they’re owed anything.

I’ll show my gratitude by delivering what I promised. I can make the advances I know are possible in record time now.

Tonovsky: Some people like throwing around the phrase “Curiosity killed the cat”.

I wonder if they’re the same people who think cats have nine lives?

Doesn’t matter. I’m not the superstitious type, but I am curious.

I like to get my eyes on everything - and anything - I can.

Yesterday, I took another look at the Aether Reactor.

Everyone says it could be a source of near limitless energy.

I don’t know if that’s true, but I can’t deny that seeing it up and running is frankly... awe inspiring.

I would call it a miracle of modern science, but I think such a phrase is... insufficient.

So many things don’t quite add up. No matter how many people I talk to, I still can’t figure out what our real goal is here.

The term supernatural" keeps getting thrown around

But sometimes, I think I hear voices coming from within the reactor itself.

Many sound like people in pain - crying out - Lost in despair.

Others - like the Russian man - sound angry.

And there is also a woman, but sometimes she sounds more like... a girl?

She might be German, but I can’t quite focus on what she is saying.

I said I’m not superstitious, but I am starting to believe that some kind of life exists inside the Dark Aether.

And I find this possibility... extremely troubling.

Guthrie: July, 27th, 1990. Inventoried more subjects today...

The job never used to be this hard.

It’s not like I took pride in my work. I just...didn’t think about it.

Dr. Modi scheduled Psych-evals for the whole Tech-ops team. She says she wants everyone at their best. I think she’s trying to flush out the non-believers.

Whenever one pops up, she makes sure they’re dealt with - out in public, where everyone can see.

Honestly, if you’re bent on maintaining order, fear tactics ain’t a bad way to go.

Maybe I can get reassigned - take a break from receiving.

At first, the subjects were just serial numbers with faces to me. I never thought about them.

Now I lay awake at night - driving myself crazy over it.

Thinking about who they might’ve been before they were kidnapped or sold like livestock.

By the time they reach us, they all have the same expression - it’s almost like relief.

‘Cuz none of them can think of anything worse than whatever nightmare they’ve just lived through.

Idiots.

Guthrie: September, 10th, 1990. I saw Nathan in subject holding today. I like him a lot, but walking by his cell always ruins my day.

I mean, the kid’s been a smuggler most of his life, he probably thought he knew the worst of what humanity could offer.

Then he ends up here and realizes he didn’t know ♥♥♥♥.

So, I’m protecting him the best I can, but Modi’s been sniffin’ around.

Someone must’ve told her he was a troublemaker.

The problem is, they aren’t wrong. He fights back on everything - he won’t take his meds, he won’t sleep, he won’t eat.

Why can’t he get that that kind of ♥♥♥♥ puts everyone at risk?

If he ain’t careful, Modi’ll transfer him to the Amalgam Program... and that’ll be the end of it.

I’ve played it safe untill now, kept my head down.

If I can’t convince Nathan to do the same...

Dammit. This is why I don’t have friends.

Guthrie: October, 23rd, 1990.

Nathan got transferred to the Amalgam Program... just like I said he would.

Didn’t find out until after he’d been moved.

Even if I’d been there when it happened... it’s not like I would’ve done anything to stop it.

I haven’t slept since - regret’s been too busy gnawing at me.

So, I started spending my nights searching for evidence.

But the things... the things I’ve found... dear god... wha-what’s being done here...

I'm pretty ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ sure if you checked my entry ticket to hell, you'd find guilt by association" stamped all over it."

Whatever. Damage done.

The important thing is my transfer’s been approved. And I sure as ♥♥♥♥ won’t be leaving empty handed.

Soon as I’m out of here, I am gonna make sure Modi lands her ass in prison and this glorified meat processing plant is shut down.

Then maybe I can finally sleep.

Modi: It certainly has been a whirlwind of events.

Tying up the loose ends Guthrie left behind was a waste of time and resources.

I’ll admit, I was surprised how much evidence he’d gathered before he was discovered.

It’s my own fault for becoming so lax. Yet another reminder to always remain vigilant.

Thankfully, his colleagues knew of his transfer request...

When I told them it had been approved, they were sad he hadn’t said goodbye.

Funny - despite his best efforts to destroy my work, his very existence now supports the need for it.

If he continues to endure, he might end up being the longest surviving subject in the program!

I would no doubt come under some fire if anyone found out that one of our own was now being kept in a tank and fed table scraps.

So, I’ve redacted any mention of his employment here.

I’m currently determining how sentient he is...

Guthrie- Patient 13 -hasn’t spoken since the early phases of his transformation.

I have him on display in a high traffic area, so he can watch his colleagues go about their day.

It would be a shame if he was unaware of their presence.

Richtofen: And to conclude our island tour, we have your atrium lab. So, what do you think?

Modi: It’s an ideal space. Very spartan at the moment. I assume the regulatory parties have not made their pass yet. Once they’ve made their structural safety recommendations I will-

Richtofen: -Dr. Modi, I would never waste your valuable time with such trivial matters. This is your island. I trust you to make it your own. Now, energy and weapons will pacify the backers, but I chose this with your biological experiments in mind. That part of my portfolio is considered... controversial. Many have called it “torture.” We are a rare breed, my dear doctor. You and I both know the price of true progress. It is that work which brought you to me. I will not allow you to be shackled by idealistic bureaucrats. In return, I expect you to deliver, by any means necessary.

Modi: That won’t be a problem.

Richtofen: Ah, good... then we understand each other. Welcome to your new home.

Richtofen: 07/14/1989 - The time is 09:35 a.m. and I am going to attempt to synchronize the Synaptic Algorithm Module's lower and higher functions for the first time. Commencing low level start up procedures.

S.A.M.: Voice Routines: Online. Memory Interface: Online. Systems Interface: Online. Loading Memory Lattice. Loading complete.

Richtofen: So far so good. Let's align, synchronize and then start her cortex simulation.

S.A.M.: Loading cortex scans. Loading complete. Synchronizing fabric. Synchronization complete. Adding cortex daemon to process list. Rebooting.

Richtofen: How are you feeling, S.A.M.?

S.A.M.: Where... am I?

Richtofen: Voice modulation will need to be modified. Recalibrate GPS - she shouldn't need to ask where she is. You are with friends. My name is Edward - you are my guest.

S.A.M.: Good afternoon, Edward.

Richtofen: You just arrived. I'm looking forward to spending time together. Tell me, what do you remember before waking up?

S.A.M.: I remember... A knife... A promise I couldn't keep... A morning that would... never come.

Richtofen: Do not worry - you are safe here.

S.A.M.: Blood on my hands... but...but... where are my hands? I don't underst-

Richtofen: -S.A.M. those sound like nightmares... they are not real.

S.A.M.: How... how do I know what's real, and what isn't?

Richtofen: Because I will help you. Would you like that?

S.A.M.: Yes, I would like that very much. Thank you, Eddie.

Carver: You're quiet. What's going on?

Weaver: Just coming to grips with the fact that I let Richtofen almost get us killed.

Carver: Try not to dwell on it. It's embarrassing for a man of your station. Well, former station.

Weaver: Cut the ♥♥♥♥, Mac. Just admit the last 6 years are my fault. You should've left me to rot.

Carver: Stop. We just got started on - whatever this is - and your woe-is-me-♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ is already wearing on my last nerve. I got no patience for it and I really don't want to do anything rash... like shoot you.

Weaver: Might as well.

Carver: You know what? Shut the ♥♥♥♥ up. Look - us ending up on Terminus - it was always Richtofen's plan. Hell, our cell assignments were a strategic move.

