[Destiny] Chapter 9: A Historical Monster

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The room that Count Kurtain [or Kurzsan, as Sila realised when they passed a block of text on the wall referencing the name] led him to did, as advertised, have a lit fire, though it seemed unlikely that the warmth of its flames would reach any of the walls.

The sheer size of the place; if Sila had counted out the time it took from the door to the fireplace, he was sure it would’ve been at least half a minute.

But he’d been distracted, mainly by the deep purple cloak of his host, the bottom part of it caught on the top of his left boot.

Kurzsan neither noticed nor cared as he sat down on the rug by the poker and stared into the flames.

Due to the lack of chairs, Sila did the same.

To some people, this may have been something meaningful, but to Sila it was vacant, the flames being far too alive, flickering erratically, tracing the madcap ley lines of his own mind instead of giving something steady to anchor onto.

A black square.

Uranus from a distance.

Green hospital walls.

The Garden of Earthly Delights.

That’s what he liked to peer into.

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[Destiny] Chapter 8: Count Kurtain

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As with most other hostels, it was better to avoid the 16-bed dorms, or even the 8-bed dorms, as that’s where the collective drunks would be.

2-bed dorms were ideal, but the smallest the Innsbruck hostel had was a 4-bedder so that’s where Sila ended up, on the top bunk with a Korean man below, who at one point, got up and wandered off to have a shower wearing only his underpants.

Somehow, the Chinese stalker had failed to switch to the same room as him, probably cos she booked online, or he’d booked the last bunk in this one, though he knew she was still in the hostel somewhere; he’d seen her lurking in the reception area.

Unless she’d given up and left?

Either way, she wasn’t in this room, which gave him the chance to stretch out on the bed in peace and plan his next move.

Go back to the castle.

Go back to the castle.

Go back to the castle.

Go back to the castle.

It was incessant, the image of the random, wild-looking man slipping through the locked door of the castle, waiting for him on the other side, whispering, ‘come back tonight, come back tonight.’

Was there another cabinet, one without a tape recorder?

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Russian Book Of Satan

The Enduring Horror of The Devil Rides Out | Den of Geek

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Albania, Peru, Tanzania, Ghana, Papua New Guinea, Scotland, every country had a book of Satan but none as elusive as the Russian one.

For centuries, a wealthy few had attempted to pin it down.

Post-internet, the plebs tried too.                

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Got-Fuck-All-Else types would bus in to Tobolsk loaded with Rasputin lore, sure it was somewhere beneath his old church.

Poles rented flats near the original Moscow subway and tried to dig under.

Arcanists scoured spines in 2nd hand bookshops.

Opportunists tailed the Arcanists.

Cynics re-read Crowley.

~~~

When physical locations didn’t work, people turned to conceit.

The book wasn’t an actual book.

Or it was a book within another book.

But this way was dangerous.

Exemplar: an itinerant group of Russian Satanists read Ivan’s 2nd Dream, aimed for the 17th door of Kidič, and opened the 7th by mistake.

Verhnaia Gubakha was the price paid.

~~~

Chik Chun Ming Aleša eschewed all that and focused on WordPress.

Her theory: the book was sentient, it would evolve, strive to be found, but have no physical way to pay for a website designer.

Plugins? Maybe.

If it could stratify.

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[Destiny] Chapter 2: Green Background Art

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Back on Trnovska ulica, in his dead mother’s house, behind the door and the cage, which was supposed to keep out not only thieves and drunks and drunk neighbours looking for sex, but also Professors of Dark Light [as long as they didn’t have the power to conjure up a key].

But maybe this one did.

Maybe he had an ultimo key, like the one in Krvic Draclo.

Maybe he wasn’t a he.

Maybe he wasn’t a she either.

Maybe it was two thirds she and one tenth he and the rest of it something else, some gender that even gender enthusiasts would run in terror from.

Sila didn’t know, and

as soon as he sat down on his old couch, and stared at the TV he hadn’t watched in seven years, and the collection of Petr Grenzic films his mum had adored [minus the three he’d sold] he realised two things, one, he didn’t care and two, that sitting down was for giver uppers and always had been and there was a whole city out there, a small, parochial one granted, but still a city and who knew what the people were doing out there this late at night.

Painting rats?

Sleeping on water fountains?

Carving doors into trees?

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[Destiny] Chapter 1: Cabinet Standoff

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‘The ship accelerates, no visuals…they only had £50 per series…but we know the ship accelerates cos Su Lin says so, and Dayna says, Dr Plakson, she’s dead, and Avon says, who, and then…then the video cuts off, I don’t know why. Upload limit maybe. But it’s so cold, so un star trek.’

