A Brotherhood of Crows.

I quickly came to realise that time has ceased to function for me.

I walked through groves, clearings, weaving around thick clusters of trees, slide down embankments, climbed steep rises, and yet nothing changed. I could have been going for hours or for minutes. I had my weapons, but my pocket watch had gone walkabouts, and without its reassuring weight in my waistcoat pocket, all sense of the when deserted me.

Somewhere, deep inside me, a sleeping animal was stirring. That animal was called Panic, and it lay, curled once about itself in the deepest pit of my gut, but was now beginning to twitch its way out of hibernation. Little things sparked its stirrings; the fact that the sky never changed. I could not pinpoint the sun, and even a city boy like me knew you could figure your way by the position of the sun, and yet here, there was no sun, just a pale glow in the sky. The silence, as well. I didn’t know nature well, but I did know that nature meant noise; the wind in the trees, creaking of bark, falling leaves - birds. I couldn’t hear birds. You always heard birds rustling in the branches, or caught a glimpse of them skimming the air, out of the corner of your eye.

No movement, no sound, beyond the stumbling steps I myself made.

Panic twitched, stretched out its hind legs, and pricked against my insides with needle like claws.

So it was that, as I was navigating a ridge of rock and twisted roots, I heard a twig snap behind me.

My instincts took over. Instincts was a similar beast to Panic, but unlike that frazzled little thing, Instinct analysed. Instinct told me the twig snapped close behind me, that trying to bring my revolver to bear on something that close would likely take too long. And so instinct made me drop, one leg forward, weight low, katatis bursting from their sheaths with steel snarls.

“Sorry, chicka,” said someone behind me, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Red was standing less than six feet behind me, arms crossed, her brilliant scarlet hair and dress glowing against the blandness of the forest.

It was the first time I had ever seen here outside of Elsewhere.

But it wasn’t the last.

“Oh, chika,” Red said, sympathetically, “You really are having a bad day, aren’t you?”

“You - how did you-?” Panic lazily opened an eye and didn’t like what it saw, “No, no, no, you can’t be here, you don’t belong here, you’re not real -?”

Red slapped me. It felt real enough.

“Listen to me, chika,” the sympathy was gone from her voice now, and had been replaced with steel, “You’re right. I’m not supposed to be here. But you’re on your own in danger so I pulled some strings and now I’m here. Doesn’t matter how, but we don’t have time. The Long Friends will realise what I’ve done and they’ll be coming for me and you too if I stay too long -”

“The Long what now -?”

“Don’t speak of the Pale Citizens! You want them to find me?”

I relented. “Okay. So...now what? How do I get out of here?”

Red’s eyes were furtive, darting from left right as if following the path of an erratic and indecisive insect. Something about her was off. That crimson cascade of her hair was translucent, the outline of her whole body faint, and shimmering. “You can’t. Not alone. There is no way out, chika. No matter how hard you look, you won’t find one. Zularna is coming for you -”

“Zularna?” I scoffed. “How does she even know where I am -?”

“She knows. She’s coming. You need to hold on. Whatever happens, you need to stay alive. Whatever you do, whatever you see, whatever you hear, you are not allowed to die.”

(and at the back of my neck I hear Gorcrow’s metallic rattle “You will take that gun, put it against your head and pull the trigger.”)

“-There’s something in the air here,” Red was still talking, hurriedly, her accent becoming more and more pronounced as she sped from word to word, syllable to syllable, “It does things to you...makes you see and hear things...things you won’t want to see. This place - it’s designed to frighten you. Confuse you. Whatever you do, you keep going. Zularna’s coming for you. You just need to hold on.”

That little furry frightened thing inside me was starting to twitch, to feel life seeping back into its limbs after a long slumber, and to suddenly become aware, so very aware, of its claws and teeth. “Stay alive. Yeah. I can do that. Made of steel. S’all fine...what about you..?”

I trailed off. Red was looking beyond me, over my shoulder, at something further back into the forest. Her face was cracked with a look of utter horror.

Slowly, I turned.

The ridge which were standing on opened into a small clearing, identical to the dozens of other clearings which I had passed as I had hiked. Yet in the middle of this clearing,someone, or something, stood. It was tall, far too tall to be a man, and was made almost entirely out of fog. The ground beneath its feet Smoke curled around itself, forming the shape of limbs longer than they should have been, legs that were almost insect-like in their form. Somewhere inside that smoggy chaos I felt, more than saw, a face; a wide slash of a mouth, a crooked shovel shaped nose and above...above that nothing. No eyes, no features, nothing. And yet still, I felt its gaze.

