Artemis: Deimos Trafficking League (IC, 2-Player RP)

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Main Nation Ministry
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Founded: Sep 28, 2016
Psychotic Dictatorship

Artemis: Deimos Trafficking League (IC, 2-Player RP)

Postby Main Nation Ministry » Sat Sep 26, 2020 12:00 am

IMPORTANT DISCLAIMER AND WARNING: The following RP here is a 2-player RP between Main Nation Ministry and Infected Mushroom. There is no OOC to use. What's important though is that this RP will contain a lot of mature content that people might find not suitable. Keep in mind, that planning for this RP was in development way before any coincidental events that has taken place this year, though some events have provided some inspiration for some content. Seriously.

The following sequel RP is meant to be more extreme than the original Nemesis RP. Such material and themes that the RP will be including will be murder and deaths of all ages, racism, skinheads, Neo-Nazis, violence from and towards animals, incest, gang violence, abuse of all kinds (though the most heavy and extreme versions of it will be implicit), heavy drug use, despair, human trafficking, prostitution, serial killers, senseless violence, misogyny, misandry, misanthropism, homophobia, police brutality and corruption, human rights violations, crimes against humanity, and blood and gore.

As such, the following can be toned down, upon mention or TG from an admin or moderator.

Viewer discretion is advised.

Somewhere in a quiet movie theater, several people were sitting down on the red seats, as the lights were still dim. Sitting with their snacks of popcorn, candy and soft drinks. Some were confused, while others were interested. Someone from the booth set the projector up and now the silver screen was playing some trailers to some random movies that the audiences was bound to forget. Some commercial to some energy drink. A sequel to a blockbuster action flick. Some random forgottable comedy. Along with the oscar bait.

"So you checked Rotten Tomatoes or Imdb for this? How were the scores?" someone whispered in the audience, as they were bored of the trailers. "They called it trash, but the audience scores were different."

The screen then switched to a pre-show detailing the rules of the theater and what to do. It was almost like a classical late 70s cinema sideshow with an upbeat beat that showed what and what not to do. "Welcome to the theater! Please sit back and look at the following rules. Silence your cell phones. Please be quiet during the movie. Be respectful. Do not masturbate in the theater. All emergency exits are lit up in case of a fire or other emergency. Bathrooms are available 24/7. It's not too late to get refreshments, so make yourself comfortable. Now, without further ado.."

"Our Feature Presentation".

Darkness. The screen was lit. The opening credits were displayed, but the words seemed wrong. What kind of film was this? Then, the film started to play-play-play-play-play-play........


“Man is the cruelest animal.”
― Friedrich Nietzsche


"How many times have there been a revival of darkness in this world? How many people throughout history must document and tally up the events and atrocities that happen in the world? There is a horrible legacy that is bound to follow from such examples and only inspire imitators or even successors to be the spark that sends many through the hell that we people wish to avoid. What baffles me is the causes to such events from the mundane to the obvious. Then, there is evil that doesn't need a spark. It's cast into this world as a bad seed. Planted to grow something horrible for us to fear."

"Now, I ask you this. What if I told you that the pain that the evil inflicts onto the weak and targeted only spreads their corruption. Birthing another vile substance in this mortal realm. Evil has its intentions. The eight sins, the collection of wounds, the injustice and slights to collect, the pressures of society, the fear, the sadism and poison in their heads, along with the anxieties of modern life. The human environment is a cesspool for all sorts of undesirable actions and behaviors."

"As I conclude another case of my time in the FBI. I was motivated again today when I received a tip from multiple sources on information of a violent prison riot and massacre of many. These sources is why I shall be heading to Starkweather, Maryland to investigate the possible crimes that has been manipulated to be out of reach of the government system of justice. This is Agent Gamble, closing audio tape #10 of the Maryland files."


Chapter 1: The Scum of Starkweather

Throughout The City

What place do you want to go to when you grow up? Unless you already live in the place of the dreams or even were born there, you're lucky. People would tell you that they are unable to move away from where they grow up, either for the reasons that they couldn't afford it, or that it's a connection to them that's overwhelming. There was a nice and horrible place in dearest Maryland in the United States of America that many people wanted to leave behind and go somewhere with some peace and some fulfillment. I give you a hint. It isn't Baltimore.

Starkweather, Maryland.

How many drug addicts, rapists, murderers, scumbags, thugs, gangsters, pimps and whores live in Starkweather? There isn't an estimate, but there was enough where some of the sanest people can still the scum and shit on the ground. All you need to know that life in Starkweather was like the East Coast version of Detriot. Though it's hard to tell people which was worse. But what's the main reason that the whole city is like this? There's an answer, but it wasn't pleasant. Somewhere in a 35 floor building, almost as tall as the other hotels and commercial work building was the Olympus Tower. At the top of the building, having 3 floors reserved to himself like the sociopathic prick that he is was Dolan Schaeffer.

Dolan was an interesting fellow. Did some people knew that he was a monster? That under the guise of a philanthropist, who doesn't know what is wrong with the city and state, is actually a power-hungry leader of a human trafficking ring? Did they uncover the suspected ties to the white supremacist group that he secretly funded money to? What about the fact that his best bodyguard is on the FBI list for blowing up that African-American church? They didn't know and if they did, they will be "gone". Gone is a funny word to describe it, but the word has some horrible meanings to it.

Dolan Schaeffer was a crafty man on his own word. For someone who was over 45, he still looked great. He was rich with a fortune of 25 million stashed in his savings and some offshore accounts somewhere in a royal bank in Europe. One day when he was still an adult, he was a nobody. Then a year or two after that, he became the leader of the Deimos Trafficking League, who would be the kings that would control over Starkweather, turning the whole freaking city as part of the criminal empire. Was this illegal? Of course. But why wasn't anyone going to do anything, even if they knew? That was an easy question. A corrupt democracy? Washington D.C was on the border of Maryland and Virginia. Schaeffer knew which people to convince, bribe, blackmail, or threaten to get his way.

You have the mayor of Starkweather, which was easy as hell, since all you got to do is show him a woman in leather and he'll become a yesman. Prostitutes, including some of Schaeffer's "product" that he "imports" were a good way to convince some of those in city council with ease.

Then, you got the governor of Maryland involved. "Oh! I'm so sorry to hear that your boy Havilland Jr. has been such a spoilsport, Mr. Governor!" Dolan said to the Governor, upon presenting some incriminating photos of the Governor Havilland engaging in some violent behavior with a girlfriend who didn't survive in bed. Somehow the kid managed to shove a hot curling iron into her throat for some reason. "Your boy has been quite the radical incel lately. You know I happen to know a famous tabloid reporter working with the big newspapers. It would be a terrible shame if the copies I have had been ended up in some opportunist like me and them." Blackmail was the brute force for the governor. As long as there wasn't a peep, the pictures wouldn't be leaked in any way.

Lastly, there was Congress. You ever watched the movie Mr Smith Goes to Washington? Sadly, fiction tends to create reality. Now, this was the result. Several senators of Maryland and the East Coast in Congress were in on Schaeffer's misadventures being a drug and human trafficking murdering piece of shit. With all the bribery and excuses to be more of a piece of shit, they were in on it. A bit ironic, when Schaeffer managed to bribe both major parties to assist him in keeping people's mouths shut with fishing wire.

Where was Schaeffer now? He was in a personal theater in his building at the penthouse. He was with a hotshot young banker that he invited over, as they were watching a classic movie of "The Godfather". He wasn't into gangster movies a lot, but his guest Ivan Murphy was a fan of the movie. So Schaeffer gotten a digital copy to be played in his private theater. Schaeffer was wearing his usual. A nice gray suit, pants, shoes. His hair was brown. Surprisingly for his age, though he knew some of the best beauty and hair products to help prevent the hair from greying. Both of them were watching a scene where there was a bowl of oranges. Murphy joked about the oranges, being a bit of a know-it-all film snob. "So the oranges are supposed to represent death. All of the characters who interacted with the oranges all died. It's good symbolism and foreshadowing." Murphy talked to Schaeffer, as he tapped a bit on the arm of the recliner he was sitting on. "Hey! Cool ring, by the way! Where did you get it from?"

"I got it from an auction back in Los Angeles. This was supposed to be a piece of jewelry that O.J Simpson had with it, but I figured why not wear it for a couple of months." Schaeffer said, as Murphy was looking at the ring with interest. One of Schaeffer's hobbies besides the violence and the trafficking was collecting antiques. Rare ones he can get his hands on by any means necessary.
"Oh shit! How much is it? Is it 1 million?"
"I try to get it to 1 million, but you know how crazy the Simpson stuff sells. I don't have room everywhere in my penthouse."
"You're made out of cash, man! Come on, I know stocks and some other financial self-help guru bullshit!"
"I need to see how my business associates are doing at the moment. I say we finish watching our movie." Dolan said, which was another phrase of saying "Shut the fuck up, you smug jackass." He could have his bodyguard John Nibert and Nibert's higher up Derek Sirri be at his penthouse to "kindly" tell Murphy not to make Schaeffer seem like a fool, but they were busy with their own activities. Activities of murdering a mixed-race family in the neighborhood with some brass knuckles and a submachine gun, but to Dolan this was completely normal.

"By the way, Schaeffer. What car do you drive? You got a nice sports car?" Murphy asked Schaeffer, much to his annoyance. "A Mustang? Why do you ask?" "Well, I got myself a nice coupe for my condo garage! Expensive car, really."
Oh, good. Now, I know what to call Mazus..
"Sounds nice, Murphy. You know I was planning on heading down to City Hall today. Wanted to discuss some simple fundraisers towards the church and the people that have been getting diabetes lately. I tell you what. After the movie, I can show you around my pad and you can understand what it means to me right here in Starkweather.."

At the Starkweather Saint Judas Church, Bubba Sheep and some of his fellow bikers of the Oppressors were on their motorbikes, parked across the street from the church, as even though it was a slow day, Bubba had his men wait until the youth choir was leaving. Little kids in their white robes and fancy conservative suits were going down the stone steps, as the Oppressors stood out from the crowds that were doing Sunday service. Bubba, dressed in a leather biker jacket that showed the gang's symbol on the back, where he had a bandana over his hair, showing a black and white image of the Pale Rider. He got off his bike, as he had his men follow.

Inside the old church made from wood of trees that served its purpose and having stained glass windows that gave the church a Gothic vibe, some parishioners were still at the pews. A bit of a bad decision to stand behind for last minute prayers. Even when the Oppressors are doing some "protection" for the church. A young rookie priest, who was unaware of the Father's recurring days with the Oppressors, approached the group of bikers, as Bubba grinned with his handlebar mustache over his mouth. His eyes obscured with his avaitor glasses, but there was a sense that Bubba wanted to destroy the church or watch it collapse. If Bubba had a fetish for anything that wasn't related to women, it was symphorophilia.

"Excuse me, gentlemen! I ask that you do not smoke in the church!" the priest said, having one of the bikers put out the cigarette in their mouths. "Where's Schawb?" Bubba said, as he came for the protection money. "I beg your pardon? I don't know what you want with our Father, but I ask that you must leave! You are disrupting some of our fellow parishioners prayers."
"Where's Father Schawb, huh? Is his dick too short to meet with us? He's afraid to hand in his dues?"
"The Father of this church has no dues to gentlemen like you-" the priest was about to escort them out, but Bubba suddenly grabbed the priest by his collar and forced him over to where a large crucifix of Jesus nailed to his cross was. "Where the fuck is Schawb? Huh!" Bubba wanted an answer, but he got none. He threw the priest against the crucifix, where it shook and didn't topple. "Tell the Father that if we don't get any money soon for his protection, we're going to trash his place! You hear me, you little pipsquack?!"

The priest immediately nodded in fear, but Bubba wasn't having it. "Someone get me a freaking cigarette. I need to give my autograph in some burns for pastor boy here!" Bubba said, as some parishioners were rushing out, where some other bikers were imtimidating others. "Please! I will tell him! I don't want any trouble! I'm only here to help the children!" the priest pleaded, though Bubba burned his cheek with the burning end of a plain white cigarette. "That's right! We better get the money, or we'll burn down the church! Come on, boys!" Bubba said, taking a drag of some toxic nicotine, before he flicked the cigarette at the priest. "Time to leave.." Bubba said, as they left the church, where the priest and the other parishioners were trying to process the damage that was nearly done.

The bus was heading down to Chinatown where Zheng Wheatly lived. He had a hand on one of the poles to keep himself standing, as the bus was making the turn into the bus stop of Chinatown. Zheng adjusted his jacket, as the bus doors opened. Zheng had spent a couple of years in America, but it wasn't unlike his birth country of China. For Zheng, he wanted the American dream. He didn't need to go through Angel Island. Only a plane and some valuables with his family. However, the transition wasn't easy. He ended up being employed by the wrong type of people, who had the right paychecks, but used his skills for something he kept a secret from his family. Being an ex-military man, he wasn't back in the army. He was a mercenary who had to go outside of the state lines for business trips in transporting "shipment".

It was a bit of a warm day, but he still wore a dark grey jacket. The streets of Chinatown had the lustrous colors of red and brown. The year of the goat was this current year, even if it was getting late in the year. Asian immigrants passed through the streets, where some buildings inspired by the traditional pagodas and market streets were the environment for the many immigrants who lived here. As Zheng walked down a market street, he recognized a courier for Ning Wilde. A small package was in the courier's hands, though he knew it had to be stolen. At some stalls, some hawkers and vendors had all sorts of knick-knacks that people could buy. As Zheng walked near a stall, he noticed a pile of board games and other Amerigames that were within.