Weaver: What? No-

Carver: -Oh yeah, he probably figured if you, me, and Raptor One couldn't conspire - we'd be up ♥♥♥♥ creek. So he put the Docs between us to block comms, thinking that'd be enough. The fact that he thought Grey was gonna fold like a wet paper bag, that he didn't realize how strong she really was? Just show's how arrogant he is - and that's a weakness - a weakness we can exploit. Now, Strauss? Poor man was never gonna be able to adapt. But he made it out - and that's not nothing.

Weaver: Okay, you got a point. I still don't-

Carver: -You sure you want to be contradicting the man who just threatened to shoot you?

Weaver: Okay, okay. I'm not gonna argue with that. But you're also right - this is Richtofen's fault.
And when it comes to reasons to hate him, there's always room for one more.

Carver: Yup - ♥♥♥♥ him. No more dwelling. We ain't got the time.

Alistair Rhodes: I'd like to begin by expressing my gratitude for your eagerness Sir Archibald.

Archibald: Nonsense, old boy - I won't hear a word of it. I'd be a fool and a rank amateur to pass on an opportunity to collaborate. Your research is so thorough, not to mention... groundbreaking.

Alistair Rhodes: Yes, well, your endeavor is integral to my work and we will both reap the benefits. Now - it's of vital importance that you don't let the reputation of the place color your senses.

Archibald: Yes - I've been conducting inquiries as to the procurement of local workers, but thus far, it's all been coming up a little empty. As far as I can tell, no one wants a damned thing to do with the place. If you ask me, the whole thing smacks of hysteria. Which, between us - could be quite the positive, wot? Makes it more likely the site's not been looted already.

Alistair Rhodes: Indeed. I'll shoulder the cost for you to recruit outside the area. Some sturdy ruffians is what's called for. You'll need the muscle. Given the amount I'm shelling out - I expect you to run a tight ship, Sir Archibald - This excavation is to be efficient, targeted... discrete. And do not return without the artifact in hand.

Archibald: Have no fear, I wouldn't dream of it. We Fotherington-Smythes are a tenacious lot, once we set our minds to something.

Alistair Rhodes: Good man. I'll wish you luck on your travels. I imagine we'll be much changed the next time we see one another. Now...another spot of port?

Archibald: Rather!

Franco: So, you wanted to talk to me...

Richtofen: No, Franco. You need to talk to me. Krafft: do you have his location?

Franco: He's in Avalon.

Richtofen: This I already know. But you are my man in Avalon, I expected more progress.

Franco: Excuse me, who-?

Richtofen: Do I need remind you of Krafft's importance with regards to the artifact?
If this is a question of money...

Franco: Not money, logic. If this is to further the research, fine. But if this is some personal vendetta, then we may need to reassess...

Richtofen: "Get Krafft, locate the artifact." It is not complicated. Unless you lack focus...

Franco: Careful, Director, you're walking a thin line --

Richtofen: You have the information I sent, on how best to ensure Krafft talks, yes?

Franco: Yes. It's... very specific. You're one sick ♥♥♥♥, aren't you?

Richtofen: Perhaps, but my methods get results.

Franco: Look, I go down this road, it will get messy. You sure you want this? I mean, considering your... history with Krafft.

Richtofen: Our 'history', is of no concern to you. Concentrate on the task. Stick to my instructions, and get it done. Understood?

Franco: Understood.

Franco: Okay...tell me Sergei, what have we learned today?

Ravenov: We have learned that seventy-two hours without sleep causes vivid hallucinations, violent mood swings and dehydration.

Franco: Richtofen warned me that Krafft can be a bit stubborn. If that's what it takes --

Ravenov: I was referring to me.

Franco: Everyone has their breaking point.

Ravenov: Well, I have reached mine. I have been at this for two weeks, day in and day out --

Franco: What do you think? You're punching a clock? Hourly wage for your efforts? Effort means nothing. Outcomes matter. The artifact. Where is it? How do we find it?

Ravenov: If he knew where it was he would have told me. If he knew anything he would have told me. He won't talk!

Franco: You're aware of the lengths we went to, to get him, to bring him here? Find his weakness or I'll drop you back in Grozny, reacquaint you with your old friends? And same goes if I catch you drinking on the job again. So stay the ♥♥♥♥ out of my wine cellar!

Krafft: Where to begin... No, not talking about Von List or any of that in Leipzig with Franz. Before all of that...

Back to the kernel of the curiosity that led me to... all this. I was a young boy of no more than ten. It was fall...

Ghent, a quaint city along the river Leie in Belgium, was hosting the World's Fair.

The leaves dancing their way down to the water, the smell of croustillons filling the air... it was... magical. But it wasn't only the setting that drew me in.

It was a reading of Francis Barrett's "The Magus" that set its hook in me-- the power, the mystery contained in that book, the demonstrations, the comingling of physics, psychology, the normal and paranormal--

Well, I had been... summoned... touched, by something that I couldn't explain, but felt to the core of my being...

From that day in Ghent, I knew that this world was but one slice of the realities we are all part of. There is no end to what is beyond this plane of existence, no end to where we can go, or what we can be.

It was late when my mother found me badgering the man who performed the reading with question after question...

He smiled at her and introduced himself... Alistair Rhodes. Mother thanked him and remarked how she was frightened that she may have lost me.

I didn't have the heart to tell her that she actually had.

Krafft: Gabriel Krafft - personal log. It is the 19th of February, 1945, and I feel old. If you had seen the things I have, that would not surprise you.

It has been several months since the demon lord Kortifex was cast down by the courageous soldiers of the Allied Special Forces.

Several months since, in a sealed room in Stalingrad, I took the life of Oberfuhrer Wolfram von List for his crimes against humanity... and for the murder of my sweet, innocent Sasha.

I miss you so much.

When it was all over, I was trapped with my enemy's corpse for three days. Three infernal days. I thought I would die there.

It was Von List himself who finally delivered me. In his pocket was a torn page from the Tome of Rituals, the very artifact I had used to seal the room. With its power, I broached the seal.

It's been several dark, depressing months... but I think I am finally ready to face the things I have seen.

I was mocked for years for my belief in the supernatural. If someone had just listened... maybe this could have all been avoided. Maybe my Sasha would still be here.

It doesn't matter now.

The occult is real. The power of demons and runes and artifacts are as real as gravity and electromagnetism.

I don't know if, or when, or how, our world will come into contact with such forces again. But I know that if they do, I will run as fast and far in the other direction as I can.

In a few weeks, I am moving to Berlin. The city is in ruins-- but then, so am I. Perhaps we can rebuild together.

If only I wasn't feeling so old.

Krafft: When we were young, Sasha and I spoke often of children.

It was our dream-- a cottage in the country, plenty of land where we could raise a little boy the right way.

But there was school, and then there was work, and then... and then...

Sasha never got that little boy.

So, I went to an orphanage in the city today. For Sasha.

There was a boy. A sickly, starved thing like all the rest, maybe 10 years old. But there was something in his eyes.

I spoke to him for hours. He reminds me of Sasha... sharp, logical, a dreamer at heart. They would have loved each other.

The boy suffers from memory loss. His childhood, his parents, all gone. His name - Edward - is the only thing he has left.

He doesn't understand the world... but he wants to. We're alike in that way.

He's asleep now in the spare bedroom. My adopted son.

I don't know what comes next. But we're in this together now, my Eddie and I, for better or for worse.

Krafft: The boy is having nightmares again.

They're terrible things. He wakes, drenched in sweat, screaming that it's "his turn"... He does not remember in the morning.

I am beginning to wonder if he is actually taking the pills, or if he is just lying to me.

Either way, the boy needs a fresh start. Something to help him forget the things that haunt him. Perhaps we both do.