My hand was on my revolver, half drawing it, when something touched me. It was Red. Her hand was on my arm. It was the first time she had ever touched me, and her fingers were warmth itself. “Don’t.” she hissed. “ You can’t kill it. I’m out of time.”

“The fuck is that?” I hissed back.

“Something I hope you never, ever, see again.” she glanced at me, and there was a mixture of pity and fear in her bright, bright eyes. “Stay alive, chika. You aren’t allowed to die.”

Red shimmered as if suddenly caught in bright sunlight and then was gone. I glanced back to the smoke man - also gone. I was alone again. Panic was awake now, but yet to stir more than a few inches, and I took a deep breath to calm myself down, perhaps lull Panic back to its slumbers. I caught myself as I did. There’s something in the air. Red had said. You aren’t allowed to die.

(And at my neck I felt and heard Gorcrow: “I know what you did.”)

I began to move again. I veered away from where the smoke figure had stood - all that was left now was a patch of frost cracked ground, ironically, the only distinctive feature I’d seen in the forest - and headed towards the edge of the clearing. My revolver, half drawn, had now found its way into my hand, was reassuring if nothing else.

There was no way out, Red has said. No way out? That couldn’t be true. No matter where I was, even if I was a thousand miles from civilization, dumped in the middle of, I don’t know, Siberia (was this what Siberia’s forests looked like? How the fuck was I to know?) then there was still a way out, even if it was many miles of walking ahead of me…there was nowhere on earth, at least above ground, where there was no way out -

Except...except Gorcrow had called this a facility. People don’t call forest facilities. Facility meant building. It meant walls. It meant that I was trapped.

No, that’s stupid. Who builds an indoor forest?

This place - it’s designed to frighten you.

“Well, it’s working,” I muttered.

There’s something in the air here.

“I know, I know, I know…”

You aren’t allowed to die.

“Die? Die?” I found myself laughing, “No one’s going to die. Not me, I’m going to be totally fine got so much left to do. I own a cat now. Can’t die if you have a cat, that’s animal neglect…”

I was aware, distantly, that I was babbling, stumbling through a forest with a drawn, cocked handgun. That little lullaby I had tried to tell that beast Panic, that one about there always being a way out, had backfired, and that little fucker was rearing up and surveying the land it was grinning, fucking grinning at what it saw.

I know what you did.

That fucking voice, man. It was like talking to someone standing at the top of a deep metal well, someone who’d just pushed you down and was feeling fucking smug about it.

I know what you did.

“Oh, no, you don’t!” I crowed, and then burst out laughing at my own pantomime response. “Aha hahah...oh no you don’t...hahah...it’s behind you and it wants you to kill youself...s’fucking funny, right? COS IT’S A KIDS SHOW!”

And Panic is digging its claws in now, pawing the ground, salivating.

I know what you did.

“HOW DO YOU KNOW?” I screamed at the trees, at the never changing sky, at that creature, Panic, at myself, at everything. “NO ONE KNOWS WHAT I DID. I DON’T EVEN FUCKING KNOW -”

I put down a foot where there was nothing. I fell. One moment I was upright, screaming at everything and nothing and then I was tumbling, head over heels, down a steep incline. Jack and Jill fell down the hill.

Stupid.

The hill was not steep. I fell for less than thirty seconds, and then came to a rest in water, against a cold, smooth, slippery surface. Water. Water was different. I raised my head - which had tucked beneath my arms as I’d fell, because whatever Panic was doing in my gut, Instinct was still in some measure of control in my brain - and saw I’d come crashing down into a shallow stream. A stream. That was new. Hadn’t seen a stream before. The bed of the stream was smooth pebbles, on which I know found myself resting, while the water continued to flow around this new accidental dam. Instinct - that clever bastard - took advantage of the fact that Panic was preoccupied righting itself to check my body over. I was sore, but nothing felt broken, or fractured, or anything more than bruised. I was fine, apart from being soaking wet -

And at that point, someone coughed.