It was going to be another while, before he had go on another business trip. He needed to make it last. "Excuse me, sir. I would like to have a game, if possible?" Zheng politely said to the vendor, where they started to take advantage of Zheng. "What game would you like?" Zheng spied the stacks of games. His daughter and grandmother would enjoy something simple. Even among the whole game enthusiast's collection that Zheng saw, he recognized a game that was common and was back in his country. "May I have the Monopoly game?"
"That will be 30 dollars."
"30? Why not 20?"
"Want it to be 25 then?"
"...Fine. It better not be used." Zheng said, handing the vendor the money. His family should enjoy this.

Guilherme Lupton was driving in his jeep with some of the other gang members, as they were taking a trip to the bar for a drink. Things have been rather tense lately, since the turf war in Lupton's district was reaching a nasty turn. "Where is this bar again? I think this is Cumberworth's place." Lupton said, as the streets around he was driving was something he was starting to recognize. "Boss, the bar is just through the intersection. Heard the drinks are cheap and service is good." Mateo explained to him in the passenger seat, though Lupton was weary. Just as the car was about to pull into the intersection, Lupton accidently cut off a car belonging to a pissed Aussie, which Lupton learnt the hard way, when the car swerved immediately next to the jeep, where the driver started yelling at Lupton. "You're trying to fucking pop out my taillight, you goddamn shitslinger?!" the driver yelled, but Lupton could hear the heavy accent. Lupton kept his cool by ignoring him, even if the damn Aussie tried to spit at him, before driving off.

"I don't understand why people are so mad these days." Mateo started a conversation, as Lupton continued driving. "Maybe it's due to the state being late on the checks?" Santiago joked, though another member Leonardo doubted it. "What ever happened to life before last year? Stuff was tolerable, now it's like the city has a beef with everyone." "Starkweather isn't the best city to be. That's why I had the thought of moving the gang upstate." Lupton explained, as he was driving. "To where? Philadelphia?" Mateo asked. "Maybe in New York. Bloods wouldn't have a problem with us, than those skinheads at the zoo."
"Look, it's just been a stressful day after the news. I need a beer." Santiago told everyone, as they arrived at the bar.

The Odyssey Bar was a seedy place, but they tried to make it look fancy, even if the interior was dark as a nightclub. The ceiling was covered in a purple velvet that was probably cheap. At least, the drinks were good and the bartender knows how to make a drink for once. But the bathrooms are something to watch out for. Covered in graffiti, where a junkie or two might be inside a stall, getting their kicks from needles of dope. As Lupton and his men were sitting at the end of the bar near the window, Leonardo recognized someone who was near the bartender, talking with a glass of expensive red wine. "Shit! Boss! Look..!" Leonardo whispered to Lupton, where he saw a problem. "That's Vinnie Pabari! What's he doing here?"

Vinnie Pabari. Lupton knows him from the League that Schaeffer runs. He wasn't just some mercenary. He was one of the League's drug traffickers. A mean one at that. Lupton knows that him and the gang had worse to worry about, but Pabari gets a bit excited in getting the chance to kill some people every now and then. Was it due to his former job as a prison executioner was where he was enjoying the violence. The botched mixture of chemicals in the lethal injections might have been his work. It was easy to know where Pabari was. He was the only man with the suit and tie on. Everyone else was dressed in whatever they had as clothes. "Boss...! It's Cumberworth!" Mateo immediately pointed to the window, where Lupton looked.

There was a blonde woman walking to her apartment, as she was heading up the stairs to the door. However, tailing her was Lindor Cumberworth. It was hard to tell at first, due to the overcoat, but it was to conceal the "necklace" of ring fingers that Cumberworth wore like a crazed bastard. He was Starkweather's most infamous extortionist. You say no to him and he tear your finger off and make you a new asshole. Yet, Lupton was "friends" with Cumberworth. "Is that woman even a part of the district?" Mateo asked, where Cumberworth followed the woman into the apartment. By now, she could have been cornered by Cumberworth in the elevator. Made sure the elevator doors couldn't be opened. Had a knife, just to get her to scream, when no one can hear her. "Woman probably owes him money. Unless he's a serial killer suddenly. That white shit has a tendency to turn people's heads to mush." Santiago said, as there was a deathly silence from outside.
"Shame, that woman looked fine." Lupton thought, until he felt a presence and a concealed gasp from one of his men behind him. "You guys are window shopping?"

Pabari was directly behind them, where Lupton tensed up, but made sure that he gotten a bottle of beer before he had a chat with Pabari. "You're buying wine here? Why not at a fancy upscale restaurant?" Lupton said, where he could already see the gun that was hidden in Pabari's suit. Lupton had a gun in the back pocket of his pants, but Pabari had the military training to take them out. Plus, the stampede is too easy to get overwhelmed by when shots go off. "Please. I'm here in polite society and company. Shouldn't you guys be?"
"Well.." Lupton looked to see his men eyeing Vinnie and keeping silent. "We are not in the need for any drugs. We just want a drink."
"Happy hour?"
"Any happy hour is good for us. Drinks are cheap."
"Wine here is still good."
"Why are you on break? I thought you were with Pearson? Where is that emotionally-detached bastard, anyways?"

"A job. But it's none of your concerns, unless you want me to tell Pearson that it should be."

"No. I'm just wondering why you're on break. This isn't the best district to be at. This is near our turf." Lupton gave a passive-aggressive threat to shoo off Pabari. The jeep had bulletproof windows. They could drive back to their turf, if Pabari wanted to tail them. "Right, I think I should still finish my glass of wine, first. I should be given some more respect, though. Good day, gentlemen." Pabari said, before he returned to the end of the bar. "Boss, what should we do. Doesn't Pearson know Nibert?" Mateo said, concerned. "Nibert is the least of our concerns. We just need to stick out of their way for a while. If they strike, we have to defend."

Timothy Harrelson was on the phone with his brother George Harrelson, as Timothy was driving over to the clinic to pick up Rick Pearson, as he had a bit of a slip-up a day after. The Harrelson had their own fair share of infamy, but it had to do with the brother George. You see Timothy had another job, than George. Timothy worked as a doctor at one of the hospitals in Starkweather, which was every parent's dream come true for their kid. But for George...he became trash. Literal trash. He still lived in the same apartment with his mother, who he was caring for. Timothy was well-dressed. Had a girlfriend who he was planning to marry soon. Looked handsome of blond hair and blue eyes in a fancy suit. George was filthy and making ends meet with whatever criminal money he had on him. He would wear clothes so old and would mainly wear trash bags when he was with the gang of violent bums that worshipped him. Then, there was his "relationship" he had with his mother, which Timothy knew he needed to distance himself away from George.

Dolan, however, saw George as a valuable asset. Timothy did things neat. George managed to wow Dolan's expectations. Was that why Timothy saw George as the Abel, while Timothy was the Cain for Dolan? As such, Timothy was discussing some important information about an incoming job that he needed to do for Dolan, where he entrusted George to assist him with the job. "I need you to obtain plans of the Starkweather Museum of History and Fine Art. Dolan wants a specific painting, so I need to convince a guy who is behind on some debts to disable the alarms." Timothy explained to George, however it appeared George was busy with something as his apartment was blasting the song "The Acid Queen" by the Who in the background. "I would need to see if some of my friends would be interested in spying near the museum. I don't have a computer to look up a map." George's words spoke to Timothy, as he sounded almost rasp. Almost monstrous, like someone poured honey into a gaping wound. "Have one of them steal a pamphlet or something! I need to organize something at the end of next week, or Dolan is going to get naggy with me."
"I have MOMMY to try care of, Timothy. I got to make sure that MOMMY is still well. Remember?"
"Just get it done with someone. Ok?"
"Ok-dokey, Timmy! I see if I can-" The phone call was interrupted with a doorbell. It was clear that George was near the front door of his apartment when it happened. "I have to answer it. Bye-bye!"

The phone call ended. George hung up. To Timothy, George was like a deranged child that broke his mind before he had the chance to grow up. Where the scars ran deep for George. Timothy didn't want to think about it. He was coming up to the clinic. He could already recognize Rick Pearson. Rick Pearson. The head mercenary that controls the other hired guns and is the Deimos Trafficking League drug department of the organization. If John Nibert had a bit of a fan favorite on what people he wanted to be with, it was a tie between George Harrelson and Rick Pearson. He liked to have a calling card to his work in killing. For some of his kills, if he knew that some of the work would be easy, he brought a meat tenderizer in his hands. The mallet kind. Large as a hammer, but heavy enough to crack a skull open with ease. If he needed to make sure that his work was really done, he would get a blade. A nice knife or something thinner and longer. Where he would chop off a hand or two and send it to his employers Dolan and Nibert. Were the reasons for this, due to his rough upbringing? Would his real parents take better care of him, than the alcoholic grandmother who whisked him away. What happened to Life Now? Life Now was an organization that Pearson worked with for a cause that was simple. Anti-abortion, as political as it sounded, didn't seem like an issue for Life Now. Unfortunately, the group had an interest in the radicalized. What better weapon of radicalization was the power of fire and some pipe bombs on the sides. The arson attack at an abortion clinic, that led some dead was the end of Life Now. Even if Pearson was one of the people that helped burn down that clinic, he got off scot free and ended up in the grasps of the League.

Today, Pearson was getting out of another type of clinic. A physical therapist for a wrist that he thought might have been strained. He recognized Timothy's car and waited until it pulled over where he got inside. "You got some guns?" Pearson asked, as Timothy was now driving to the address of where their guy was supposed to be. "There's a gun I hid under the seat. We just need to convince some guy that works at the museum to switch off the alarms at night. We can't kill them."
"We been getting boring jobs lately. The hell is special about this painting?"
"Schaeffer said, it's from some Dutch artist that is supposed to be getting some recognition for an art show in Los Angeles. Price is going to raise as a result."
"I sell drugs. Not paintings. Some of the designer drug shit that's supposed to be given a test batch or two has been delayed for more months."
"The fuck are you making in that lab that you overseeing?"
"It's not meth. Nor is it heroin."
"It's supposed to have some ingredients from the drug like that, but there isn't a drug of it we could give it, yet."
"I guess you're a wizard then."
"I don't make drugs, Tim. I sell them."

After a while, the two pulled up in front of an apartment building near a bookmaker's shop. "What does the guy look like?" "We're after two guys. Guy lives with his mixed twin. They going to look alike, so help me get the other twin and throw them all in the living room, so we can work this out." Timothy said, getting out of the car, as they hid their pistols behind their coats. Entering the front door of the apartment, they headed up the stairs where Timothy checked the address. "104. Hide the gun!" Timothy gave a knock at the door, where he could see some footsteps heading to the door. "I kick down the door for you." The door opened where a man peeked through the door, since it was still locked with a chain lock, as the man on the other side gave a simple reply. "Hello?"

Timothy replied with delivering a heavy kick to the door, where it managed to break the chain lock, also. Damn thing was flimsy. Guy was sent back, also. Harrelson and Pearson entered the room with their guns drawn, as Timothy started to interrogate the poor sap. "Where the fuck is your brother, huh? Lockie, where is he?!" Timothy kept the gun pointed at the twin, as the three heard a loud sound at the bathroom of the apartment. "Tim, get the guy! I take care of this asshole!" Rick said, as Timothy started to bolt to the back of the apartment, where he kicked down the bathroom door to see Lockie going through the window that led to the fire escape. "Get the fuck back here, you motherfucker!" Timothy had to go through the window, also as Lockie was sliding down the fire escape ladder. Lockie jumped off from the ladder, but as he was bolting down an alley, Lockie's foot went on top of a glass bottle on its side, as he slipped and tumbled down, crushing the bottle, where his arm was covered in glass shards. Some of them were sticking into his arm.

Timothy caught up with him, where he kicked the back of his shin, as he forced him up and threw him against the wall. Lockie tried to scream, but Timothy forced his gun into his mouth. "Listen here, asswipe! You work at the Starkweather Museum of History and Fine Art, right? Nod, if this is true!" Lockie immediately nodded, where Timothy stated the following. "Now you look here. Next Friday, you're going to turn off the alarms of where you work. You are to not make a fucking sound to anyone about this conversation, or I make sure to have you and your brother in the dumpsters, if you squeal! Can you do something like that? I have a bullet in my gun and several many in my clip to prove it."

Lockie was trying to plead, which Timothy knew he got the message across. However, just as he forced Lockie off from the wall, Timothy suddenly realized that someone was watching...

"The fuck?" Timothy let the words slip, as a man looking like a deer in the headlights as Timothy realized that the guy might squeal before Lockie did. The man looked like a wannabe boxer. Muscular, but this guy looked like the real tough guy. Dressed like some farmer wearing fancy clothes. "Hey! Hey man, I just want to talk with you quick." Timothy tried to act like there was a misunderstanding to the guy, but the man suddenly took off. "Hey! Shit! Don't fucking move!" Timothy yelled at Lockie, as he started to chase after the witness. The man ran down the alley that led back to the street where the front of the apartments was, where he immediately got his car keys to unlock his white car from a distance. Clicking twice on the button, the doors were unlocked, as the man immediately opened the door to the driver's seat as he started to turn his keys into the ignition. Problem for Timothy was that the car had a ready-to-start engine. Showed that the car was well looked after. The man started the ignition, where he put the stick at drive. "Hey! Come the hell back! I just want to talk!" Timothy went all passive-aggressive, as the car shifted forward where Timothy slammed his fist into the passenger side window. Didn't bust the whole window, but a large crack was visible. Guy in the driver's seat knew how to get the hell out of there. The speed of the car accelerated, as Timothy grabbed onto the side of the car as it was heading down the road, where Timothy ended up getting his legs dragged on the tarmac, as he had to let go where he tumbled.