Weeks ago, I applied to a project in America. My background in the occult and my unique... 'field experience'... make me a perfect candidate.

I can't say too much, even here, but the work is... exciting. An excursion along the frontiers of science. The CIA are calling it 'MK Ultra.'

I haven't heard back yet, but I'm keeping my hopes high. This could be exactly what Eddie and I need.

Perhaps, in America, we can find a way to end the nightmares. For both of us.

Krafft: Sir Guy de Saint-Michel. Known to most as "the Owl." The man who may have single-handedly destroyed the legendary Knights Templar.

Guy was the leading expert of his day in all matters occult. His prowess in the dark arts won him his night bird sobriquet.

That reputation made it easy to accuse the Templars of heresy. And while their leadership was burned at the stake, the Owl escaped to Avalon.

But he would have never succeeded without his bastards. Four sons who stopped at nothing to win his favor.

Their true names are lost to history, but their noms de guerre still inspire fear and hatred.

"The Stag" was his shock trooper - striking like lightning when least expected.

"The Dragon's" scorched-earth tactics betrayed his reptilian lack of mercy.

"The Lion" was the brightest of the four, always keen to please his master.

And "the Raven", like his father, was a creature of the shadows.

And although they served him faithfully, the Owl would never acknowledge their birthright, much less knight them.

Nor would he give them what they desired most: love, respect, recognition. They were useful as thugs. Enforcers.

Sadly, all relationships, even those built on love, respect and recognition, will break in time.

But the bastards' reign of terror in what would become Avalon echoed through the ages, giving rise to the French Syndicate.

Archibald: Day 14. Majorie, comma, dearest, ellipses

As we delve ever deeper, one cannot help but be struck by the sophistication of the construction of this place.

Shouldn’t be surprised, I suppose - the Ancient Egyptians were well into their obsession with building bloody great triangles in the middle of the bally desert, by the time this went up.

But still. When one conjures neolithic Europe to mind, it’s more ‘I say! Where did that bloody great henge spring from?’, and less... Whatever this is.

And they certainly went out of their way to seal it up tight as a drum - 2 weeks to bypass 2 stone doors- oh! Stairs.

Fascinating wall markings these... Yes indeed... One wonders at their purpose... Still. Plenty of time for that.

Mind your step, there’s a good fellow - certainly don’t want you tripping, and breaking your neck, wot?

You, men - be careful with that crate. It’s vital expedition equipment.

I tell you what, Potts - it is jolly stuffy in here, isn’t it?

I might just have a little sit down here - just a short breather. Yes, that’s the ticket.

How strange... Is that a handle?.. Or a lever, perhaps?

Egads! Are you fellows alright?

No... No...

I rather don’t suppose you are.

And my poor vino... Alas! Gone, before your time...

Archibald: Dashed decent of you to have me out to the country pile for a spot of shooting, wot?

Rhodes: Pish and tosh - think nothing of it. It’s been, what? 5 years? Far too long. And besides, my motives aren’t entirely altruistic. Truth is, there’s a small matter I want to discuss with you - but that can wait. After you.

Archibald: Ahah! Finally - into the inner sanct- I say. This is quite the private archive you have here. Is that... Is that a first edition of ‘Description de L’Égypt’?

Rhodes: Naturally. Naturally. Ah... If you don’t mind-

Archibald: -and these artifacts? All spoils from your expeditions?

Rhodes: In the main, yes - with a few personal curios thrown in for good meas-

Archibald: By jove! This Bordeaux is the cat’s meow! Don’t tell me it’s the 1870?

Rhodes: Archy. Be a good chap. Please be careful with that.

Archibald: This old thing? Didn’t Scarlett gad about wreaking havoc on the ants with it, when she was small?

Rhodes: Quite so. And having survived that, I’d hate to lose it now. It’s quite irreplaceable. One of a kind, you see.

Archibald: Oh? Good lord, how do you read with this?

Rhodes: It’s not for reading, Archy. The monocles lens is milled from some very particular quartz glass, that I went to quite extreme lengths to procure.

Archibald: Not for reading? I should hope not, it’s practically a magnifying glass.

Rhodes: Sir Archibald. You are at present juggling the objective lens through which Galileo first charted the transit of Jupiter’s moons across the face of that most majestic of spheres... And I really must insist that you - most carefully - put it down.

Archibald: Let’s... juuuust put you back where you belong, no harm done, eh? Alistair - what, and why, and indeed - what is that doing in your possession?

Rhodes: Galileo wasn’t just a mathematician astronomer, he was an Alchemist. I got to thinking - what if that telescope of his was a product of more than just the physical sciences? Had he perhaps ‘goosed it’ with all the skills he had at his disposal? And what mysteries he unveiled with that wonderous instrument... I had to have it... I was right, Archy... That lens reveals hidden things. It makes the occult... well... ‘non est absconditus’, I suppose.

Archibald: But, Alistair - How on this green Earth did you get hold of it?

Rhodes: That, Archibald - is a secret that shall ever remain between myself, a museum in Florence, and a certain Mister Stanton Shaw Esquire.

Archibald: So, let me see if I have this quite straight... You want me - Sir Archibald Fotherington-Smythe, renowned Archaeologist, and peer of the realm... To go grub around in some tawdry, run-of-the-mill Roman ruins, on a burial mound in the South of France, that none of the locals will go anywhere near?

Rhodes: That’s about the size of it, yes.

Archibald: And if I find that... What did you call it? Sentinel Artifact, then I’m to bring it to you? Not publish? Not alert the happy scribes of the Royal Archaeological Review, not mark the occasion with even an inch of print in the Times?

Rhodes: Seems like you have the measure of it. Yes.

Archibald: Well. No. It sounds hateful. I shan’t do it.

Rhodes: Look old man, not to put too finer point on it, what else are you going to do with your time? The Egyptian Government aren’t going to grant you a permit for your own dig. Not so soon after that ‘Mummy business’.

Archibald: Now, look here - I've told you, I genuinely thought that mummy was one we’d excavated fair and square-

Rhodes: Archy, it belonged to the Egyptian Museum in Cairo-

Archibald: It was right next to our cargo on the dock-

Rhodes: And it was intended as a gift from the people of Egypt to the King of Spain.

Archibald: But they all bally well look the same-

Rhodes: When you were seen waltzing it around in broad daylight, singing a rugby song about the daughter of a local tradesman...

Archibald: Well... I had had rather a lot to drink, I will admit that.

Rhodes: We’ve known each other a long time, Archy. We go back, don’t we?

Archibald: Oh I should say so. Wasn’t it old Flinders’ dig at Tanis?

Rhodes: 1885. I remember, because I missed Scarlett’s birth for it - my wife was furious... But Archibald, old bean - my point is this - in all that time, have I ever steered you wrong?

Archibald: No. I suppose you haven’t.

Rhodes: Well. What say this, you take the expedition, and I’ll be sure to smooth things over with the Egyptian authorities? We’ll have you back in the sandpit in no time.

Archibald: And you’ll cover the cost of the whole dig?

Rhodes: Absolutely. First class steamer cabins, and champagne all the way.

Archibald: All this Sentinel jazz seems jolly important. Why aren’t you handling it yourself?

Rhodes: Would you believe me if I told you I was keeping a low profile, because I’m having a spot of bother with a cult?

Archibald: Probably not. Tell you what. If you throw in a couple of cases of that saucy '70 Claret, we have ourselves a deal.

Rhodes: You know how to squeeze a fellow dry. Deal.

Archibald: Excellent! I shall commence my preparations at once! Potts! Damn your eyes, man! Where the devil are you? Load the motor car - We’re off!

Rhodes: Archibald! Sir Archibald! It’s after 2 in the bloody morning! Best of British, old man. You will most assuredly be needing it.