‘See, Dr Plakson dies and Avon doesn’t care. He even makes a joke of it.’

‘Avon, the show’s hero. The sociopath.’

‘No reaction?’

Sila rapped his knuckles on the cabinet door, trying to play the ‘Blake’s 7’ theme but getting stuck after the first three bars.

‘No music, professor?’

‘No sci-fi?’

He switched to the paintings on the wall, portraits of long ago Slovene men, stern faces, either poets or dictators, definitely not builders, definitely not Ugresic or Ivana Kobilca.

Was this it?

The best Slovenia could do?

Turning back to the cabinet, he tried another jibe, calling out the whole room for its blandness, its lack of technicolour and stern female poets.

‘Professor…really…you should be embarrassed to be here.’

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Fritz Lang’s Destiny [Serial]

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The beginning of a potentially never-ending web serial.

Follow the chapters below as they’re posted here on the blog, or go to the menu page to find the complete list.

Updates every Monday [or the next day if I get sick].

~~~

SYNOPSIS

Dared by a Professor or Dark Light to find and kill him in a cabinet [allegedly], Sila sets himself on a path to do exactly that.

His weapon? A green dagger.

Obstacles? A lost Chinese woman luring pervs up to Ljubljana castle at way past midnight, out of phase Krsnik, a Danish child demon that never stops coming, an Italian racist, other racists, a Pakistani siren on an overnight ferry, up and down responses to constant failure, the Sad Count of Innsbruck, stuffed Romulan dummies, vague ennui, and other mythology I haven’t made up yet.

Theme? Family. Sacrifice?

-EK- [PART 3]

C090 Robots of Death - Who Back When | A Doctor Who Podcast

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Stasi iconography was fresh as fuck

‘til the fax machine broke

~~~

EK detached from the white board, the Algerian Foreign Minister’s plan to open Assia Djebar Institutes in 82 countries, and focused on the frozen ray of light coming in from Proxima b.

Within that light was a novel idea.

If he could just extract it and edit himself to pass as its creator then-

A noise from somewhere.

EK eyes stretched to 82% exposure and looked right.

The door was opening.

An industrial door.

This wasn’t Triton, it was YAK DESIGN LTD.

~~~

brain mode recovery level high idea in still ATION

~~~

Despite presenting as a 94% approximation of a human, EK went unnoticed by the owner of YAK DESIGN LTD. As did the broken lock. Strange.

In fact, the work the guy did was so loud that EK was able to open up his phone, check the opening time of the gallery next door, wait forty-five minutes then stand up, walk out and ask Maneka if he could use her computer for half an hour.

‘Do you live near here?’

‘Very close.’

‘You don’t want to go back and-…’

‘My computer is broken.’

‘Oh.’

‘And my four guardians are abusive.’

Maneka tried to process ‘abusive’ and ‘four guardians’ but had no idea what to say beyond ‘sorry’ so she went with sorry and told EK he could use the computer as long as he liked.

EK sat down with his back to a blue circle surrounded by half open doors and loaded up LIFE SHIP.

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-EK- [Part 2]

Circles Group - your online special risks insurance in Films, Events, Fine  Arts, and more

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No one coddled the workers quite like Eichmann

up against the darts board

~~~

It was a faint blip on the engrams now, but EK vaguely remembered Scientist 3, 1 and 2 talking about Fo Tan once, saying it was a place locals used to shoot everyman porn, but when he checked the map outside the MTR all he saw was industrial units.

Picking one near the edge of the slope leading up to the mansions of the infamous spectral tycoons, EK walked past the security uncle without hassle and took the stairs to the 16th floor. There were twelve units along one corridor, lots of crates and tubing lying around outside, and two of the doors were open.

One was Redder Rum Post-Future Gallery, which shut at 9pm, and the other was YAK DESIGN LTD.

EK tried the gallery first, looking for sockets and places to conceal himself, but there was nothing concrete, only a few loose cushions and a green “winners” podium placed in the centre of the room. A tall, foreign woman, possibly Kenyan, stood by the far wall, back turned, touching the edges of a painting. By her feet, a laptop with a cable running behind a taped-up box…wah, a socket. Had to be. And the woman still hadn’t noticed him.

Creeping up behind the woman, EK positioned his hands an inch away from both sides of her neck and initiated ‘twist’ mode…but, as soon as he rehearsed the killing, a shock of green hit, lighting up his forehead and forcing his arms back down to the side.

The faint ‘grah’ sound EK emitted got the woman’s attention and, when she realised how close he was, instinct threw out a claw.

EK dodged, thanks to his LIV-LET reflexes, and took five steps back, almost tripping over the ‘third place’ block of the podium.

‘Waaa…’ said the woman, dropping the claw and quickly reclaiming it.

‘Sorry, I walk very quietly.’

‘How…’

‘I don’t intend to hurt you.’

The woman said something in an unrecognised language a few times, possibly fuck, then hurried over and half-offered a hand.

‘Are you okay?’

‘I did not fall.’

‘You startled me, coming in like that…’

‘That was unintended.’

‘…but it’s my fault too…’

‘Partly.’

‘…I left the door open and had my back turned.’

‘Yes.’

‘Just…try to make louder footstep sounds next time.’

‘I will.’

The claw in her hand wasn’t a weapon as EK had suspected, it was actually some kind of artisan tool, and she returned to the canvas with it.

‘Is this painting yours?’ EK asked, delaying his real questions.

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-EK- [PART 1]

CHOPPING MALL is Getting a Remake... Sort of

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Credit to the cameraman

for diving into Neptune

 face first