Timothy took a look at the white car, as it sped away fast. Car ran a red light, just to get the hell away from Timothy. Timothy saw the license plate, so that was something to say to Pearson. All Timothy did was sit on the road, until a car from behind him honked their horn. "I'm trying to drive, dipshit!" the clueless driver yelled at Timothy, where Timothy showed the driver his gun and dented the driver's side with a kick. "You want a piece of shit, because I put a bullet into your head!" Timothy vented, where he knew the driver got the point. However, Schaeffer was going to get pissed that a witness was on the loose. He tried to think the best of it. Be honest to Schaeffer and he can see if someone from the police department tried to file a report. If so, Schaeffer is most likely going to send a corrupt cop to silence the witness.

Pearson exited the building, where Timothy was in not such a good mood. "The fuck happened?"
"Some guy saw it."
"Saw what? Who?"
"I was just trying to intimidate the guy! Where's Lockie?"
"He's with his brother. Went back in to play a hero, but I ripped a tooth out from both of them to really convince them."
"We have a problem we need to tell Schaeffer. Some bastard saw me. Had to have been a better or someone. I tell him when we're driving to that meeting at the farmlands."
"It's just one guy. We will kill the bastard, don't worry. Come on. I think you have a skid mark or two on your ass." Pearson said, as the two ended up back in their own car.

Glenn Marsh

Glenn Marsh tried to relax himself. He was tense. Still tense. He never had a problem with people in Starkweather. What he was doing wasn't illegal. Illict looking, but he had his reasons. He has been coming out from the backdoor to head to his car every time he went to the bookmaker, so he can walk down to the liquor store to buy some canned beer for back home. This time, however, some thug with a gun looked like he wanted to give him a piece of his mind for seeing some other lowlife get roughhoused. Blaring from his car radio was a song from Metallica of the song Welcome Home. A bit of a Metallica fan, he was. He knew a good radio channel. As he was driving, he was heading out of the city limits to head to Gladstone that wasn't far from Starkweather. When he got to a stop sign, he flipped over his phone to see a voicemail from one of the farmhands who helped out around the Marsh's farm. As a woman with pink hair who was jogging past Glenn's car, Glenn had his phone play the voicemail for Dale.

"Hey Mr. Marsh. It's me, Dale. I know you're busy in the city, but I needed to let you know that we might need a mechanic for one of the tractors. Stick controls ain't helping like they should. Listen, we're finishing up work on the crops. Harvest will be fine, but we end our shift when you arrive. Hope today was still a good day. I see if the boys from the community union would be interested in what you hear from the meeting you're doing tonight. See ya."

Glenn Marsh and some other farmers had a problem in Gladstone, due to one fancy cat from Starkweather. This fancy cat or a polite term was some millionaire wanted a chunk of land for a building he had been feasting his eyes on. Land was good, but it was only good for farming. This millionaire wanted to make a pig farm and slaughterhouse on the land, claiming that it was a part of the city's needs. The site was directly in between several other farms, where the main problem came from the fact that by having the pig farm and slaughterhouse among the farms, it would end up decreasing the value of all the properties nearby, forcing the owners to sell. Damn building will cause environmental waste that makes the whole cozy lifestyle of Gladstone to be ruined. That was why Marsh was a keen, if not, top supporter of the community union, which wanted to oppose the construction of the slaughterhouse.

As he was away from the buildings and urban jungle of Starkweather, he was now passing by crops in acres as he ended up in Gladstone. He was starting to see his farm in the distance. He saw Dale and Steven near the crops, tending to them. Glenn acted cool, as he pulled up in front of the house, as he parked the car. "Howdy Dale. Howdy Steven. Making the crops look good before the city folk come?" Glenn asked Dale and Steven. "Crops are looking mighty fine for the harvest later! Think this will be enough for this year?"
"Corn looks good enough to feed the school. I got the voicemail on the tractor. I get it fixed up with help from the mechanic. You best be heading home to your wives."
"Hey, Mr Marsh. Your window is busted. Something slammed into it." Steven said, who grew up as an African-American in the South. "Some car opened their door and slammed into it hard. I get it fixed. You two take care!"

Dave and Stevens left, as Glenn opened the screen door to his home and used his house keys to unlock the door. The Marsh residence and farm was part of the family of his wife Emily. When he moved in with her, he made sure the farm was still good so they could put it to good use. Glenn was more of a city boy back in Baltimore, but he was tired of city life in his early 20's, which led to him meeting Emily. You see people thought that Glenn once served in the army, due to his build. However, he actually was originally a boxer in Baltimore. Glenn "The Tank" Piggs. He didn't retire from being a boxer. He quit his career, since the fights were being more rigged. A lot of people were letting Glenn give them a beating and some started demanding that Glenn start taking falls. He didn't want to piss off the wrong types of people. As a result, he quit. However, he has been attending the bookmakers lately to see what was up in the fights. As he opened the door, the family dog Otis, who was a large friendly hound, ended up greeting its owner. "Easy boy! I got to check the mail!" Glenn said, as he checked the mail that was through the mail slot. The mailbox accidently broke due to some termites, which caused a bit of a scare, but Glenn had the mailman deliver his mail through the mail slot. It was just Glenn and the dog in the house. Emily and the kids were still at the school. Glenn checked his silver watch that was a gift from his wife. 2:30. They might start coming home in a while, until Emily has errands to do.

Glenn looked over the envelopes. Water and heating bill. Dog grooming. Plumbing. Baby shower for one of the people in the community. Harvest info. Glenn took interest in that last part, since they were doing a picnic, which was one of Emily's favorite things to do as a hobby. Day of the harvest would be good to have a BBQ and a thing of beer. Glenn checked to make sure the dog still had food, where he got himself a cup of water to drink. There was a post-it note on to have the meat thaw in the sink for dinner. Glenn did just that, as he took a lot at the crayon drawings on the fridge from Annie and Marston. There was a bit of a copy of a grocery list on what was needed. Sugar, dog biscuits, focaccia (to make dinner new), butter, toothbrushs (Annie's toothbrush was flushed down the toilet by accident), and printer paper.

There was still the paper from yesterday, but Glenn already looked at it. It was only World News nonsense from China and how it could affect the election next year. Glenn didn't have a chance to look more into the candidates. After a while, he went to the living room, where he saw family pictures of all sorts. There was Emily at church with Glenn. A picture of Otis as a puppy. Pictures of the kids. Glenn went into the living room, which had a large TV and a working VHS player. Was Glenn still old-school with VHS? Of course? Why not? He still had his Haunt of Fear comic books in his bedroom bookshelf, also. Emily didn't see a problem with that. There was tons of VHS tapes in a drawer near the TV. A lot of it was direct-to-video stuff that Glenn loved. From low budget horror films that Glenn made sure that the kids didn't see the covers of to not traumatize them and some poorly-dubbed Hong Kong kung-fu flicks. For some variety, there was a VHS that was a documentary of World War 2 and reruns of a show called American Gothic back in the 90s. Glenn could be in the living room until the family came home to watch a cooking show, but Glenn wanted to stroll around the house quick, before he had a chance to head up to his office.

There was a bit of a lounge area in another room. A large hearth connected to a brick by brick chimney was below a mantlepiece that had a slew of both Glenn and Emily Marsh. Some of them together. Some during a vacation. There was a good picture of Glenn in the woods. There was a large wedding photo that had both Glenn in a groom outfit and his bride Emily looking young. There was a bookcase nearby. None of the kids touched the books, though some of it was friendly for them. There was two books on how to draw. A nice Italian cookbook from New York that Glenn got that knows how to whip up a good themed steak and some cookies. A psychology and a calculus book. The Wednesday Wars by Gary D. Schmidt. A bible for when church had to be closed. There was a copy of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. There was even a book about the Naples Dioscurides. Glenn noticed the golf club in the corner of the room that was meant to be a present from his brother Chet, who lived more up a couple states. Glenn didn't want to do golf, but he had no idea on how to get rid of it.

Bedrooms were upstairs with his office. As Glenn went up the stairs, he opened the door to his office, as he started to check his computer for some emails. There was a bit of an urgent one from the title alone. "GARY GONE ROGUE" the email screamed at Glenn, as he clicked it open to see what was it was about. "Not good.." Gary was a part of the community union to go against the slaughterhouse, but it looks like Gary was apparently paid off and now was trying to convince people to let the construction happen. Someone from the company was paying people off, but Glenn didn't have the confirmation to know if it was true. It could explain why Whitman, who was strongly favoriting the construction also with his spoiled family, was also trying to push the construction. The meeting was supposed to happen tonight.

As Glenn was working in his office, he heard a car pull into the driveway. Ah, it must be Emily and the kids! Glenn started to head downstairs to tell her about tonight. She wouldn't mind, would she?
Last edited by Main Nation Ministry on Sat Nov 14, 2020 4:12 pm, edited 2 times in total.
Local 22 year old Diet Coke Addict College Student Ruins Everything


RPs I do
- How do you do fellow kids? You want to see something violent? - Artemis: Deimos Trafficking League (Horror/Mature)
- Descend into the forgotten tourist traps of Florida on this transgressive RP! - The Community (Mature/Black Comedy/Slice-of-Life)

My overall account that I use for P2TM and even for international roleplaying! MNM is a mysterious and extremely dangerous dictatorship filled with supernatural oddities, demons, militarized soldiers everywhere, and a misanthropic nihilistic dictator who doesn't give a damn. It's basically if the SCP Foundation got mixed with 1984.

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Infected Mushroom
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Posts: 38812
Founded: Apr 15, 2014
Corrupt Dictatorship

Postby Infected Mushroom » Sun Sep 27, 2020 8:13 am

Gladstone Elementary School

Emily Marsh

The windows were large. The sunlight shone brightly into the large, colourful classroom. The walls were filled with colored pencil drawings, paper crafts, and posters. There was a large bulletin board with an orange background with papers pinned on.

The teacher was only 26 years old. The woman had medium-length brown hair and a country girl face. Emily Marsh (“Mrs. Marsh”) was teaching a class of fifth grade English Language Arts. There were twenty students.

The blackboard was up, and every student faced forward from his or her desk.

It was near the end of the term so it was time to play fun revision games; in this case, one of Emily’s favorites, a modified jeopardy game with teams. Accordingly, the board was now marked with questions generally worth 100 to 1100 points. The idea had come to Emily on the fly. She could tell the students were loving it; it was almost as effective as the 3D animal farm group project from last semester. The categories for the jeopardy were Short Stories, Vocab, Poetry, Grammar (because most of the students were not enamored with grammar, those questions were worth more), and Miscellaneous. The tally and the questions used were being updated on the board; the four teams were Team Disney, Team Dennis Rocks, Team No Name and Team Happy. It was a close one and there were a few points of extra credit on the line for the winning team.

The students took turns to answer the questions; there was a degree of excited chattering. Emily ensured that everyone got a turn.

In contrast to the prior week, this was more of a fun activity; after all, the students deserved to have some fun, after having finished a series of presentations.

Still… I can’t make it too easy. Have to make them think.

She had put in a number of questions that required them to go the extra step. For these, she would prompt and guide the ensuring discussion to get as close as possible.

Such adorable, happy students…

She liked this class, they were well-behaved and asked lots of good questions.

Emily turned and looked up at the clock on the wall.

“Well my my,” she said loudly. “It’s time to go already. Time flies when we’re having FUN… right?”

“Yes Mrs. Marsh,” Patrick called out. There was excited chatter as many students began to pack up their school bags.

There was a serious expression on Ed Gartner; he seemed to bite his lip as he raised his hand.

“Settle down everyone… QUIET,” Emily said, raising her voice somewhat. “Ed you have a question?”

Ed was sitting next to Emily’s son, Marston Marsh. However, as a fair teacher Emily avoided playing favorites at all costs.

The class turned and looked at Ed.

“Mrs. Mash, is pink a girl’s color?” Ed asked earnestly.

There were a few snickers and giggles from the side. It was a random question but Emily bit.

“Well…” Emily said, smiling. “Not necessarily. Pink is a beautiful color and both boys and girls are allowed to like it.”

“My sister said pink is a girl’s color,” Ed said. “She says boys are not allowed to like pink.”

“I don’t think so. Well… look at it like this way,” Emily said. “Is red a boy’s color AND a girl’s color?”

“It can be,” Ed replied.

“Is white a boy’s color AND a girl’s color?” she looked at him closely.

“… sure.”

“What do you get when you mix red and white together?” Emily asked, looking at him closely.

There was a moment of priceless revelation.

So adorable… I think he’s beginning to connect-


“Alright,” Emily said, considering the matter settled. “Class is dismissed. Let’s stand up, take your bags, and line up by the door. Unless you want to stay for… NEXT CLASS TOO.”

There was no next class; the day had ended.

A few of the girls looked at her mischievously. Emily flashed a thumbs up at them as she moved up to the door.

There was movement towards the door as the class prepared to leave; a very neat line was formed… after which Emily opened the door and said, “Have a lovely afternoon everyone!”

The students walked out.

“Yes you too Marston,” she said. "Wait with your sister outside."

I’ll see you outside. You know the drill.

Emily was about to go but then she saw Rebecca Coulter approach her timidly.

“I…. I have a few questions about the homework,” she said timidly. “I… do you want to see?”