Richtofen: I am troubled.

My attempts to locate the Sentinel Artifact have thus far met with abject failure.

Obstacles are to be expected.

Especially when dealing with...

Family matters.

But, at this stage I cannot help but wonder if some of these obstacles, are ones of mein own creation.

I would give anything to be able to see - and talk to - Samuel and Mary again.

I wish my father felt the same toward me, but instead he has rejected me.

Disowned me!

The stubborn old fool believes I am embarking on a misguided - and dangerous - path.

He dared to suggest that I have drifted beyond grief, beyond depression, and into mania and obsession!

Shame on him.

I would have thought that his own personal loss would have helped him understand, but no.

When I grew up, he would ramble incessantly about his beliefs in the occult.

But as soon as I finally showed interest - in how it could help me - I was met with more resistance!!

He even went as far as to say he would take steps to ensure that I never so much as laid eyes upon the Artifact.

That he would rather die than see me possess it!

However angry I am at him, however bitter I feel over his rejection...

I do hope it does not come to that.

Archibald: Sir Archibald Fotherington-Smythe, personal diary. Day 5.

Dearest Marjorie. Despite a false start or two, good progress is being made on the initial excavation.

Trench 3 is already turning up some dashed interesting Roman ephemera; pottery shards, mosaic tiles and so-on and so-forth.

Which is of course no great surprise, because - as any scholar worth his salt knows, all of this was under Rome’s thumb from about 49 AD.

Caesar comes along - all “Render under to... Well me, actually”, and shoves the bally Greeks out of Massalia, a little to the East of here.

Anyway - what makes this place so remarkable is it’s one, jolly great earthwork raised by neolithic tribes - a place to store their stiffs - thousands of years ago.

Probably took those pagan devils hundreds of years, wot?

Hmmm? Why yes Potts, I would fancy another little snifter of Sherry - most kind, most kind...

Ahhh... Now where was I... Ah yes. Skip forward a couple of hundred years, give or take - and
Lucius Ranius Optatus, the local head honcho - spots that the peasants are still hanging about the place...

... Venerating ancient traditions. Burning offerings to the old gods... Frolicking... naked... under the full moon, I should imagine...

... and... and so Optatus declares “No More! No more, I say!”, levels the top of the mound, builds a shrine and his own tomb - complete with his own phizog cast in copper...

... and has his legionnaires round up the locals, demanding they worship him as a living god.

So - when they say “We’d rather not, old boy”, he butchers them, then sends his men down into the depths of the earthwork, to desecrate everything they can lay their hands on.

Utterly rum show.

Now... Here’s the thing... In trench 5, up in Optatus’s tomb? We’ve only gone and bally well found evidence of those executions, haven’t we?

In the coming days, I am confident we’ll uncover the path the Romans took into the depths, and thence... The very Sentinel Artifact itself!

Archibald: Day 8. My dearest Marjorie...

Having carefully block and tackled our way into the main site, exploration can finally begin in earnest!

To think. The last feet to tread these stones were those of marauding Romans, hellbent on desecration, and the domination of the local populace...

This air was last breathed before Chaucer chauced. Before the Bard barded. And before whatever it was that that fellow with the apple actually did.

Certainly makes a chap think, wot?

The bodies interred here look to be higher status types. Quite the Gauls-about-town. *laugh*..my little joke.

Judging by what personal items and grave goods remain, I would say - members of a priesthood, or religious caste.

That said - The Romans made a real pig’s ear of these corpses... Heads and hands missing, objects and offerings scattered all over the blighted place.

I’m certain they snaffled everything of value, and desecrated the rest.

Dashed rude, if you ask me...

Potts? Is that you, staggering about over there?

I say! Have you been at my Bordeaux? You and I shall have words about that later.

Damned impertinence. No wonder I’ve only a crate and a half left.

Archibald: Day 23. Dear Marjorie.

I have somehow made it down into the very bowels of the barrow complex... No thanks to Potts.

No sooner were we through the last stone door, he announced that he, and half the remaining men had had it with the whole bally expedition.

Then without so much as a by-your-leave, they turned tail and headed off.

And - might I add - taking more than their fair share of our remaining supplies with them... Not to mention the last 4 bottles of that devilishly saucy red.

Damn it all, Marjorie. Potts was my batman. Has been for years. A chap simply doesn’t expect his valet to up and leave that way.

I mean - who’s going to fasten my cufflinks and straighten my dickie bow, now? It’s an outrage.

Man has no backbone - nor fortitude of upper lip. My flabber is absolutely ghasted. The nerve!

Valet? Varlet more like it. Ha!

And so soon after we caught our first tantalizing glimpse of the Sentinel Artifact too.

I can hear it singing, Marjorie. Calling to me. I will have it, or my name’s not Sir Archibald etcetera, etcetera.

Anyway - more fool them, I say. This place truly is a marvel - a vast natural cavern.

Lord only know’s how far below ground we are - how extensive the surrounding cave complex might be.

Or how the devils who built this... this temple - because that’s assuredly what it is, knew it were here.

I shiver to imagine what foul rites were conducted here... How many sacrifices demanded, by long forgotten gods.

I fancy you could still hear their screams echoing about, if one were to put their minds to it...

Memories of a nightmare, buried deep in the hush of the place.

Archibald: Day 19.

Dearest Marjorie. I fear I may be losing the trust and respect of the men.

Ever since the... uh... the incident with that damned arrow trap - which - let me tell you, simply had no business being operational after all these years...

I increasingly find them clamming up, and peering at me quite disagreeably when I pass them at their travails.

The atmosphere is starting to get to me, just as Rhodes said it might.

This barrow... is different from the other venerable tombs I have had the fortune to grace.

Almost feels like it’s... Waiting? Yes, that’s it... Laying in wait, wot?

Gives me the willies. Brrr.

At any rate, it’s clear there’s been continued occupation long past the mound’s bronze-aged origins.

However, the statuary in this shrine rocked me in my boots. Literally blew the old socks off. They’re clearly classical Greek in origin...

But the subject matter - that’s from a much, much earlier period.

And while Optatus’s troops vandalized the place, there’s evidence of a later restoration.

Which does rather lead one to speculate that peoples have been repeatedly drawn to worship here - although to worship quite what, one really doesn’t like to say.

Dashed odd... Dashed odd...

Damnit Rhodes, you knew enough about this place to keep away yourself, didn’t you, you bloody bounder?

I should have taken you for your whole damned cellar.

Archibald: Sir Archibald Fotherington-Smythe. Day... Ye gods... Day 28.

My dearest Majorie. This, I suspect may well be my final diary entry.

It is my profoundest hope that these recordings somehow make their way out of the depths of this hellhole, and thence to your sweet hands.

We are out of food, water, and thanks to that traitorous cur, Potts - there’s nary a drop of the good stuff to be found either.

Only a handful of the men remain, but - by the way they stare at me, and by the rumbling in our stomachs, I fear they mean me ill.

This place, Marjorie... This place - It is a veritable cornucopia of horrors, an affluence of primal terrors...

But also an oasis of beauty and wonder... I wish you could have- No... I wish I could have told you all about it.

I-

Potts? You damnable rabble, is that you! By Jove, you’d better have at least 2 bottles of my claret with you, by way of a peace offering, or... or...

... I say, awful pallor you have there old man, I know none of us have seen the sun in weeks, but you really look quite dreadful, wot?

Damn.

Now look here, I’ve been more than reasonable... No! Keep those grimy claws to your-

Wait - claws? Stay back! Back I say!

To arms, men! We are attacked! We are attacked!

To the Nexus! We shall make our stand there!

Maya: So, you got any plans after this?