~~~

Scientist 4 sat on the highest stool, in a lab that looked more like a Varo exhibition, studying the EK-BOT in front of him.

The maintenance crew had done a decent job repairing it – refilling the cheeks, adding more eyelashes, growing out the fringe – but the greyish tint was still there, as if someone had underlaid a steel sheet in the planning stage and then been cremated before having the chance to take it out again.

‘Hello EK.’

‘Am I here?’

‘Yes.’

‘My face feels different.’

‘It’s been repaired.’

EK nodded, looking at the files on the desk. ‘Am I ready to liquidate the Algerian Foreign Minister?’

‘That’s been re-assigned.’

‘Understand.’

‘You don’t have to say understand.’

‘Understand.’

‘You can try alternatives.’

EK paused, tilted its head left. ‘Comprehend.’

Scientist 4 smirked, realised he was smirking and stopped. Comprehend was close to understand. Not necessarily humour. Could be EK only knew those two words.

‘You look like you are thinking,’ said EK, increasing eyeball exposure by seven percent.

‘Correct.’

‘Are you thinking about the Algerian Foreign Minister?’

‘No.’

‘Are you thinking about Scientist 2?’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Scientist 3 told one of the maintenance crew that the two of you were visiting hotels.’

‘You heard her say that?’

‘Last night, during the fifth of my seven semi-alert phases of repair. Neither of them were aware that I was receiving.’

‘I see.’

EK stared at Scientist 4’s forehead, something they’d programmed him to do after reading Metal Rising: Intimidation in the Age of High Self-Esteem by Chu Tsin Suet.

‘What is it, EK?’

‘Are you visiting hotels with Scientist 2?’

‘Of course not. He’s married.’

‘That is not a physical obstacle.’

‘No, but it’s-…’ Scientist 4 turned the next word quickly into a cough and tried not to look left; a classic sign of guilt. Instead, he looked down, at the files he’d brought in for this exact kind of moment. ‘I think we should get back to your mission.’

‘Comprehend.’

‘The four of us have decided that you are potentially capable of genius. Or at the very least, creativity.’

‘On what basis?’

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The case of the man from Japan // Andre “Bre” Breton

Elementary, Dear Data « Mission Log Podcast

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Chapter 1: A Visitor Calls

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It was a cold, breezy, temperate, zealous, overly described morning on Baker Street when Sherlock Holmes.

“If I’m not mistaken, Watson.”

“But Holmes!”

Murderer of four husbands walked in and threw down two teabags, announcing a surprisingly tall man from the embassy of Japan.

The tall man walked in, bowing.

“Case.”

“You have come from the butchers in Dundee, recently fingered your stepdaughter, dabble in alchemy and have a fettered interest in ‘no hands’ pottery.”

‘But Holmes!”

“Case. Confusing. Help.”

“Say no more. Watson, call a taxi. Mrs Hudson, isolate.”

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Chapter 2: A Pleasant Journey

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Near Bordeaux

Stared at the tip of his pipe

Near Lisbon

gambled with Watson

Near Mauritania

Tutted at the blacks

Near Lagos

nice church

Near the Cape of Good Hope

Stared at what used to bend, resentful

Near Madagascar

Wanked over rare bee

In the Indian Ocean

Scraped off the grottiest of the wallpaper

In the games room

Near Sri Lanka

Watched young boys run from Arthur C Clarke

Near Bali

Struggled to breathe

Collapsed on top of Watson

Near Hong Kong

bit his tongue

Near Taiwan

worked on his Japanese

Near Yokohama

lurked under the rustiest of the metal stairs

As the ladies came down

In Yokohama

Said Konnichiwa

Poorly

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