“Let’s go to my desk,” Emily said warmly, always eager to help. “I’ll take a look.”

A few minutes later, Rebecca walked out of the room. She rejoined her friends at the lockers. They were engaging in some gossip.

On a normal day, Emily might stay behind and do some marking of assignments; tweaking a few materials and doing some prep. She was also involved with heading a few extracurriculars a few times a week (B Team Girl’s Basketball and the Culinary Club).

Someone should have warned me about all this marking when I signed up.

Still, leaving the farm's day to day running to Glenn and switching over to teaching was a good call. She loved interacting with the children. The job suited her perfectly. Meanwhile, Glenn was someone she could trust to run the family business.

Today she had to go home though. Emily had already worked it out with Glenn; she would be home much earlier. This way they, as a couple, could go over their plan one more time to tackle this obnoxious pig farm and slaughterhouse proposal. Glenn wanted to make a strong impression at the union meeting, and Emily wanted to help as much as she could for the preparation. They made a great team for this sort of thing.

Glenn was very active in the community; it was one of the many things Emily loved about her husband. She was always telling her students to go out there and change the world for the better.

The proposal from the millionaire bothered her greatly. The more she thought about it, the less sense it made.

I don’t think it even makes that much sense to THEM… even from a business owner’s point of view…

On the way out, Emily walked by the science teacher, Ms. Linda Lane.

“Hi Emily!”

“Afternoon Linda,” Emily said, pausing.

“Hey that town meeting thing… it’s tonight isn’t it?” Linda asked.

“Sure thing,” Emily said. “Which is why I’ve got to head home now. Glenn and I have got to go over the thing one more time.”

“I’m sure you’ll be fine,” Linda said. “I wish you the best of luck. I hope you show em.”

“Thanks a bunch,” Emily said. “I’ve got to run. See you tomorrow.”


Can’t keep the kids waiting too long.

Marston and Annie were waiting outside by the entrance. They needlessly kept their bags on their backs the whole time, which must be causing some strain by now. Emily frowned briefly.

“Hello children!” Emily said brightly as she approached the area outside the school. As she walked by, she waved at the janitor as well. “Good afternoon Grace!”

“Afternoon Mrs. Marsh!”

Emily finally reached the children.

Both Marston and Annie had brown hair, just like their parents. In fact, Annie, very closely resembled her mother. Marston was quite the little athlete; he successfully tried out for the school soccer team. Annie was more bookish; however, at times she was even more outspoken than her older brother.

“Mom you’re late,” Annie said.

“Sorry, I was held up,” Emily said, smiling. “BUT HEY… you’ll still make it home FASTER than the usual time right?”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Marson remarked sarcastically.

“What’s for dinner?” Annie asked.

“You’re going to love it,” Emily said. “It’s a surprise. Tonight’s an important day, and we are going to do everything correctly.”

“Isn’t there some boring town meeting thing?” Marson said.

“It’s not boring,” Annie insisted. “I want to go too. Is it age-restricted?”


“Yes,” Emily chuckled as she playfully roughed up her daughter’s hair. “It’s for grown-ups only, but don’t worry, some day… your turn will come.”

All around them, parents were picking up the children. The three Marshs had reached the parking area overlooking a large playground with a swings area and children practicing soccer in the distance. They could see a long line for the school bus not far from where they stood.

Emily took out the keys from inside her jeans.

“Mom I would love to drive too,” Marston said with a wide grin.

“When you’re old enough,” Emily said drily as she opened the door to the red car and got in the driver’s seat.

The red car was on the road.

The sky was bright and blue in the early afternoon. Idyllic and stunning countryside scenery was on either side of the highway. Gladstone was quite a large farming community, the Marsh farm was but one of many.

Emily had spent most of her life here in Gladstone. She had gone to Starkweather and other parts of the country but it was here in Gladstone that she felt most at home. She was a true local and unlike many women from the cities, she was very outdoorsy and experienced with farm equipment and firearms. Emily loved the community of Gladstone; she knew everyone here.

She was really looking forward to harvest and the upcoming celebrations and family events.

But first… we have to deal with that annoying city-based proposal.

“So what music are we playing?” Emily asked. “Annie, today it’s your turn to choose…. right?”

“Yes Mom,” Annie said. “I want to pick… hmmmm….. hmmmm-“

“Pick Metallica-“ Marston said loudly.

“NOOOOOOOOOOO!” Annie cried out. Marston grinned mischievously.

“What are you choosing dear?” Emily asked.

“I’ll just do the radio,” Annie said. “Let’s try something new and it’ll be random. Pick any channel.”

Emily beamed as she adjusted to radio mode. The first channel they came across was playing peaceful classical music.

The red car pulled up at the Marsh family home. The three of them got out. Emily unlocked the front door and entered.

“HONEY!” Emily said loudly and brightly. “I’m home! … Hi Otis!”

The dog ran up immediately to greet the newcomers. Annie and Marston began to play around with the joyous pet by the entrance.

Emily walked by and saw Glenn coming down from the stairs.

Husband and wife briefly made out; even after many years of marriage, the passion was still strong. It was not the case for many of the surrounding marriages and the two were lucky in this regard.

Marston strafed by, in the process making a Yucked Out face. Annie reprimanded her older brother. “Come Marston, don’t be so immature!”

“You even know what that word means?” Marston asked.

Emily pulled away and said loudly: “Remember, don’t leave your bags out by the entrance. That’s a mess. Also… don’t think you’re excused from homework time!”

At length she turned to address the issue.

“Is everything in place for tonight?” she asked Glenn. “How’s it looking?”

The stakes were high. After all, this would affect their farm, and everything they've worked for. She felt responsible.
Last edited by Infected Mushroom on Sun Sep 27, 2020 6:11 pm, edited 10 times in total.

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Main Nation Ministry
Posts: 13014
Founded: Sep 28, 2016
Psychotic Dictatorship

Postby Main Nation Ministry » Mon Sep 28, 2020 10:49 am

Glenn Marsh

When Emily Marsh and the kids returned to the house, Glenn had already gotten himself ready for the town meeting. Wearing a large jacket and a little hat, he greeted Emily the best way he knew how. A kiss, of course. They were probably the luckiest family in the town for having a good marriage, even if they ended up marrying young. "I got the paperwork I want to present for the meeting. Everyone and their husbands are going to be at the town meeting. Nanny is coming over to watch the kids for a few hours." Glenn went over to the red car, as he took a look at his white sedan, which still had the broken window.

"It's best to look neat, if I drive in your car. Some vandal thought it was funny to throw a rock at my window, while I was making a trip to Starkweather." Glenn said, making up a bit of a small lie to Emily. He didn't want to concern her over the incident in the alley. Things were already stressing out the community with the slaughterhouse. He didn't want to add onto the problems Glenn was trying to solve. He had all the work he needed. Paperwork contained in a black binder clip, which he gave to Emily to hold on.

"Alright. We went over this. We're fighting for the community. Make sure that the Whitmans don't do anything weaselly." Glenn explained in the car, as he had back Marston and Annie head inside of the house with Otis. Glenn drove the car away from the farmyard, as he kept the car radio to play some classical music. Not his favorite, but he knows that Emily was into it a bit.

Somewhere on route..

Dolan Schaeffer was heading to a little community called Gladstone, since a little major project of his was being thrown under controversy. Bribing wasn't working on some of the most gullible of idiots. Then again, what could you expect from trying to add an urbanized pig farm and slaughterhouse. It didn't make sense to the most rational of people. Wasn't there already a meat processing plant in Starkweather? Why add another slaughterhouse?

Actually, to Dolan. Among some other associates, the whole proposed property was a cover for another one of Dolan's criminal activities. He needed to increase the production of drugs being shipped from the city. By adding another drug lab, which he already had one in the other slaughterhouse in the city, he could increase the profits much better. A little gains, in exchange for a monopoly. Not that anyone would complain? Would they? Who wants to live in the middle of near nowhere? Dolan thought that, being one of arrogant, but with heavy power.

Dolan was in his own limo, as his driver was driving him to where the town meeting was being held, where Timothy Harrelson and Vinnie Pabari were in the limo with him. A look of uncertainity from Timothy, as he had already told Dolan the news. He didn't take it lightly. Might explain why Dolan is passive-aggresively sharing some champagne with him. Dolan didn't say a word. He only needed Timothy for added security. It's just a bunch of farmers, really. They wouldn't damage him.

As the horizon of twilight was starting to appear, the limo radio was playing some Metallica, where-

"Driver! Change the damn station! I hate that Metallica shit." Dolan said, where both Timothy and Vinnie was noticing that Schaeffer appeared to be in a discomposed mood. As the driver fiddled with the radio, the radio started playing something else entirely, which amused Dolan. A song from Nine Inch Nails. Out of all the songs that Dolan could have heard, the one that starts playing was "Closer".

"There we go.." Dolan kicked back, as Timothy shot Vinnie an uncomfortable look. Vinnie didn't share the same expression. Only a blank one, which Timothy knew translated to "Keep to the job".

The Meeting

Not everyone showed up to the meeting that was held by the union. Those that didn't care or were bribed didn't attend. Those that were bribed, the Whitmans out of all people, attended in hopes of stirring the union to cease the resistance against the construction of the project. The meeting was held in a recreation center, where in a bit of a large room and a makeshift podium was where a whole bunch of people showed up. Some annoyed farmers. A sheriff deputy. Glenn and Emily. Along with the other supportive union members. All bundled together in one large room that was serving as a billiards hall, but was organized in an improvised meeting ground. The gym back at the school was occupied for another event of a basketball game.

"Settle down! Settle down, everyone! We know why we're here." Glenn was talking, where Emily was at the sidelines with others to help out Glenn when necessary. Now, with the events of the last week and so, it's our best bet that Gladstone remains the tranquil place that it is. We're here for an agreement. Not something that can disrupt us all here." Glenn continued explaining, as some farmers were voicing their concerns. "We can't have the government or city government allow this monstrosity in Gladstone! Don't we get free restrictions for our farmland?" one farmer told Glenn, where another vented some frustration. "We been serving the IRS! Why can't they tax the hell out of the thing before it exists!?"
"IRS doesn't do that, Jim?"
"They don't? I thought they did?"
"No, Jim. I don't think IRS can do that."

"Wait! Glenn! What about the city officials back in Starkweather?! " another eager union member Daniel asked Glenn, concerning the problem. "Isn't Starkweather a factor in this? You have the papers that shows they have a slaughterhouse in the city. So why are they bringing another one here?!"
"That's a very good question, Daniel. It's likely that the city is acting as a benefactor to the owners of the Schaeffer company to fund their project. The problem is the city would notified us about this. This is an opportunity to strike in some legal action. Especially since we all know about how the slaughterhouse will cause the land to decrease in value."

There was some cheers from those who agreed. "They can't be turning our streams red and brown!" one farmer said, until someone started to let out a mock laugh. Almost one sounding like a forced donkey. Everyone in the room turned to the source. It was Mr. Whitman and his wife and spoiled daughter. Whitman had a look that he wasn't amused at all. Nor did he look happy, even if he was smiling. "Who cares about your land? It just land, that's what it is!"
"Whitman! Isn't your land directly next to the proposed area?"
"Why do I give a fuck? You asshats just can't accept change for once, while you're wasting an opportunity here!" Whitman's statements were immediately met with some angry jeers.

"Whitman! You have been the buzzkill in this community recently!"
"Yeah, Whitman! You're going to be broke immediately when this ruins your crops!"

"My husband knows what he is doing, unlike you pansies!" Whitman's wife spoke up, where she was just as unpleasant as her husband. "My wife is right! You're just upset that your farm is much smaller than your, than some industrialist doing his job. You know-," Whitman was getting angry jeers again, where he laid this gem, "-it's your fault for this mess! Being so pissy that someone is making their own property, so you act like fucking childish brats, since you're mad that your failing crops are going to fail again!"

"Whitman! The hell is wrong with you?!" one farmer started to look hostile, until Glenn had to yell to get his point across. "Everyone! Everyone! Settle down!" Glenn waited until everyone was calm, until he shot a glare at Whitman and his family. "It's important to remember that some of us, despite the acres that we have, are only dependent on our crops and grains. Some of us are working in multiple jobs. Part-time, perhaps. However, many of us in Gladstone can agree that we have a problem in our hands." Glenn said, where he didn't want to call out Whitman. Why the hell was Whitman so committed to having the pig heap be built in Gladstone.

Unknownst to many, including to Glenn, the Whitman family had a scheme going for them. Unlike some farmers who would have to sell their land, if the value would decrease, the Whitmans had a help from a "fancy birdie" from a couple of cities away in Maryland. The "birdie" explained to them, that they had the chance to engage in an insurance buyout from the construction. Schaeffer was bribing them with a reasonable amount that was suitable, however the "birdie" who happened to be an attorney explained that there would still be the chance that the property that Schaeffer was making could be forced to expand into their own property. With a help of pushing the city to do some eminent domain, since the city of Starkweather was truly a benefactor to the slaughterhouse, the Whitmans could get bribed again with the money given to them by the city government.

To make matters more interesting and somewhat illegal, the Whitmans will lie about their land being unsellable, despite the fact that they already found a buyer that they were planning to scam from out of the state to sell to them their land. All of this would result in the Whitmans being involved in a scam that would get Schaeffer in trouble, as well.

"The owners of the property will be here any minute! The best course of action is to have their property be moved away from Gladstone. There's already areas close to their city limits that look eligible for development. By having the issue be brought to a business agreement, we can avoid involvement in the property." Glenn explained some more, where it took a while until suddenly the doors opened. Glenn was the first to notice them, as he went silent for a bit, where the crowd turned to see it was. Whitman and his family immediately let out a smile.