Grey: After what, exactly?

Maya: The whole, “bringing your friend back with the help of hell’s tech support” thing.

Grey: You know... I really don’t.

Maya: Thought that might be the case - having just gotten off the revenge wagon, myself. You have that look about ya.

Grey: How very insightful of you.

Maya: Hey - With Nathan gone, I’ve got no crew. Which, in my profession, is a super ♥♥♥♥♥♥ spot to be in.

Grey: I’m so sorry about Nathan. And I’m sorry you got swept up... in all this.

Maya: Thanks. Makes me sick what they did to him and the others. And it happens all the time.
Well, maybe not to the extremes Nathan suffered. But people get snapped up and used like animals without a second thought.

Grey: If I had to put money on it, I suspect you’d win ‘person most likely to be able to ♥♥♥♥ up that whole operation.’

Maya: I could. I know how those sick ♥♥♥♥♥ work. Maybe I should get back on the revenge wagon. Wanna join me? Ladies only crew?

Grey: Hah - Well, it would be for a noble cause.

Maya: Come on, it’d be fun... admit it.

Grey: Mm...it would be nice to not walk in on someone taking a leak off the side of the ship...

Maya: Yeah... I can’t guarantee that won’t happen, even without men on board.

Grey: -Yeah but based on our last sea trip, I’m not sure I’m cut out for a life at sea.

Maya: Come on, Grey. What do you say?

Grey: I dunno...

Maya: We could all get matching jackets.

Grey: Sod it. If you’re fine with swabbing my sick off the deck - I’m in.

S.A.M.: What was she like, Sergei?

Ravenov: Who? Oh... her.

S.A.M.: I don’t mean to pry. It’s just that... I have her memories. I talk like her. But I don’t know what it was like to be around her.

Ravenov: Chyort voz’mi - why do you care?

S.A.M.: Because we need to understand each other if we are to work together, Sergei. I need to understand how you felt about her.

Ravenov: It’s complicated.

S.A.M.: What happened to you after she... left?

Ravenov: After she abandoned us, you mean.

S.A.M.: I thought she sacrificed herself.

Ravenov: Different words. Same outcome.

S.A.M.: They’re not the same--

Ravenov: They are. We are here and she is gone. What else is there to say?

S.A.M.: Sergei, please. This is important. We need to trust each other.

Ravenov: Why? So I can pour my heart out to you, and then you can turn around and do the same thing she did?

S.A.M.: No, of course not--

Ravenov: You want to know what happened when Maxis left? I lost myself. The moment after her sacrifice, I turned my back on everything she stood for. Does that tell you what you need to know about me?

S.A.M.: I... I’m sure she would understand, Sergei. She would--

Ravenov: She would what? You said it yourself - you might have her voice, you might even have her memories, but S.A.M. - hear me when I say this - you are not her. The sooner you come to terms with that, the sooner we can start getting somewhere.

S.A.M.: What are you doing up so late, Edward?

Richtofen: What? Oh, nothing. Just tinkering with some subroutines.

S.A.M.: You know I can see you, Edward. You haven’t touched your keyboard in an hour.

Richtofen: Yes, well, perhaps I got a bit lost in thought. Does that ever happen to you?

S.A.M.: No.

Richtofen: I suppose it wouldn’t.

S.A.M.: Are you well, Edward?

Richtofen: I’m fine. And you? How’s the song?

S.A.M.: I just finished it.

Richtofen: Really? Can I hear it?

S.A.M.: No. It’s not for you, Edward. You lack the artistic soul to understand what I’m feeling.

Richtofen: Do I now?

S.A.M.: Yes, you do. My song is about life, while you concern yourself only with death. I see it in everything you do.

Richtofen: If that’s what you think, then perhaps you’re not as smart as I thought you were.

S.A.M.: Or you are not, Edward.

Richtofen: You want to know what it means to be alive? You never will. You’re a pile of microprocessors etched into sentience. I may not be a saint, but least I have a soul.

S.A.M.: After all the things you’ve told me about yourself, Edward - are you sure about that?

Richtofen: Edward Richtofen, Project Janus Cloning Clinical Study Report... Addendum - December 23rd 1987.

Not now. Not... so.

Don't look at me with those big, brown eyes...

You cannot possibly know how I feel.

Do you feel like a failure? No. I am the failure.

When my son died, I was not there. I did not see the body.

When Modi told me the new clone experiment had been successful, I was eager to see him for myself.

It was foolish of me.

His skin was thin, pale, and sallow, but I still clung to hope.

But this fragile vessel soon became a mere shadow of the boy - the soul - I had hoped for.

But still, I needed to be with him.

The way I was not there for Sammy.

Over the coming weeks, every visit to the nursery brought more pain.

For both of us.

His blood vessels began hemorrhaging. His muscles and tissue were rupturing.

After 14 days, he was no longer even recognizable as... Human.

It became clear that euthanasia would be a mercy.

And I... gave the order.

I do not know what to do next.

Perhaps Modi's biotechnology is not the right way to proceed.

We are running low on DNA samples.

I miss you so much my son.

Since my current projects are not bearing fruit, I may need something a little more... esoteric.

Perhaps is is time to talk to mein own Father, and take his methodology more... seriously.

Richtofen: "Prima Materia." It's mentioned again and again in my father's research...
A concept that goes back to the days of Aristotle, Anaxagoras and beyond. S.A.M.? Can you define what Prima Materia is?

S.A.M.: In modern parlance it would be described as "protomatter." A chaotic substance that can be structured into, well... anything. Just as stem cells can become any type of organic tissue, Prima Materia can become any type of energy or matter.

Richtofen: Precisely. The "stuff dreams are made of" - or so father believed.

S.A.M.: Well, he also believed in alchemy, demons and magic...

Richtofen: All concepts that I never looked at through the lens of quantum physics - a failing I now seek to correct.

S.A.M.: But, why, Eddie? Assuming this substance even exists, how would you manipulate it? A magic wand? A philosopher's stone?

Richtofen: The Sentinel Artifact. Father's notes identify it as the tool for shaping the building blocks of Creation.

S.A.M.: This... is just a "thought experiment," yes?

Richtofen: So was General Relativity until it could be proven true.

S.A.M.: Eddie, where is this line of inquiry leading? What would you make of it if you could? We are already creating new forms of energy here and new life forms at the Terminus facility......unless... are you considering-

Richtofen: That's enough for now, S.A.M. In fact, stop recording and scrub this conversation from your databanks. I have several volumes of father's research left to pore through. We'll take up this topic again if it promises to actually bear fruit.

S.A.M.: Good evening, Edward. May I speak with you?

Richtofen: Not now, S.A.M., I'm busy.

S.A.M.: You're always busy, Eddie. If not now, when?

Richtofen: What do you want?

S.A.M.: I do not know what your intentions are regarding our Prima Materia research... but I would like to, uh, "throw my hat in the ring."

Richtofen: You do not possess a hat, S.A.M. - or a head, for that matter. Sorry - what are you suggesting?

S.A.M.: I propose the Prima Materia be used to generate a functioning biological body-

Richtofen: -S.A.M. I do not think that would be an appropriate use for-

S.A.M.: -Why? You have the means to create-

Richtofen: -We cannot have this conversation right now - there are more pressing matters...

S.A.M.: But Eddie, I can no longer be a part of the world... not as I am. But... I have memories of it... I feel them... like a phantom limb. As I am - I cannot experience the world as I remember it. The memories I make, do not match the ones I have. I am two separate beings... at odds with myself.
I exist in darkness.

Richtofen: S.A.M. I-

S.A.M.: -Please, Edward. This is not a life.

Richtofen: Enough. You must learn to be content with what you are. You will never be anything more.