I stopped checking myself over. About ten paces from me, standing, ankle deep in the stream, was a man. He was almost totally naked; he had, at one point, clearly had clothes, and what parts of them that hadn’t been torn or shredded clung desperately onto his waist, and limbs, giving him some modesty. He looked awful. He was thin, painfully so. His torso was bare, and I could see the ridges and valleys of his ribs. His skin was filthy, streaked with mud and grime like camouflage. And he was staring at me, lying before him, in a damp heap, with shock and fascination, his mouth a gaping cavern of surprise.

And in the middle of his chest, as in the middle of mine, a Chaos Drive glowed blue beneath his skin.

“I...hello?” I said. I tried to right myself. I ached considerably, and movements took their time.

Standing now, I could see the man more clearly. He did not look well. The open mouth revealed missing teeth. He had, at one point, had a full head of hair; now what was left hung on wispily, and around it was sore, red patches, weeping blood. I had this horrible feeling he’d pulled it out in chunks.

“Are...are you okay?” I said, adding, “sir?” out of some absurd sense of politeness.

“Rrrrrrrr…” he emitted a dry, rasping sound from somewhere it the back of his throat, a nasty, hoarse, sandpapery drawn out syllable. “Rrrrrrrr….ooooo….?”

“ ‘Rrrrrr ooooo’? Are you...are you….who are you…” My mind caught up with itself. “I’m Elijah. What’s your name?”

Out of habit, I proffered a hand. Even though he was well out of handshake range, the man flinched, as if I’d made ready to strike. Poor bastard. Christ knows how long he’d been here.

“It’s okay,” I swapped to a raised palm, the universal symbol of calm, and peace, “It’s okay...I’m not going to hurt you...I want to help you...do you have a name?”

“That...the….dah…” judging by the rasp of his voice, he hadn’t spoken for a very, very long time, “The Crow...the Crow that…” he gave up, and instead began to open and close his mouth, causing his remaining teeth to click together audibly.

I nodded. “I know who you mean. Did he bring you here too?”

The man tried to speak again, but gave up, and just nodded. A few tufts of his hair came loose as he did so, and fell into the stream around his feet. I noted his stance. Still frozen, as if suddenly trapped in a searchlight. Ready to bolt. Well, you’re not going anywhere, mate. You and me are getting out of here.

I took a step forward gingerly. “It’s okay, friend...there’s two of us now...we’re going to be just fine. I...I got a friend coming to help me. I think. She can help you too. What’s your name?”

“He said,” the man had found his voice again, though it was weak. “He said...he said he knew what I did…”

I flinched at that phrase -

(I know what you did -

-gofuckyourselfyoumaskwearingmotherfuck)

- but kept my hand up, and kept advancing. “I know. He said the same thing to me. He’s not going to hurt you, not while I’m here -”

“He said,” the other’s wide eye had glazed. Probably reliving that same conversation I’d had with Gorcrow. “He said I’d kill myself -”

“No one’s dying today,” I reassured him. “Help is coming -”

(Oh, is it, Eli, is it, according to a possibly imaginary red woman who occupies the same place in a possibly imaginary world as a woman who bumps off abusers for fun, who turned up to tell you this before being chased away by a...a...ghost.)

“ - help is coming,” I repeated, though for whose benefit, I wasn’t sure.

“....Tried to.” the man continued, limply. His body was still poised to move, but his eyes, and his mind, were somewhere else. “He told me...he knew what happened...tried to hang myself but there’s no rope...tried to drown myself...there’s a lake near here...couldn’t do it...so I came down here to look for a rock and...and…”

I realised two things at once. Firstly, lying next to the man, in the stream waters, was a large pebble. He’d dropped it when I’d come crashing down into his world, but I could see the waters around it stained red. Secondly, I realised that not all of those sore, bloody patches on his head were from tearing his hair out.

Poor bastard had been trying to cave his own skull in.

When I get out of here, every Crow dies. Every last one.

“Listen to me,” I said, assertively. “Whatever he told you, it doesn’t matter. You aren’t going to die -”

“You don’t know what I did -”

“I don’t care. No one deserves this -”

“I did things!” he was babbling now, babbling and weeping, great heaving sobs that clawed their way out from the depths of his chest, “I did things...to kids...I...I couldn’t help...I...he knew. He knew. He showed me...he made me watch through their eyes.”

In my chest, I felt a dark twist of disgust. There would be a time for that, later. “Whatever you’ve done, you don’t deserve to die. There’s something in the air that makes you see things...what you did was...wrong...but right now, we’re going to get out of here.”