Dolan Schaeffer walked in the room, walking his trademark grey suit and had his sunglasses in a breast pocket of his. Vinnie Pabari and Timothy Harrelson were acting as bodyguards, where Dolan had them look the part. "I'm sorry I'm late. I've been caught in some traffic. Very nasty." Schaeffer said, where Whitman started clapping, until Glenn shot him another glare. "Listen. I have been getting your emails. Your concerns. Your exchanges. I want to try to show you all how beneficial it would be to not just Starkweather, but to Gladstone as well on how the Gladstone/Starkweather Slaughterhouse and Farm could help the communites of both." Schaeffer explained, where a farmer tried to let out some criticism. "Hey! What about the-"
"He's talking, dipshit!" Whitman's wife silenced the farmer, where Schaeffer was a bit caught off-guard at that statement.

"I think everyone here is a bit tense. I understand that. But we shouldn't resort to violence." Schaeffer said, where Glenn got the paperwork ready. "Mr. Schaeffer. Are you aware that the slaughterhouse will affect land values to other properties?"
"Land values? I'm only in control to making sure the slaughterhouse functions as it should. You would need to speak with the foreman for the project. You could contact my company to have a word with them."
"The land values for our properties is bound to go down, due to the environmental effects that the slaughterhouse will bring. There's pictures I archived that shows how something as your pig house will affect our land."
"Mr. Marsh, is it? I understand your role in the union. I was part of the union, once also. Back when I was working at some docks. However, the world is growing. The Starkweather Meat Processing Plant needs more meat to feed the kids. I'm aware that some aren't going to see this as reasonable at first. I'm aware that some are agitated, but this is the only land that is suitable for construction."
"Mr. Schaeffer. I doubt it. Is the city letting you do construction? You're aware of the violations this could lead, if the property is unregulated or authorized?"
"Of course, Starkweather is aware. The mayor knows. There's the new judge who knows. I have documents that has been filled out. You still need to remember this is perfectly normal for construction of the pig farm and slaughterhouse. Think of it as a popularity swing. It's better to make sure to find ways to push out what the public wants. It will be unpopular at first, but soon the people will see it as necessary."

"You seem like more of a politician than an owner of such an industrialized organization, Schaeffer." Glenn added, as he knew that something was a bit up. "I'm a philanthropist. I donate to those who are suffering from diabetes and I'm trying to help PETA, also. The Schaeffer Foundation serves to help many in the city." Schaeffer said, trying to put up a compassive act to the farmers. However, Glenn was starting to take notice at some of Schaeffer's bodyguards. He didn't notice them at first, thinking that they were business associates, along with being hidden in the crowd. But Glenn started to recognize one of Schaeffer's bodyguards. Timothy was the first to notice, but he couldn't say a word to Schaeffer, as there were people around him. Yet, when Glenn noticed that Timothy was here and was the one to bust in his window, Timothy realized that he was going to be screwed.

"Mr. Schaeffer. While I hate to be a bit rude on this topic, but are some of your company's working licit?" Glenn said, now recognizing Timothy. "Licit? Of course, they are licit! It's understandable to know why you asked that question. Crime rates are increasing in Starkweather, but I'm still in a range that I'm high-risk. Among the charities I engage in, I fund the police department and some other buildings to turn Starkweather around." Dolan explained, but Glenn knew something was up.

Though, it looked like it was a chance for Emily to speak out to Dolan on some issues that she might have some concerns with.
Local 22 year old Diet Coke Addict College Student Ruins Everything


RPs I do
- How do you do fellow kids? You want to see something violent? - Artemis: Deimos Trafficking League (Horror/Mature)
- Descend into the forgotten tourist traps of Florida on this transgressive RP! - The Community (Mature/Black Comedy/Slice-of-Life)

My overall account that I use for P2TM and even for international roleplaying! MNM is a mysterious and extremely dangerous dictatorship filled with supernatural oddities, demons, militarized soldiers everywhere, and a misanthropic nihilistic dictator who doesn't give a damn. It's basically if the SCP Foundation got mixed with 1984.

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Infected Mushroom
Post Czar
Posts: 38812
Founded: Apr 15, 2014
Corrupt Dictatorship

Postby Infected Mushroom » Mon Sep 28, 2020 11:15 pm

Emily Marsh

Emily had been watching from the side.

Emily sensed from past emails between the parties that Schaeffer and his organization seemed evasive; they seemed to avoid the major concerns of the community. Now that she finally saw him; she sensed that something was off. She wasn’t quite sure what it was. She sensed he was hiding something. Or maybe she just didn’t like big city corporate leaders?

God I hope I’m not that prejudiced... I'm sure... I'm sure he has his reasons.

Still, she needed to believe this could be worked out. A court battle would be a big strain on the community; resources would have to be pooled. She wasn’t sure how long the Gladstone community alliance could hold.

She wasn’t officially a high ranking union member and perhaps it was out of place for her to speak... but this was her home and she felt herself getting increasingly emotional.

There was a gap in the conversation so she stepped forth to the center. Standing next to Glenn, she spoke to Schaeffer.

“Ex... excuse me,” she said a little nervously. “Hi, err Mr. Schaeffer.”

Everyone looked at her.

Emily was a bit nervous, it seemed different when she wasn’t addressing her students. She was considerably more nervous addressing a powerful adult, in a public setting. However, now was not the time for nervousness.

“And who might you be?” Dolan said, eying the brunette with some interest.

“This is my wife Emily,” Glenn said cautiously, still eying Timothy with suspicion. Timothy and Vinnie were glaring right back.

“Its not your turn Em-“ Mr. Whitman began but a few people started booing him.

“Now that’s enough settle down!” Glenn said crossly.

There was a pause.

Emily cleared her throat and said to Dolan:

“You’re a philanthropist Mr. Schaeffer, you want to help people. Then please help us. Please make the facility somewhere else. We can even help, there must be suitable land elsewhere. Please reconsider.”

She looked at him imploringly.

Under the normal circumstances Dolan may have interrupted but somehow, he seemed intrigued.

“I know you must have your reasons,” she said, and she walked around a little bit as her confidence grew slightly. “But we... the people of Gladstone, are going to take a very big hit from this. Families will be forced to sell their lands and move. Families that have been here for several generations.”

“My dear,” Dolan interrupted. “It’s not that simple.”

“Then please explain it to us,” she implored him, looking at him directly. “Why does it have to be Gladstone? Why not somewhere else? You say this is the only suitable land, but Glenn and the others have sent you reports suggesting other places... better places to build. There are other options in the city limits.”

“That’s right,” Glenn said coldly, all the while still eyeballing Dolan’s guards.

“My investors aren’t thrilled about those-“ Dolan began but he stopped because he saw that Emily walked to the edge of the podium where a few families were watching the event.

She stood close to a couple, then she turned around and addressed Dolan.

“This is Lyndon and Martha James. Their family has been on the land for four generations. They are proud of what they do and someday they hope to pass on the family farm. But now... now their future is uncertain.”

Dolan Schaeffer

Dolan watched with absolute disbelief as Martha wiped a tear away and Lyndon patted her on the back. There was some soft excited murmuring amongst the people.

What the hell is this theatric?

He was about to protest but he was shocked and before he could speak, Emily had begun to "weaponize" another family.

Emily Marsh

Emily was more or less making it up on the fly; somehow it was all coming to her in this moment.

“This is Fred and Jane Summers. Their son Aaron goes to the school, I teach English to him. He said to me... 'I never want to leave Gladstone. Gladstone is my home. I want to be a farmer just like my daddy.' I believed the boy, it was a moment of truth."

"That's neat. But what does this have to do with-" Dolan began.

Emily teared up slightly as she then declared:

"And-and like Aaron, that's how many of us feel about this place! You see? Gladstone is not just a town. It's-it's a COMMUNITY. It's-It's more than just a label and a collection of houses, barns, fields and schools. Its more than just a place on a map. Oh it’s so much MORE.”

Emily pauses briefly before continuing, her voice swelling with passionate emotion:

“It's-it's the farmers getting up every morning to plant their seeds and handle the crops... the children going to school to explore their potential... it's the heart of harvests, the family picnics, the festivities, it's a way of life. It's the little things that make this place great."

The people began to nod and cheer in agreement.

"We are proud of what we do," Emily said. "And we want to keep doing it, because it's who we are."

Glenn Marsh

Glenn smiled in spite of himself. He had a sense Emily was more or less preaching to the choir, but it was at the very least showing Dolan that the community was more united than might be expected.

Dolan Schaeffer

Dolan was not quite sure why he should give a damn but somehow, the people began to nod and pat each other on the back. Even the Whitmans looked just slightly shamed somehow.

What the hell is this? Cornier than the fields of Kansas! These hillbillies... they just stick together like a pack of rabid dogs. This woman isn’t even making sense... I mean, it sounds catchy but it's not even...

Dolan was getting increasingly annoyed at these farmers.

No wonder Congress subsidizes them... they're TOO ANNOYING.

"Please don't force the people to sell their lands," Emily said, her eyes wide open as she approached him. “We've worked the land for generations. We only want to keep staying here and do our part to help the city, the people, and America. We want to keep doing what we do best."

Dolan had enough, however, what he said next-

"Then don't stand in the way of Progress," Dolan said coldly. It was a very firm retort, it hit like a bucket of cold water, but in the aftermath, Dolan felt he had made a mistake.

Emily stepped back, slightly shocked. Several people gasped. Even Timothy and Vinnie turned and looked at Dolan with some confusion. Did Dolan mess it up?

There was a hiss of anger from one of the corners of the room.

"What I meant was...” Dolan said, raising a hand briefly and sensing a mistake. He forced a degree of restraint on himself. "There's a bigger picture than this. We've done all the necessary calculations; this is the most economical way to do this and it's what makes sense.”

“What does that mean!?” someone else shouted.

The crowd was getting a bit restless.

"Can we see those reports please?" Emily asked. "We've been asking to see these-"

"It's a bit on the technical side," Dolan said, raising a finger. "But the important thing to remember is... with the new proposal, the future of Gladstone is secure."

There was an awkward pause. It was punctuated by some angry chatter.

"Well..." Glenn said as he walked up to his wife. "I stand by what Emily said. And as the leader of the town union, I'm not convinced to let this slide. Sorry Mr. Schaeffer, but if you insist on playing it this way... we'll have to battle it out everywhere. In the city, in the courts, everywhere we have to. We'd rather avoid it... but if it has to come to that. Cause see... we can't let someone destroy our way of life."

"If the city wants to bring it to us then we'll hit RIGHT BACK!" an overzealous Daniel cried out.

"HEAR HEAR!" someone else shouted.

Dolan was annoyed now. Were these people really THIS determined?

“Do you really want to stand in the way of progress and development?” Dolan said coldly. “You are all making a mistake... a BIG mistake.”

You have no idea what you’re dealing with you filthy hicks...

This was met by angry shouts from the increasingly hostile crowd. Somehow they seemed mobilized.

“Go back to Starkweather!”

“Gladstone is ours! Protect the farms!”

The furious Dolan threw the Whitmans a glance; they were supposed to handle it. The couple shrugged nervously.

Sensing that negotiations had broken down and somehow the obnoxious wife of the union leader had worked them up, Dolan started to head out. Timothy and Vinnie scanned the area, as if looking for threats.

I’ll be back... not in the way you expect. And there will be a reckoning for sure.

Just before walking out, the millionaire threw a sinister glance at Glenn and Emily Marsh. Husband and wife stood closely together as they looked back.

Emily Marsh

Emily had a bad feeling.

She was surprised that her own words had such an effect on this evening. In some ways she may have ruined things. Negotiations now seemed more impossible than ever.

It was really going to court now it seemed... and that wasn’t good for anyone. She had originally wanted to focus on the facts, but the emotions had overtaken her. Her attempts to appeal to emotions had somehow escalated the situation.

As Dolan glared at her, she felt a chill run down her spine. Even as the small crowd all around continued to shout and hurl insults at the city people... Schaeffer seemed chillingly calm, almost calculating. It was not the look of a kind-hearted philanthropist. The smallest hint of a malevolent smile appeared on his visage.

What is this? Why is he looking at me like this? What’s happening?

Emily felt slightly intimidated but she maintained her gaze.

Without saying anything further, Dolan Schaeffer turned and walked out of the room, accompanied by his guards.
Last edited by Infected Mushroom on Mon Sep 28, 2020 11:23 pm, edited 3 times in total.

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Infected Mushroom
Post Czar
Posts: 38812
Founded: Apr 15, 2014
Corrupt Dictatorship

Postby Infected Mushroom » Thu Oct 01, 2020 6:12 am

“I think I went a bit too far,” Emily said with uncertainty, soon as Schaeffer left. “I didn’t really mean-“

However, her comments were completely drowned out by the cheers and applause from the rest of the people gathered there. Daniel enthusiastically patted the young English teacher on the back.

Gladstone could be fiercely provincial, and this was one of those moments. It was a rare time indeed when someone from Gladstone showed the city what was up.

Emily turned with uncertainty to face Glenn; her husband gave her a solemn nod of respect. Reluctantly, Emily grinned as well, though somewhat nervously.

The fact of the matter was, NOTHING had been achieved. The union had done nothing except antagonize Dolan, his organization, and powerful city backers. The union had come here to negotiate and clarify things, now they had made powerful enemies. However, it had been such a good spectacle that somehow the union people treated this as a Win.