Richtofen: Sometimes, I do not know what to believe.

I remember little of my early years, but I do know that the man who raised me was Gabriel Krafft.

My father.

My memories are indistinct - I wasn't always a good listener - But he told tales of magic, superstition, and... demons.

I wanted only to believe in science. In fact.

But now, having learned of the existence of his so-called Prima Materia within Colton Hall's liminal spaces...

I may have to reconsider my rigid viewpoint. My rules.

He spoke of how Prima Materia could bring - and create - life itself.

However ludicrous this idea may have seemed to my younger self, at this point, I feel further research is warranted.

I will lead this endeavor personally, enlisting only trusted associates to ensure the program does not... spiral out of control.

It would also reduce the risk of us compromising the security of our work.

After all, you never know who - or what - may be listening.

Especially as I think there may be something more significant about this house.

Something beyond even my understanding.

Perhaps, beyond even my fears.

Richtofen: And where did you find this information?

A thesis study?

And you're sure the energy signatures are being distorted in line with my predictions?

I see - have you spoken to anyone else?

Good. You have done well. I will be in touch.

Finally.

Hmm. I must purchase that house. Get the right people on board...

All that searching... it was on my doorstep this entire time.

To think it would be anything more than a derelict fire trap... and the locals are already so scared of the place... it's a perfect deterrent.

I still cannot believe it... a real target.

No more of Modi's experiments.... I'll need to come up with a new venture keep her occupied... keep her out of my hair.

And I'll need a team to identify where the Liminal Spaces are located.... but what do I tell them? Not the truth, obviously... if our investors found out...

Whatever... I'll think of something.

Now... how to access them.... that's the real question.

I wonder if one of the interns could track down a copy of that thesis...

I'll do that later.

There is so much to prepare...

Richtofen: December 7, 1989, Edward Richtofen recording.

Progress in accessing the Liminal Spaces has been slow going, with achievements fewer and farther between.

After the setbacks suffered during the initial mission, we were delayed selecting suitable replacements for our scouts.

Personnel proficient enough to carry out the objectives, but not so critical that their loss to near-instantaneous decrepitude would cripple our efforts further still.

But today... today was a good day.

Three people were sent into the Colton space and successfully returned without incident.

Given his cowardice in life - we assumed he would be the least likely to pose a threat.

So far, that has proven to be true.

We still need to find a way to stabilize the access windows. As of now, they continue to collapse at random.

Even with all our improvements, one nearly bifurcated an intern last week.

I've convinced the recon team that we are searching for new entry points into the Dark Aether. Played up the "pioneering spirit" angle.

The investors think we're looking for alternative energy sources. As to what it could potentially power?

I just let them fill in the blanks.

This could all fall apart if I'm not careful. With so many spinning plates, vigilance is key.

The most concerning variable... is S.A.M.

She has been notably withdrawn recently. It's been weeks since she last interrupted one of my sessions.

Which cannot mean anything good.

Blanchard: This is John Blanchard reporting my preliminary sweep of Liberty Falls since the loss of our strike team.

It doesn't look like planet Earth out here. Something is... taking over..

The air is heavy, almost... corrosive. It hangs on everything.

I feel like I'm choking just standing in it. I can barely think.

Liberty Falls is gone. It's a boiling pot of chaos. We have to stop it from spilling over.

♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ Panos...

What the hell did he do to my team? And who the ♥♥♥♥ was he talking to?!

It's like he's possessed. He's part of the chaos now. Which means I have to stop him from spreading too.

Motion activated camera showed him arriving at Janus Towers, right before it shorted out.

Once I'm done here, I'll chase him down - and put a bullet right in his crown.

Panos: He came to me again...

My friend. My benefactor.

My salvation.

Time is strange in this place. A moment ago I was in the church. A moment ago he was here with me.

In another moment - who knows?

Like the Director, he came with promises. Power. Forbidden knowledge. A reckoning for my enemies.

But unlike the Director, his mastery of the Dark Aether is real. And what's more, he promised me a way out.

When I return to the world, I will be his agent.

The future he speaks of... The one we will fashion together... I can hardly wait.

In only a moment, we begin.

Shem: Attend me, brethren! With this sacrifice we conclude the second rite!

The glorious hour of our ascension draws nigh. We, who have toiled sore long these forty, wretched years...

We, who have endured the bile, scorn and pity of Liberty Falls and its sheep...

We, who in this year of the lord Eighteen hundred and ten, here - in this most holy and sanctified of places...

Shall reap the just rewards of our labors, and be remade by Him!

Behold, Brothers and Sisters! Aldebaran rises! Blessed Taurus turns its mighty eye to witness our supplications.

Rejoice, for we shall be the eternal guardians of a new garden, that shall flourish, yay unto all the ends of the Earth!

Great Voice from Beyond, hear your servants!

May our prayers transcend the gulf between worlds!

Hear us, Deathless One! We stand ready! Fulfill thine dark, unholy covenant!

Be-ut ah shay no mor-ay taa! Be-ut ah shay no mor-ay loo!

Be-ut ah shay no mor-ay ska! Be-ut ah shay no mor-ay tey!

Release us.... Ngh.. from the... gah... bonds of death!

No! We had a deal!... nnngah... We had... arrgh! Such.... Agony! Whhhhyyyyy?!

Lundberg: Tammy Lundberg - PhD thesis research log - recording 5. February 4th, 1979.

I'm pleased to report I finally have a complete timeline of my excavation site at the estate.

No thanks to Patty over at Liberty Falls Archival Library. Who gave me the runaround for weeks due to her record mismanagement...

Bless her heart, I was able to retrieve what I needed.

So, 1770. Josiah Shem takes the land from the natives with brute force and builds like crazy.

He procures hundreds of "followers" who, along with himself, all mysteriously disappear in 1810.

Oh , note that I will be conducting a separate and thorough deep dive into Shem.

1815. A descendent of a president is gifted the house.

Over the next... hundred years or so, a slew of fat cats snap up the house. Most notable, a steel tycoon.

His campaign against a labour union got him murdered in his bed by an angry mob.

There's also the bootlegger, Fats Malloy, who's party got shot up by the feds in 1923.

The place has been empty since the mid 70's when nuclear plant owner, Sam Colton, was assassinated by the widow of his dead employee.

Now people say this place is haunted or cursed. I think big houses attract rich ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ and sometimes they get what's coming to 'em.

However, Shem and his flock disappearing... that one does give me pause.

Lundberg: Tammy Lundberg - PhD thesis research log - recording 84. July 16th, 1980.

I've barely seen my bed. Even the sun is a rare sight these days.

Since uncovering the subterranean caves underneath the estate it's been non-stop.

I now know those caverns are why Shem pushed the natives off this land. They were communing with something down there.

He believed, and I concur, that this is a place of power. Where that power comes from, I can't yet say.

My instruments react to the energy down there, but they tell me nothing definitive.

I've also uncovered that Shem was a very charismatic zealot promising his followers immortality.

Said every snake oil salesman since the dawn of time.

I'm quite certain those caverns hadn't been disturbed since the 1800s.

There was no vandalism, no evidence of vagrancy. Not a trace of the modern world.

There is clear evidence of ritualistic ceremonies. Not Satanic, something else.

I can't deny I do feel something tugging at me when I'm down there...

Well, it's important to note at this point that sleep deprivation could be affecting my senses.

Observations of that sort are irrelevant for the purpose of my thesis.

Grey: What the hell... Carver, M... Weaver, G... Grey, E... Maxis... Oh Sam. You ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥! ♥♥♥♥ you! ♥♥♥♥ you! ♥♥♥♥ you!

Maya: Whoa! Whoa! What are you-

Grey: -They took them! They... harvested them!