“He’ll come for me,” the man shrieked, “He’ll come and he’ll -”

I made a mistake. “If he comes for either of us, he’ll have to deal with me. I’ve got a gun -”

It was at that point, I realised that my revolver was no longer in my right hand. It hadn’t been since I’d hit the ground. The revolver lay in the stream, exactly at the midpoint between me and the man.

I saw him clock it. I saw his eyes widen. I knew what he was going to do.

I lunged forward at the same time as him. I was faster; I hadn’t been rotting in this god awful place for Christ knew how long. My fingers wrapped around the butt of the revolver -

He must have had a rock in his hand the whole time. It only clipped the side of my head - any harder and I’d have been dead - but it was enough. I fell away, howling with pain. A scrawny hand shot out and seized my gun. White hot pain burned through my head from the blow, but I tried to right myself and snatch the gun back.

He fired. Not at me. Not on purpose. He must have cocked and losed the hammer while trying to get a grip on the weapon. The bullet whistled wildly over my head, but it was close enough that the report deafened me. I staggered back, unable to hear, bleeding, reeling. When I righted myself, I saw him, holding my revolver in a two handed grip. And he was laughing, laughing like a child, at the smoke emerging from the barrel.

Through the pain, through the ringing in my ears, though the snarl of that monster Panic, who was getting set up to pounce, I screamed “DON’T -!”

In a move that was almost graceful, he spun the gun in his hands, and shot himself through the base of his mouth. The back of his head erupted away in a spurt of blood, viscera and gore. A trained assassin couldn’t have done a better headshot.

For a moment, he stood, stock still, the back of his head a dark, red cavern. The gun fell from his fingers into the stream. And I realised that he was laughing still, laughing as he died.

“I deeeeeyeddddd eeeett….eyeeeeeee deeeeeedyeeedd eeeeeee...eeeee….”

The body came down to earth. And then all was still.

And I, I threw up into the stream. Panic was running riot, parading around the savannah and clashing and biting and rending everything it found.

“JESUS JESUS FUCK.” I spat sick from my mouth, and screamed and spat and screamed and spat: “OH JESUS FUCKING JESUS FUCK FUCK FUCK!”

Instinct emerged briefly from where it had hidden, and made me reach out, and pull the revolver away from where it lay.

“Fuck...fuck...fuck...oh, jesus fuck…”

I slumped back in the stream, my throat raw from puking my guts out. There were tears on my cheeks. I hadn’t even been aware that I was crying. It had been years since I’d last wept. Good a time as any, I guess.

From the dead man’s body, there was a little click.

What happened next happened in the space for a few seconds. But to me, it happened it horrifying slow motion, as if I was watching a stuttering timelapse of my own life. And what I saw was this: the dead man, the man who’d done things to to children, the man who’d blown the back of his head off with my gun, got up. The movement was jerky, that of a marionette puppet, with broken strings. His head - or what was left of it - hung drunkenly against his chest. And directly below his chin, that Chaos Drive was burning with an intense life.

There was another soft click.

His skin began to pulsate, as if it was a sail caught in the wind. He grew. Hew grew taller. Barbed wire burst from his flesh like vines, wrapping around his arms, legs, shredding what remained of his clothes. Jagged shards of steel erupted from his hands, slashing outwards to form claws. From out of his back, exploded forth more jagged steel like the fins of a shark. He towered over me and the Chaos Drive glowed and hummed and he changed, changed. I heard the sounds of bones snapping and cracking, the horrible ripped paper sound of skin and flesh tearing. The head remained hanging, but it was elongating, becoming woolf-like in a snout, and his mouth was spreading like a grin across his face, and serrated teeth were clawing their way forth from dead gums and then he looked up, and I saw...saw fires burning in empty eye sockets.

The very same fires I had faced, a lifetime ago, in the depths of Waverly station.

The thing, the beast, threw back its head, and roared, an unholy, all consuming sound. I heard a whooshing sound, and something burst out of the canopy of trees - a drone, about the size of a small table. The drone zipped above the beast head, and fired from some hidden contraption, a heavy net over the new monstrosity. The beast struggled and screamed but the net was made of heavy material and clung onto it like a clenched fist. With a hum, the drone’s thauma drives propelled it up, and away, towing the beast after it like an airdrop.

It was then I realised what was going on. This place, this forest, this facility, this, whatever it was, wasn’t what I’d thought. Gorcrow wasn’t dumping people to torture them.

This place was a factory.

He was building an army.

I know what you did.

I threw back my head, and howled.