Emily questioned the wisdom of this, but it was too late to back out now.

The Whitmans shook their heads with disbelief. Mr. Whitman began to protest but he fell upon deaf ears as everyone walked up to congratulate the Marshs.

“Wow you showed them!”

“WHAT… WHAT a show!”



Shaking their heads with disbelief, the Whitmans left. They began to wonder where they stood now… would their secret deal still stand? It wasn’t clear.

Later that evening, the union, under Glenn’s leadership, got down to the nuts and bolts.

“Alright everyone,” Glenn said. “We’re going to need a solid game plan. I think it’s time to get a team of lawyers up as insurance. I’ll call Chet up and see if he knows any good folks in municipality law. Martha and Daniel, you say you know some lawyers too? Time to call them up too.”

“Everyone may have to chip in a bit cause this could get ugly,” Daniel said, facing the crowd. “However… if we all do our part, maybe we can save and protect this community.”

The union held a very long meeting and it went very late into the evening and night. Invigorated by their earlier confrontation with Schaeffer, they began to pool their resources, work together, and come up with a plan to mobilize.

Everyone listened with rapt attention as Glenn Marsh took point on this.

“Now guys,” Glenn said. “NOTHING has gone to court yet and we don’t want to go there if we can avoid it. Lawyers are the LAST line of defense. We don’t want to start a hurricane in court we can’t close the lid on.”

“Yeah we don’t want to get those city hoak-“ someone interrupted.

“He’s still speaking; let him speak!” someone else said.

“SHHHHHH!” someone tried to help Glenn.

Glenn frowned a bit. They could do with better rules at these meetings with interruptions.

Sensing the noise dialing down, Glenn continued.

“What we should do first… is take this up with the media,” he said authoritatively. “Get our facts and our side of the story out there. Make a LOT of noise. Make it hard for people to ignore us. Hopefully… they’ll pull back. Anyone know a writer or two at the Starkweather Daily?”

Blank looks. Gladstone was so small that virtually all the newspapers were printed in the city, the local magazine wasn’t going to cut it.

“I didn't think so. Right…” Glenn said as he jotted some things down. “We’ll have to make some calls. I'll get on it tomorrow, hopefully set something up.”

“Do you think they’d be interested in the story?” Jim asked.

“I hope so,” Glenn said. “But the idea is to make some noise.”

The meeting went on and on. Emily and others had work the next day and it was going very late into the night but they felt alive in the moment. It felt like they were making history.

It was almost midnight when Glenn and Emily said goodbye to all the others and went about on their drive home.

“Well that went quite well,” Emily said, beaming.

As Glenn drove the car, he seemed lost in dark thoughts.

“Are you alright?” Emily asked. “Is there… is there something else?”

She could always tell when her husband was troubled. There was something more.

“I was in the city earlier today,” he said to her as he drove. “I saw… well… … I saw one of the guards that Schaeffer used today. He… he was there.”

Emily was shocked. “W… what? The guard?”

“Yes. He was roughing someone else up, like seriously beating him up,” Glenn continued. “He saw me too, I looked back. I was a witness to whatever he was doing… I think he… he tried to stop me from leaving.”

“Wait… what?!”

“Maybe he just wanted to talk, but I drove away,” Glenn said. “I wasn’t sure what was up.”

"Did he hurt-"

"No he didn't get to me in time. I drove away. I wasn't sure what he would have done."

“He didn’t…? Oh… oh my God,” Emily said. “We… we have to go to the police about this.”

“Maybe,” Glenn said. “Maybe… I don’t know.”

“Are you SURE it was him?”


“So we’re dealing with… with someone who surrounds himself with-“

“Thugs,” Glenn finished for her. “… Yup.”

“Then we should go to the police,” Emily said.

“I’ll go to Starkweather and file a report in the morning if it makes you feel better,” Glenn said. “I don’t know if they’ll do anything though. It's all going to seem a bit unclear to them.”

“You should do it.”

By the time they got home, they had to be very careful not to wake the sleeping children.
Last edited by Infected Mushroom on Thu Oct 01, 2020 6:33 am, edited 3 times in total.

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Main Nation Ministry
Posts: 13014
Founded: Sep 28, 2016
Psychotic Dictatorship

Postby Main Nation Ministry » Sun Oct 04, 2020 11:46 am

Dolan Schaeffer

Schaeffer, Parabi, and Harrelson exited the recreation center, as they all hopped back in the limo. "Driver, park somewhere in the crops. I need to have a word with some people.." Dolan said, as the limo was driving away from the recreation center, as Timothy wanted to speak up. "Ahem.. Schaeffer, sir." Timothy asked, where Dolan looked at him with some more coldness. "I have discovered some interesting information, concerning Glenn Marsh." Timothy explained, where Dolan listened in. "What about the man? I'm not letting that whore of his ruin this for me. I'm already trying to fuck over the community for more terrority, now I'm having bribed dipshits not helping me fuck over the community!" Dolan remarked, where Vinnie was more busy getting himself something to drink from the sidebar.

"Schaeffer. Glenn Marsh was the one saw me back in Starkweather." Timothy said, where Dolan started to listen in. "You have full 100% confirmation that the guy that saw you was, in fact, Glenn Marsh?"
"Of course! I recognized his build and his face. He recognized me, also."
"Vinnie. Give me and Timothy some more champagne. Both of us want to talk about a reckoning, but first, we have to deal with the Whitmans. After the meeting ends, we can tail them back to their residence to have a little chat with Mr. Whitman and his inbred family."

"Are we going to kill people, boss?" Pabari asked.

"Not yet.."

Somewhere at the Whitman farm...

Mr. Whitman and his spoiled wife and daughter were checking over the plans for their financial scheme, scrawled in papers all over the living room. "We ought to contact Jay to see if he can create a timetable. Damn meeting didn't work, because of that Glenn's bitch wife." Whitman fumed, as he was making sure the paperwork looked legitimate, even if the numbers were completely false. "You think they will take the case to court?" his wife said, as the daughter was busy on a smartphone, engaging some online activites of being a typical troll. "Schaeffer better have a laywer or two. We need to milk this cow, before Gladstone can milk us."

There was a loud knock at the door, where Mrs. Whitman went to answer it. Predictably, it was Dolan Schaeffer with a somewhat sinister smile on his face. "Where's the husband? We all saw you drive here." Schaeffer said, as he wasn't going to hold back. "Sorry-y! He-he. Whitman just went out to get some smokes-"
"I can see him literally right there near the coffee table."

Dolan gave a quick nod, as Vinnie Pabari suddenly appeared and kicked open the door. The daughter screamed, but Vinnie pointed a gun at her. Timothy appeared with another gun, as both of Schaeffer's bodyguards were already taking the family hostage. Mrs Whitman ran over to protect her daughter, as Dolan approached Mr. Whitman. "Mr-mr...Schaeffer! I'm sorry for not speaking up at the union meeting!"
"Whitman! You gave me a promise. You said that you would help me get rid of any competition and any issues. Yet, you failed to protect me from becoming a fool to them all. You know how important my reputation is to Starkweather?"
"Scha-ha-effer, please! I'm letting you take my property, but the town already sees me as a pariah! Everyone already wants to know, why I'm such an asshole!"
"Want me to do some reductions to the money I gave you?"
"No! No, sir! I promise, I find a way to make it up to you!"
"Listen here, you little dipshit. I'm giving you till the end of the week to make it up to me. Or else... I could come up with something to make sure that you're leaving without the money."

"Please! I know a guy or two! I know a laywer, if they are taking this thing to court! I can have my wife suck your dick!" Whitman yelled out, which shot Mrs. Whitman a glance of shock from her husband. Then again, she didn't tell him that she was already having an affair. "Get your wife's mouth away from me. How about I make it easier for you. If you can't find something by tomorrow, I come to you. Or I have someone I know come to you and give you a plan. You will follow the plan, or the deal is off."
"Then, we'll torch your house and kill you and your family, if you fail."

Whitman immediately reacted in silence and shock. The trio left the Whitmans behind, but Whitman knew he needed to come up with something to get rid of Marsh and preserve the money.

The Plan

Over the course of a week or two, Dolan Schaeffer was coming up with a little reckoning for the Marsh family back at Gladstone, where he was doing some negotiations with the city judge, who many in the city saw as a complete condescending bitch from the get-go. Judge Umbridge. When she wasn't in the courtrooms, she was practically a borderline Karen. There was that failed run as Governor of Maryland, where she lost the popular vote and lost completely. To Schaeffer, she was someone that was easily controllable. She was like any corrupt judge. The behavior to do whatever she wanted. She was hated in the city and another city before she had to ditch to Starkweather, but her verdicts still sticked.

There was that one time she let some random college student with a light charge of only community service, since the kid pleaded a case of "affluenzia". Coming from some brat that was drunk driving and plow off the road a car full of some other kids. Naturally, people got pissed. Some tried to kill the frat boy, but he already skipped town. A short while after that, a much younger kid with a lighter alcohol level killed a random man, where Umbridge sentenced him to 25 years in prison. Then, there was that one time some woman had a fatal seizure, which she could have been saved. However, the two paramedics who were on their lunch break that were standing by, did nothing. Even when they said they could have helped her, they both replied that they were on their lunch break, justifying their reason to violate their oath. Umbridge lets the two go unscathed. Besides, it's not like they committed murder, which was Umbridge's own insane troll logic. Schaeffer and several other media watchers immediately came to the conclusion that Umbridge was entitled as hell and didn't give a shit or two.

In her office, Schaeffer was showing the judge some documents that Umbridge was verifying to fully prove that he was capable of taking the land with the city's eminent domain excuse. "Ms. Umbridge. You understand that many of the children here in Starkweather are depleted of their protein every day. However, the community of Gladstone has threaten me with legal action over the matter. The mayor is already giving his cooperation to the project, where I shall not be faced with any loopholes by the farmers away from Starkweather!" Dolan explains, as Umbridge was reviewing his paperwork.
"Mr. Schaeffer. The purpose of the Gladstone/Starkweather Slaughterhouse and Farm is to ensure a larger supply of meat to consumers, correct?"
"Of course, Umbridge. I have confirmation from the mayor, where I'm aware that Gladstone isn't going to take this lightly. Starkweather is the capital of this county, so Gladstone must be reminded of this."
"I agree, Mr. Schaeffer. The city is larger than the community. We have the more power, unfortunately. That is what they have to deal with, if they demand legal action."
"The mayor will agree with you on that. However, while I do have the documents together, I have some other business to attend to. I hope that the community of Gladstone understands the importance of the new foundation." Dolan explained, though he knew his true intentions were well hidden.

On another day, Schaeffer sent some informants of his to monitor two primary targets that he intend on having "corrected", so that his main concern wouldn't be an issue when he was securing the property. Near the Marsh farm and residence, some of the informants were blending in as passerbys or were doing non-linear work that could get them a pass as a delivery truck driver or even an extra farmhand. Some informants were near the school, as students were now leaving and heading on the school bus. Posing as groundskeepers, as they spied Emily Marsh's car. Another informant spotted Glenn Marsh's car getting his window fixed at an auto repair shop.

The information that the informants would share to Schaeffer helped him, as he had his men comply all of this intel into a planning board that Dolan had set up on a meeting room at his building.

Next on his to-do list, Schaeffer reached out to all of his fellow crooked and corrupt politicians to whom he was bribing and blackmailing. Ironically, Schaeffer had read in an article by a major news outlet was that this year's Congress was not doing so good in the polls on public opinion. A majority of the public found the current Congress very unpopular with the crowds. Most likely due to that time that they done a month long government shutdown a couple years back. Schaeffer done some phone calls and emails, where he knew that they got the message across.

Some chaotic shit was about to go down, and he needed every political shill to make sure that no one touched him. If Gladstone threatened legal action, accuse them of being communists. If someone founded some good dirt, real or fake, accuse them of being moonshiners, meth lab makers, or even bootleggers. His mentioned friend in the tabloids knew the story. Schaeffer knew that he had the right people in his hands, even if he knew that what was planning was small-scale. The problems was the repercussions on if things go wrong and the scrunity that can end up seeping into Schaeffer's company if the plan backfires.

Now to tackle the more easier stuff of his plan. Within the city.

Somewhere in the Starkweather Police Department, a rather unsavory woman wearing a gilded badge of honor and service was sitting at her desk as she was chomping down of several donuts. Randy's Donuts was the stereotypical joints for cops serving in the force. Why exactly did cops love donuts? The early morning shifts, perhaps. Not every cop ate donuts on the job. But Louise Donovan was one of the typical cops to fit the profile of many. Louise Donovan was a combination of fat and muscle. Had enough fat to make people think she was a pushover and enough muscle to prove them wrong. There was the saying used in inappropriate times of "All Cops Are Bastards" by people who believed that all cops were evil. The saying was ridiculed by much, however Donovan could easily fit the profile of being a bitch than a bastard.

While any corrupt cop was on a payroll from someone specific, for Donovan she had her payroll from the Deimos Trafficking League. Her reasoning was that if there was any pretty showy "whore" that she pulled over for something minor, she tossed them into the back of her car and took them somewhere where they would go missing to be shipped off to any client. She had a trio of weapons that did the talking more than her. A standard police handgun with actual bullets, a nightstick for bludgeoning, and a high-voltage taser that would nearly stop your heart and paralyse your body, unless you had the endurance of an elephant. The problem for the latter was simple. Not a lot of people had the endurance to brush off a hit from something that can shock and electrocute you, where while rarely people die, you are going to have a nasty experience, since it feels like your body is dying from being tased.