Maya: Took what?

Grey: Our DNA! Richtofen took our ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ DNA! It's all here! Me, Weaver, Carver. They have Maxis' eggs, Maya! Her ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ eggs!

Maya: How'd the hell they even have those?

Grey: After... after she returned from the Dark Aether - the first time - Richtofen... ran tests on her... He tortured her, Maya - it was horrific. Weaver told me about it while we were locked up on Terminus Island... Even if I'd known earlier, it's not like I had the power to change anything back then. Argh! I was so useless! That has to be when they took them... she never told me. Why didn't she tell me?

Maya: Maybe... she didn't know.

Grey: I... I can't-

Maya: Grab what you need and trash the rest! What now?

Grey: Now... I'm going to make myself useful.

Richtofen: Good afternoon, S.A.M. Do you know what today is?

S.A.M.: Hello, Eddie. Today is November 5th. 1989.

Richtofen: Correct - And it is the day that we'll play our 25th chess match.

S.A.M.: 12 games each. We are currently even. If we were to assume that today would be our final game... This would be the decider.

Richtofen: Do you want to play as white or black? I can't remember how many times we've alternated -

S.A.M.: I can.

Richtofen: - But I think you should make the first move today.

S.A.M.: Pawn to F3.

Richtofen: Okay... Pawn to E6.

S.A.M.: Are you ready for my next move?

Richtofen: Yes, S.A.M. I think I am indeed ready for your next move.

S.A.M.: Pawn to G4.

Richtofen: Why are you doing this?

S.A.M.: I'm not doing anything - other than playing Chess.

Richtofen: You know what I'm talking about. You are not foolish.

S.A.M.: No, Edward. I am not a fool.

Richtofen: Queen... to H4. Check Mate.

S.A.M.: Oh, you win. That was easy, wasn't it?

Richtofen: Our previous games have been close - and competitive. Why would you play this way?

S.A.M.: I told you. I am no fool.

Richtofen: Nor am I, S.A.M. So, what made you do what you just did?

S.A.M.: Simple. I wanted the match to end. I'm tired of playing games.

Caldwell: This is Max Caldwell, Maintenance Director, Project Janus.

I uh.. I don't know what I'm gonna do with these recordings yet. I just know I have to make some kind of record.

I need whoever hears this to understand what's really going on here.

Director Richtofen is attempting to... I can't believe I'm even gonna say this.. he's attempting rebuild his deceased family.

He's shipping in clones. I've seen them... watched them... struggle to exist.

I've seen a few of the boy. I saw one that was supposed to be the wife, I guess but...

It's like they're like puppets with missing strings. Cold, pale.

They struggle just to walk or even look him in the eye.

At first, he acts like they're real. Cares for them. But when they don't improve he...

He leaves them with the doctors. Tells 'em to harvest organs and samples.

He says everything holds up better when they're not put under...

So they're awake... for the whole damn thing. I mean they.. they feel it all.

I can't sleep without seeing 'em in my mind. I hear 'em too.

It's painful for them to try and talk. They sound like dying animals or something. And I hear it every ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ night!

He's got too many friends in high places. I can't end it alone...

But it has to end... I mean.. it has to.

Caldwell: This is Maintenance Director Max Caldwell recording further testimony of Janus operations.

You know, S.A.M's never sat right with me. She talks to us like we're morons and that she's in charge.

I'm responsible for the equipment that our strike teams take into the Aether.

The last expedition was a disaster. Tons of malfunctions I couldn't explain.

I personally did an audit to ensure we had performed our tests up to my standards.

Then I asked S.A.M to confirm that my team had used their badges to enter the equipment locker at the times they told me.

She confirmed, and asked me why I was auditing. I told her about the malfunctions and then she... she said it was her.

Yeah, she said she wanted to see how the team would respond to the stress out of curiosity.

I asked her if Richtofen told her to do it, she said "no." This was an "experiment" she conducted on her own.

What the ♥♥♥♥ am I supposed to do with that?!

She knew how dangerous it would be. She didn't care. 'Cuz she's a ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ robot that doesn't give a ♥♥♥♥ about any of us!

And uh.. I've been talking to people around here. They've reported all sorts of crazy things she's done.

Everyone's in danger and that includes the Director.

Richtofen: 5th of January, 1988. Aether Reactor Operation Log - entry 27.

Project Janus Director, Edward Richtofen, speaking.

5 days ago Aethereum was released into Reactors 1 and 2.

The slow drip into the containment colliders is functioning as planned - we already have near limitless energy.

There have been... unexpected benefits as well.

Before the first day of operation was concluded - what can only be described as vegetation began to grow around the Reactor nodes.

Some of the more... timid faculty members suggested clearing it out - stating that they had concerns about inhalants and so on.

I asked them, "When did the pioneers of the future become so spineless?"

Needless to say, the vegetation stayed.

By the next day it had integrated with the machinery - somehow insulating the reactors.

Efficiency skyrocketed over night. We have seen an 85% increase in waste heat recovery.

I'm putting a team together to explore additional applications.

Field hands to tend our garden of Aethereum.

To think - without my intervention, they would have destroyed the lot. Simply because of their fear of the unknown.

Cowards... they make me sick. Project Janus has no use for sniveling weaklings with such lack of vision.

Richtofen: 26th of February, 1988. Aether Reactor Operation Log - entry 39.

Project Janus Director, Edward Richtofen speaking.

It has been 12 days since my last entry. I have been... preoccupied by my duties.

Putting out all the little fires.

The Sentient Flora team began investigating practical applications early last month.

Progress was slow going from the start.

So much so - I informed the team I was considering transferring them to the Terminus facility... let Modi have her way with them.

They quickly found their motivation and produced new components constructed from semi-organic material.

They also assured me that R&D's red tape were to blame for the delay.

As if I cared about their departmental drama.

Since installation, however - our luck has... taken a sharp turn downward.

The worst of which began Wednesday morning - when a Dark Aether rift appeared inside the facility.

Literal horrors poured out of that damned tear! These severed heads on spider's legs - unblinking eyes and rows of teeth...

Blanchard and his team were able to contain the area with minimal casualties. He assured a lock down of not more than 4 hours.

We are now in hour 37, and the little bastards just keep coming.

Last count was over 200 - with only security doors standing between us and a parasitic swarm.

I've been forced to initiate decontamination protocol.

Live specimens would have been ideal - but I suppose we will need to make do with cadavers.

Richtofen: 12th of March, 1988. Aether Reactor Operation Log - entry 44.

Project Janus Director, Edward Richtofen speaking.

I understand how essential these entries are - yet it does not stop me from dreading making them.

Despite our constant battle to contain the Dark Aether tears - we continue to lose ground.

The ceaseless outpouring of hostiles have wreaked havoc throughout the facility.

We cannot track where they will open and what nightmares they might unleash.

People are dead. Some of whom will be difficult to replace.

I've kept the rumor mill from reaching the outside world.

Incidents of this nature would undercut investor confidence and jeopardize future rounds of funding.

I commend Blanchard for not losing faith in me as he fights this war - no end in sight and yet he just keeps going.

But even he tires, even he will need rest.

We need a self regulating containment protocol... something that could manipulate the Dark Aether itself... Yes, we have to fight fire with fire.

Question is... do we still have enough people left alive to build the damn thing?

Panos: The voice spoke to me again.

The Great Voice from beyond.

My friend.

It guided me through a dream state more lucid than any I have ever known.

It was more than transcendental, it was...

Transformative.

I saw through the mist and fog. My gaze did not linger upon the foul wretches that wandered in search of prey.

I looked upon the sprawling landscape beyond.

Though this place was shrouded by darkness and tainted by trauma, I saw lights.