She was at her desk on her break, when an officer directed a man towards her position. The man's name was Glenn Marsh. He had worked up the courage to speak out on what he saw with Timothy. He needed to speak his piece with someone he can trust. A person of authority. Yeah, that would help.

"Excuse me!" Glenn said, where Louise Donovan nodded, after she finished off a donut. "Ahem.. I would like to file a report against a Mr. Dolan Schaeffer." Glenn said, where Donovan immediately took notice. A rat? She thought, as she pretended to be interested. "Go on, sir."
"Well, not Dolan Schaeffer. But I saw a bodyguard of his beating up a man in an alley a couple of days or a week ago. I have reason to believe that Schaeffer might be using 'thugs' if you will. Perhaps criminals, maybe? I was nearly attacked by the bodyguard as well. I think there's something up with Schaeffer.." Glenn said, though he didn't know how to get his message across.

"May I have a name from you, sir?" Louise said, getting out a pen and paper as she was writing some stuff down. "Glenn Marsh. Farmer from Gladstone."
"So you saw this guy in Starkweather. How do you know he's related to Dolan Schaeffer?"
"I saw him as a bodyguard, when Schaeffer was visiting Gladstone. His bodyguard punched the window of my car. Had to get it fixed."
"May I have a description of the bodyguard?"
"Blonde hair. Average build and height. Had a large coat on. I think it was a trenchcoat or maybe an overcoat. Only recognized the face."

"Mr. Marsh. Starkweather Police Department does have a set of undercover police officials in our department. It's also common for them to be used as hired protection by people deemed high-risk or high profile, like celebrities, politicians, and even Mr. Schaeffer."
"But he was attacking a man in the alley!"
"While I'm unable to provide information on the described individual, we will still send the report through to make sure the described individual isn't a part of the undercover authorities. But could you recall where exactly it took place in what alley? Near what building?"
"In Starkweather. It was near Ray's Bookmakers. The alley at the end had the Thrift Full Liquor Store. Bookmaker is legal."
"Right. Could you also put down your home address for me, along with your phone number. We also offer a form of witness protection for serious cases."

"Is my case serious?"
"Not quite. Have you encountered this man during the days after you recognized him?"
"Well, no...but-"
"Mr. Marsh. If the case turns serious, we will contact you and we will send a patrol car to be stationed nearby."

Glenn nodded his head, thinking that the woman might take him seriously. "Just please do it for my family, also. Ok?" Glenn said, nervous. "I understand the importance of family. We will make sure there is peace restored."
"Right.. Thank you." Glenn said, as he was allowed to leave. However, a moment after he left, Louise Donovan already got to work. After seeing Glenn left, Louise was already calling an associate of Schaeffer to contact an official for the League. "Yes, this is Lieutenant Louise Donovan. Uh-huh. I have reasons to believe that there's a rat that is going to squeal a bit. I send you the report. Has the address from the rat and everything."

At the Starkweather Inquirer, one of the only physical news places where people were still buying newspapers from. Even though, people were now getting their news from online and from the clickbait fake news that was common, but a lot of people didn't see warning signs of the ignorance and bias. Glenn Marsh had done an appointment with a journalist on the same day of when he filed the report to the police. Journalist Brett Skinner only did his job. He wasn't trying to be biased, but he understood the nature of objectivity. Brett had his notepad ready, as Glenn was detailing information to Skinner on the Gladstone situation and the suspicions with Schaeffer.

"A slaughterhouse in the middle of farmland? It was just backed up by the city for Schaeffer?"
"Something isn't right! It's directly dabbed in the center of Gladstone! It will ruin the values of the surrounding farmlands. The farmlands that everyone else uses. It drive people bankrupt and force them to sell."
"The city could be the ones behind it. Dolan Schaeffer could be a bit of a scapegoat or a financial sponge. You know what I'm getting at here. He's like a poster boy to you?"
"He had what I believed to be thugs being used as bodyguards."
"Marsh, I can't make assumptions and have my editor publish them. I would have to find evidence myself."
"I have copies and copies of paperwork on what has been happening in Gladstone. I send it through my email, if I have to."
"True, but the main theory from your statement seems to imply that there is no real reason for the slaughterhouse. Unless it's because the city wants to build a certain amount of buildings per year, otherwise the city would be ineligible for federal funding. I've seen how this works with construction."
"They pull the same stint. They need to tear up a road or two for 'purposes', so that their budgets don't get cut."

"Can you still put out a story about what's happening in Gladstone? We need support from people in the city, so that they know what we're dealing with and how it's affecting us."
"I can't connect the dots to Schaeffer, yet. I will have the story be one of those developing stories to get some interest and have more people speak to us about it. However, I can't add any sensitive information with Schaeffer. People are prone to sueing for libel."
"You still write about Gladstone?"
"Of course, Marsh. However, I recommend that you avoid doing anything else to annoy people. I think you done enough for today, than go to the police." Skinner said, as he thanked Marsh for giving him a scoop to fill for the newspapers.

A story came out in print a couple of days later. Schaeffer was given a copy, where he looked at one of the stories that was featured. Not a headliner, but Schaeffer knew the story by Skinner was already bad news. The public was going to start pestering the city council and mayor for questions on the matter. Skinner was practically letting the other journalists on-board. So it was when he noticed to give a quick phone call to Timothy's deranged brother, George Harrelson. A goon gave him the scoop, as he was wearing a raggedy-black hood and clothes that reeked of piss and shit. His outfit looked like trash bags were sewn into them. Probably a reason for a nickname among the League for "Lieutenant Trash".

George was a bit of a giggler, as the goon was explaining to George on Brett Skinner. "Alright, you're listening trash man?"
"Ok, so.. The boss. Your boss. Our boss. Gave us a target to kill."
"I want to kill more people than one!"
"It's just a journalist. Sticking his nose in other people's business. Here's the details." the goon gave George some information on some paper about Brett Skinner, including his home address and workplace.

"So you just got to kill this dickhead. You see his face. You just got to kill this man. Make sure to deal with the body. Make it look like an accident or get rid of the body. Just don't make it look like a hit!" the goon explained, where George was now having a giggle fest. He might be under some speed from the looks of it.

For Brett Skinner, who was walking to his car on the top of a floor high parking structure, he wasn't unaware that George Harrelson had tailed him after Skinner spoke a bit to some city hall types. George Harrelson was happy to give Brett Skinner a surprise gift, as Brett opened the doors to his car, as he inserted his keys into the ignition. For Schaeffer, there was a reason why he favored George over Timothy anytime.


George knew how to make it fun for Schaeffer to adore him. Skinner's car along with Skinner himself ended up in a fireball, as the car exploded from a block of C4 that George had rigged in the car, when the car would be set by ignition. Obviously, this led to Skinner to suffer with some 4th degree burns all over his body, as the car became his burning heap of a tomb, as George walked away from the scene, having watched the whole ordeal from a store rooftop. Schaeffer will be certainly happy. The obituary that Glenn noticed on the newspaper the next morning with Skinner's death being attributed to a "faulty car model", due to some more strings being pulled in the police department, didn't help Marsh's case.

John Nibert

"Is everyone here? Come on, there is more people than this." Dolan Schaeffer complained, as he gathered most of his top men into a meeting room in his base of operations, as he had put together an overhead projecter machine in front of a blank white screen. "What is this shit? You can't use your computer?" Donovan said, as she was given a dirty look by some of the others. "You expect me to make a fucking powerpoint with Mircosoft? Jesus. Alright. It looks like everyone here."

"Except Nibert." Pearson said, as Schaeffer looked around. "He's coming, but he knows what we're doing."

"Now, for tomorrow. All of you are going to have fun! You hear me? F. U. N. I like to call it a reckoning. Us as the League going on a safari to kill some hicks from Gladstone! I have some pictures to show you." Schaeffer said, as he showed a picture of the Marsh farm and residence taken by an informant, when all of the Marshes were away from the house and when the farmhands didn't take notice. "This is where we have gotten information that our targets will be residing here with some other family. From what has been gathered, there appears to be a family gathering of some sort. That's why I having the group use weapons to cut the grass."
"Assault rifles and submachine guns. We're using everything from M4A1s to UMP45s?" Pabari asked, as Schaeffer nodded, where he got out two pictures showing both Glenn and Emily Marsh.

"Here's our main targets. Capture them and kill everyone else, until I give further orders. You're starting to see a plan here, right?"
"Are we going to give them a pep talk?"
"George, why do you have to wear that? You smell like shit!" Timothy complained, until Dolan continued. "As I was saying! My plan is that we need to humilate the community of Gladstone. We need to dash the hopes of all of the hillbilly hicks that our current democracy is shilling towards. Our plan is that we break Glenn Marsh."
"Erm...Break?" Zheng Wheatly said, where even though he was in charge of maintaining the League's brothels and human smuggling operations, he was roped into this mess.
"You see there's a reason why I have Louise Donovan here today. We stage a false flag and kill everyone. It will go like this. We capture the two. Force Glenn's bitch wife get killed in front of his eyes. Then, we have some eager little rats of the Whitmans be set as witnesses. Louise Donovan and a sheriff deputy who we managed to get on our side will serve as the first responsers. Both will see Glenn Marsh with a gun and arrest his ass. When the news break out that Glenn Marsh has gone a little postal, we brute force the deal with having the slaughterhouse established, while Glenn Marsh will be sentenced to the Starkweather Correctional Facility, where I had Judith Kernan make sure that he is too insane to speak the truth."

Schaeffer continued, "The community of Gladstone will be forced to accept that their situation has taken a sudden turn, where with negative perception towards them from the media, government, and the public, we can have our plans go smoothly at taking control of Gladstone and expanding our terrority as we see fit."
"Schaeffer. I.. I..I don't know if I should be a part of this." Zheng suddenly spoke up, where everyone turned to him.

"Zheng. Is there a problem?" Dolan had a cold dead look in his eyes, as Zheng knew that if he objected, Schaeffer might not take it well. Timothy was giving him the look to keep his trap shut. "No. Nothing! It's been a while since we done something this large-scale, that's all. Isn't this almost identical to how that massacre that the Violet Cloth Army carried out back in Blue Hills went out?" Zheng said, where Dolan gave a smirk. "Zheng, you still remember that?" Dolan said, as he started to walk over to Zheng, where Zheng held his ground at his seat.

"Why bring up a fallen kingdom that was the Colemont's dipshit organization?" Dolan said, as Zheng started to answer. "I'm not making a comparison of the whole Violet Cloth Army. I just know that your plans is similar to what had supposely happened that one time in Blue Hills."
"Wheatly, you know who is the best, right?"
"Us, sir."
"Right." Dolan suddenly slapped Zheng with the back of his hand against his head, as Zheng reacted with surprise. It didn't hurt, but he knew that Dolan might see him as a traitor, if he goes against the League.

It wasn't until the doors open while Dolan started to smile. "My man! Nibert! Can't wait for us to have fun!" Dolan reacted, as his personal bodyguard and faithful friend entered the meeting room that was John Nibert. To people in the world, or rather the states, John Nibert represented the worst of the simple concept of race. Nibert was a white supremacist, along with Schaeffer, though the latter was less of having the obvious ideologies and interests. One year ago, in New Orleans, John Nibert managed to end up in the headlines with the sin of what he had done with the Shawman Baptist Church.

The Shawman Baptist Church was a black church, however it allowed anyone to be there to attend for service to the usual Sunday services and other types of events. It wasn't until one day that Nibert had started to set his sights on the church before he was more involved with Schaeffer, when he learned that the Shawman Baptist Church was reaching out to support those of the Jewish community to have them attend their church and to provide fundings for bar and bat mitzvahs, along with helping with the rebuilding of a synagogues after a nasty fire. For John Nibert, he and a bunch of other people were against this. Loosely being a leader of the Nationalists for Freedom and One Nation, John Nibert took it upon himself and others to get rid of the menace that he believed was ruining the country. The catch was the Nationalists for Freedom and One Nation were made up of neo-confederates, neo-nazis, white supremacists, members of the KKK, and several anti-immigrant and anti-LGBT. It was a festering hive of hate. That hate led to Nibert and some men planning a reckoning of their own at the Shawman Baptist Church.

It was during a crowded Sunday at the Baptist Church, where Nibert and some men slid in, acting as parishioners. The men brought in something that they kept a secret from the people attending, however, as Nibert was beginning to placed a large bomb of plastic explosives under one of the pews. The others did the same, before they started to leave. One woman was starting to notice something under the pews, after she dropped some coins from her purse. She didn't have a chance to yell out, before Nibert detonated the bombs with a special remote with a button on it. At a distance, they watched as the church went up in smoke and flames, as to Nibert's disappointment, some people were rushing out from the doors, some having survived.

The Shawman Baptist Church Bombings were declared a terrorist attack, until investigators found the links to the Nationalists for Freedom and One Nation, where the FBI started to do crackdowns and raids. Many were arrested for assisting in the plot. While the national headlines on the news screamed the horrors of deaths of an estimated 30 people and injuring around 60, John Nibert was the only one who managed to escape from the authorites unscatched. The two other men involved were given death sentences, while they kept their mouths shut about what happened to Nibert and his involvement. The FBI knew that Nibert was involved, but the bastard knew how to hide evidence and himself too well. Nibert took a risk and managed to avoid the wrath of punishment by cutting loose ends.