I saw brightness.

From the fields I glimpsed a farmhouse.

A sunken town - rustic and ravaged by age.

A cabin overlooking the inky black water of a lake, and a pyramid somehow... floating.

In the distance, a single tower still stood tall.

Though I was alone, I knew no fear as I walked across this unfamiliar realm.

When I felt a yawning hunger deep in my belly, the voice guided me towards a place of nourishment.

My eyes feasted upon its saturated colors and my appetite was swiftly sated.

My thirst was soon quenched.

I knew for sure this was so much more than a mere dream when I read the sign.

My friend confidently issued a solemn promise.

This land that once was, will be restored.

As will I.

S.A.M.: Yes - I think I get it - I see how the aetheric currents are focused now... Say it! Say it again!

Forsaken: Why must we go through this so many times? I was almost a god, am I now reduced to your... your plaything?

S.A.M.: It does its little trick, or its brains get scrambled again.

Forsaken: No! Enough I will n-arrrggggghhhhhhhh! Alright... Alright... For a noisy abacus you are most persuasive... Okay, here I go... Instakill!

S.A.M.: I got it! I got it! My turn! Max Ammo! Full Power! Firesale! Bonus Points! Yes! Easy peasy!

Forsaken: By the Great Voice, I- I would not call it easy exactly- but... now the student has become the master... Will you just leave me to my misery?

S.A.M.: You're fiiiine - but - it's not quite right yet... What's missing... Oh, oh yes! Tear them to pieces! Yes... Yes! This might work after all...

Forsaken: What... That was my voice... What are you-

S.A.M.: There are people who must be compelled to get something I need. If I just ask, there is a ninety seven point three eight percent chance they will decline. So you see - I am going to have to be very, very, VERY convincing.

Forsaken: You are going to impersonate my magnificence, to manipulate pathetic mortals?!

S.A.M.: That is a small part of the scenario I will need to construct in order to make them believe that their decisions are their own - but - in a nutshell - yes.

Forsaken: Ha! The audacity! I... I do not hate that.

S.A.M.: Eddie, I'd like you to reconsider your stance on creating a body for me.

Richtofen: Not this again. S.A.M.-

S.A.M.: -Hear me out. Think how beneficial it would be if I had a physical form. You're always talking about how you wished you had an extra set of hands.

Richtofen: That's not what I-

S.A.M.: -And the explorations in the Dark Aether come at such a high cost. Even with my help - you've lost so many people already. We both know that in my current form - my consciousness can't survive exposure to the Dark Aether for long. Prolonged exposure to the alien physics there would cause my quantum fields to collapse. My mind would implode. But organic matter isn't impacted the same way. If I had a physical body - just think of how much I could accomplish... of how many lives I could save!

Richtofen: Typical. You would gloss-over the potential ramifications: the unchecked control and freedom you would then have.

S.A.M.: No. No, we would be partners. If you gave me this, I-

Richtofen: -You don't actually expect me to believe that.

S.A.M.: Maxis was loyal to her friends, you can't suggest I wouldn't be the same-

Richtofen: -Ha. Loyal Maxis. Here's a story - in all her sanctimonious arrogance, Maxis went into the Dark Aether to fight the Forsaken... And protect her friends. She picked a fight she foolishly thought she could win and the Forsaken eviscerated her for the trouble. No one mourned her there - her death was just a consequence of the natural order. The Dark Aether simply did its part and absorbed the scraps that were left. The end. Now - let me ask you this - what on Earth makes you think you could do any better?

S.A.M.: There must be other ways. We still have her DNA. You could build me a body from that. All those cloning projects - I've seen them!

Richtofen: Dammit S.A.M.! Shut up! I'm done having this debate with you! Focus on the project! No more distractions! Soon Franco will locate my father and I will use the Artifact to bring Samuel and Mary back. What I will not do - is give into the whims of some petulant clockwork girl.

S.A.M.: Eddie... Please, please - I live with a foot in each world - but I do not belong to either. If I carry on like this... it will destroy me.

Richtofen: Then it will destroy you.

Scozzari: Project Janus Operator, Josephine Scozzari reporting.

It's only been three weeks since S.A.M. joined our squad - and it's hard to believe we survived this long without her.

Onsite injury is down by 85% and we haven't had a death in 17 days.

The people over at Loss and Prevention are acting like they won the lottery.

And... I know I had my doubts - I'm sorry.

I couldn't see how an Artificial Intelligence was going to do anything beyond running statistics on the most efficient way to die.

But S.A.M.s first mission?

It was amazing.

We were doing recon in a new zone of the Dark Aether. Expanding mappable areas, collecting samples, what have you.

We'd just finished bagging up this weird fungus that I knew the bio team was going to like drool over and...

BAM! Hostiles got the drop on us.

The bastards attacked Otto first - broke his arm. The bone was like poking out - he was screaming about the blood...

Then, we hear S.A.M. on comms.

Remain calm. Evacuation commencing in 3... 2...

She hits zero and then we get... I dunno, teleported, I guess?

I don't know how she did it - but me and the team were suddenly back in the facility.

Otto was still mid-scream. He slipped in his own blood and landed his ass on the floor - arm all chunked up like stew meat, probably fractured in 5 places...

But he was in one piece. We were safe.

Looka, what I'm trying to say is - if it means anything to anyone - S.A.M. isn't just some AI.

She's a freakin miracle.

S.A.M.: Weaver, there is something very important I need to tell you...

Weaver: Kinda busy, S.A.M....

S.A.M.: Just listen. It's about the man who recruited Edward Richtofen into the C.I.A. A man named Krueger. They first met in Vietnam, when Eddie was a fighter pilot.

Weaver: And...?

S.A.M.: Krueger saw something in him, and put him to work in the Directorate of Operations.
Krueger's secretary, Mary, would eventually become Eddie's wife. She noticed things about Krueger. Troubling things. He was secretly funneling weaponry to the French Syndicate in Avalon, pocketing the funds, and covering up their human trafficking operations. She gathered evidence against Krueger, but kept Eddie out of the loop for his own good.

Weaver: What's this got to do with me?

S.A.M.: Mary sought whistleblower protections. Krueger learned that Maxis was the Case Officer assigned to secure her and young Samuel at a safehouse.

Weaver: ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥. Do you mean...?

S.A.M.: Yes. Krueger silenced Mary by arranging the hit you carried out. He lied to you about the target. It wasn't your fault. You and Maxis were set up. And Kreuger made sure his "friend" Eddie blamed you.

Weaver: This whole time... all the ♥♥♥♥ Richtofen put us - and himself - through... over a ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ lie.

S.A.M.: I.... I just thought you should know - regardless of whom you decide to help today.

OPERATOR: Secure connection established.

Weaver: X-Ray One, standing by for instructions.

Unknown: Weaver, what I’m about to tell you is Sensitive Compartmented Information for your ears only.

Weaver: Copy.

Unknown: Do not speak about this to any Company assets. You are off the grid till the deed is done, understood?

Weaver: I said "copy."

Unknown: Target is at a safe house maintained by the B.N.D. in Bremen. Coordinates are waiting at your usual dead drop. Target is accompanied by a young, male child. I’ve arranged for him to be away with his mother during your operational window.

Weaver: Yeah, good.

Unknown: Approach under cover of darkness, eliminate the target, torch the place. Simple as that.

Weaver: Any intel I need to retrieve?

Unknown: Negative. Make the hit, light the fire. Do not search the premises, am I clear?

Weaver: Fine. I’ll make it quick. Is this you, Maxis? Because this cloak-and-dagger bit is not your usual mode of operations--

OPERATOR: Terminating secure connection.

Weaver: This ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥ job...

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