Now he was working with Dolan Schaeffer for helping with the human trafficking business. Though, Nibert took more of the interest of kidnapping children for the League, than regular humans. He was blood hungry as Schaeffer in terms of the hell they were about to raise. Even if he was in his 60s, he was a nasty piece of work. His large coat and red shirt concealed several notable tattoos he gotted for himself. A titled swastika on his gut and a symbol of the Nationalists for Freedom and One Nation on his right shoulder with the words "One Race, One Nation" around the symbol.

"Glad to be here. Who the fuck are these people?" Nibert said, where Timothy replied. "We work for Schaeffer. Always have."
"Really? I think I seen you last year, but I guess people don't get reshuffled."
"Nibert. As you may know, we have to show a bunch of hicks that we mean business in terms of progress. You'll bring over the guns and ammo. It will be like Christmas!" Dolan told Nibert, as Nibert walked near the screen where the photos of the Marsh were still up. "Doesn't look like Christmas..", Nibert got out a large knife from his holster, as he ripped a large line across Glenn's neck, as the screen let out a rip.

"...but tomorrow, we will make sure of it!"

"Hear hear!" Dolan said, where the higher ups of the League started to repeat Dolan's statement. Timothy and Zheng let out their "Hear, hear" with more passion to make it up to Schaeffer. For tomorrow, it would be the day of reckoning. Something that would make history.
Local 22 year old Diet Coke Addict College Student Ruins Everything


RPs I do
- How do you do fellow kids? You want to see something violent? - Artemis: Deimos Trafficking League (Horror/Mature)
- Descend into the forgotten tourist traps of Florida on this transgressive RP! - The Community (Mature/Black Comedy/Slice-of-Life)

My overall account that I use for P2TM and even for international roleplaying! MNM is a mysterious and extremely dangerous dictatorship filled with supernatural oddities, demons, militarized soldiers everywhere, and a misanthropic nihilistic dictator who doesn't give a damn. It's basically if the SCP Foundation got mixed with 1984.

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Infected Mushroom
Post Czar
Posts: 38812
Founded: Apr 15, 2014
Corrupt Dictatorship

Postby Infected Mushroom » Wed Oct 07, 2020 6:02 am

Emily Marsh

A few days had passed since the confrontation at the recreation center with Dolan Schaeffer.

It was a very intense period in the school year. Emily had a mountain of essays and book reports to mark and give back, the basketball team she was coaching was stepping up with the practice times to prep for a big game, and the PTAs were coming up in the very next week.

Emily knew all her students very well but she always felt obliged to thoroughly plough through every kid’s work portfolios to find samples of their works and stories to tell the parents. This sort of thing always brought out the warmth, which was one of the greatest rewards of the job.

It’s important that we care and the parents feel that; they are entrusting their children to us.

All the while, Emily was trying to keep up with the developments regarding the new slaughterhouse proposal, which she and her husband Glenn talked about endlessly at dinnertime (Marston and Annie were sick of hearing about it).

“He’s bidding his time,” Glenn said as he helped himself to some of the meat. “These city people, they like to play the long game with these things.”

“Is that how it works?” Emily asked.

“Yeah,” Glenn said as he scooped some more potatoes unto his plate. “See the idea is to make you sweat. Make you sweat huge buckets. Get inside your head. Make you uncomfortable. And then you’ll be going to them first… to offer concessions.”

“How do you know so much?” Emily asked.

“Hey I was from a city myself at one point, don’t hold that against me.”

Emily smiled. “Of course not.” She turned her head and said firmly. “Marston, eat your vegetables.”

Emily had the best peripheral vision; it was inevitable from all the teaching.

“Can you pass me the salt please?” Annie asked.

Glenn passed it to his daughter. Then he complimented Emily.

“By the way dear… you’re KILLING IT with the roast tonight dear.”

Emily blushed slightly, “It’s the same one I’ve been making every two weeks. The recipe is well-known.”

“Amazing,” he said. “I never get tired of it.”

“Sycophant,” Emily said, smiling reluctantly.

Glenn helped himself to some more peas. Then he turned to Marston and gave him a mischievous wink. Marston rolled his eyes.

“Mom, Dad,” Annie asked. “Are we going to get any presents during Aunty Dolores’ party?”

Emily looked at her.

Right… Saturday.

Given all this focus on the slaughterhouse proposal, Emily had nearly forgotten. Her older sister Dolores was turning thirty-seven, and it was a great opportunity for the whole family to get together again.

“I’m not sure about that,” Emily said. “Probably not. Why do you think not?”

“Because it’s not her birthday?” Marston said.

“Yeah,” Emily said. “It’s your auntie’s birthday. But… BUT… if some people are extra nice on the day and they were to give you a present what should you say?”

“Thank you?” Annie said, looking hopeful.

“That’s right,” Emily said.

After the meal, husband and wife were about to start cleaning the dishes. The children went to play in another room.

“So what did the cop say exactly again?” Emily asked. It was not the first time she was asking.

“Yeah, the officer said they’ll look into it,” Glenn said. “Seemed to be taking it seriously enough.”

Emily wasn’t re-assured.

“Will they call us?” she asked. “I mean this is quite-“

“If they get something concrete they’ll call, they’ve already promised to look into it,” Glenn said. “How many times are we going to go over this?”

When Emily looked down, Glenn walked up to her and grabbed her firmly. Emily looked up at him.

“Hey… NOTHING will happen,” Glenn said, looking at her fiercely. “Nothing while I’m here. The whole town is watching. We’re completely safe.”

“I… I suppose-“ Emily said.

“We’re going to win this thing,” he said to her. “And whatever happens, we’ll face it together, as we have always, you and me together. For Marston, for Annie, for Glads-“

He was completely silenced because Emily had reached forward and decidedly started another make out session, one that Glenn responded with considerable aggression.

A pile of unwashed dishes was still to the side. However, this was all forgotten for now…

As the weekend drew closer, Glenn and Emily turned their attention to the party. It was going to be a big family event; the family didn’t get together often enough.

Emily’s reputation as a cook was a double-edged sword. Everyone would be contributing to the food but the Marshs would be responsible for many of the main courses, and of course, Emily’s famous apple pie. The portions were going to be huge because they would be accommodating a giant guest list.

Glenn’s folks were back in Baltimore or else scattered about in other states. They were out of the picture for this event. However, Emily’s side of the family was quite large.

Before Emily became a Marsh, she was a Greene. Her father, Horace Greene, now 56, used to run the family farm by himself. He was still running things in a way, though now he forms a close working relationship with his favorite son-in-law, Emily’s husband Glenn.

“The Marsh family farm sounds better,” Horace had opined. “We should get used to it.”

Horace and Emily’s mom, Mary, just came back from a trip to Florida to celebrate their own wedding anniversary; the original event having taken place over more than thirty years ago.

“They’re going to want to hear all about the town meeting,” Emily said as she put the massive pie into the oven and hit the timer. Then she moved over to handle the wonderful stew she was making on the stove.

“Hopefully my emails were enough?” Glenn offered. He had just walked in, setting down some groceries.

Annie and Marston were also helping out in the kitchen, enthusiastically wrapping up some gift boxes by the side.

“My father loves details,” Emily said. “He should join the council himself.”

Horace Greene’s father Arnold Greene, now 83, would also be coming. Some time ago, Emily’s grandmother had passed away. Arnold was getting on with his years and now had to travel on a wheelchair. Glenn would meet him at the care center and drive him here.

Then there Emily’s aunt, Eleanor Highsmith (51), her husband Christian Highsmith (54). The rest of the Highsmiths were out of state.

All of Emily’s three siblings, their spouses, and their children would be coming.

It consisted of the following:

Mark Greene and his wife Bernice, their 14-year old son Billy.

Erin Greene. She was now a Stamper, married to John. They have two children who also went to Gladstone Elementary: Edward and Grace.

And of course, the birthday woman herself, Dolores Greene.

The end result of all of this?

A massive list, that when counting the farm hands Steve and Dale (and of course they were coming, they were like family) amounted to nineteen people.

It was going to be huge.

Saturday had arrived. It was bright and cheery; the perfect day.

The party took place at the Marsh family farm. It was the best place to accommodate this many people. A gentle of gust of wind blew about and the trees had a scenic look.

There was a clearing outdoors in the farm close to some of the barns, overlooking a view of the cornfields on one side and the scenic mountains and forests on the other. The sun was high in the air and cast a warm, vibrant glow on the rows of tables that had been set up.

The relatives began to arrive one by one and soon the party was underway. It took a while, but eventually all guests were seated and the feast had begun.

A shed in the corner had been equipped with a makeshift kitchen and storage. Several trips were made there and back to set down the magnificent food.

Several large banners had been skillfully put up along with the balloons over the entire set of tables using movable poles and stands. Dolores and Emily thought it would be fun and neat for the children.

Several roasted games and meats, large pots of the most excellent stews, lots of potatoes, bread, and salads. A few bottles of reds were available (though the children were sad they couldn’t try, at least there was heavily sugared lemonade in plenty). Potato chips were available in plenty as was a large excellently baked lasagna and chicken pie.

The desserts were still inside. In addition to the apple pie, the large, beautiful birthday cake also lay in wait.

The conversation flowed.

Glenn sat next to Horace, the two of them talked in very serious tones about the local politics. Horace had some ideas of his own on how to fight the machinery but Glenn wasn’t convinced.

“If we go to court immediately it shows them we mean business,” Horace said. “They’ll never respect you if you don’t hit them hard.”

“But see that’s the thing,” Glenn said. “We want to avoid having to make things incredibly expensive.”

Grandfather Arnold was in a particularly cheerful mood. And he was telling his hammy knock knock jokes to anyone who would listen.

Emily took the time to catch up with her brother Mark and her sisters, Dolores and Erin. Growing up on the farm, Emily was the youngest and most rambunctious of the four. It was expected that as the eldest, Mark Greene might get the family farm but he showed no interest; for years this had been a thistle on the side of the relationship between Horace and him. However, there seems to be a happy ending. Mark got to drive his trucks from town to town and live a wilder life; meanwhile the farm was left in capable hands of the Marshs. Both sides were okay with this.

“So how’s the bakery?” Emily asked the Stampers.

“It’s GREAT,” Erin said. “John hired a new kid Greg to run the errands. It makes everything so much easier now.”

“We’re expanding,” Erin’s husband John said. “We’re buying the extra storage from Jim. You know that warehouse that was sitting a block or two away?”

“You mean the one across Dalton Street?” Dolores asked, intrigued.

“That’s the one,” John said, raising a glass. “We got it for a pretty good price too. Not too shabby. We’ll put it to good use.”

On another side of the table, Mark's teenage son Billy had been informally assigned the baby sitting role. He was older than the rest consisting of Marston, Annie, Edward, and Grace. It had been Emily and Bernice's idea; they thought it would be a great time for the cousins to get to know each other and talk.

Billy took the opportunity, now that the parents distracted, to try and impress and scare the other children with his knowledge of horror movies.

"Mom says we're not allowed to watch," Edward said timidly.

"Yeah but trust me," Billy said. "It's absolutely RAD. Changes you forever man."

"Wait so the monster in the mask," Marston asked, intrigued. "He just goes around and kills everyone?"

"Yup," Billy said. "And there's blood and guts-"

"But wouldn't that make him the bad guy?" Annie asked.

"Yeah but these sorts of movies really aren't about who's the good guy and who's the bad guy," Bill said. "It's all about having a good time."

"Well I'm not scared," Marston said. "Cause if I see these killers... I'm just going to take out a gun."

He made a gun symbol with his hands. "Pew! Pew! Pew!"

Annie rolled her eyes. "Boys..."


Everyone topped talking and turned.

At the end of the table, the silver-haired Arnold Greene, had hit tapped his wine glass with his spoon. He wanted to say something.

“Everyone,” Arnold. “It’s been YEARS since everyone’s come together like this and I… I’m so happy to see everyone doing so well. ... I want to propose a toast… to my beloved granddaughter… the one and only… Dolores Greene. HAPPY BIRTHDAY.”

“DOLORES!” Mark roared as a few others cheered.

Dolores beamed as she raised her wine glass. Everyone else also raised their drinks.


“Dolores.” “ Dolores.” “Happy birthday!”

It wasn’t long before other toasts were made and proposed. Everyone seemed to be in a jovial mood and generous phrases were uttered to praise and light up everyone’s achievements for the family.

Gradually but surely, the focus turned to Glenn.

"I want to give my son-in-law Glenn here a toast," Horace said generously. "Because he and Emily... the work that they're doing for the community union. Sticking up for us little people of Gladstone... it's truly hero's work here!"

"Oh PLEASE!" Emily said, beaming in spite of herself. "You're TOO KIND dad!"

"Everyone gets credit," Glenn said loudly as he raised his glass. "Gladstone's great because of everyone here."


Several people laughed and cheered. The toasts were exchanged. It was twenty minutes in and the non-stop praising and drinking continued. There was a pause, during which the hosts realised they needed to fetch more drinks.

“If we’re going to keep toasting,” Emily said. “We’re going to need more.”

“YEAH!” Mark cried out, grinning.

Smiling, Emily got up and walked back towards the nearby shed to get more bottles. "By the way, I just want to REMIND everyone to PLEASE not get too drunk before we even get to the cakes. I'll be back."

“I’ll give you a hand,” Mark said as he got up; his wife Bernice stood up to help as well. “I’ve got it dear. Oh you'll go too? Okay.”

As Emily, Mark, and Bernice turned to fetch more drinks inside the shed. Marston, Annie, and one of their cousin Grace rushed up.

“Mom?” Marston asked. “Grace has this amazing new bubble toy.”

“It’s really neat,” Annie added.

“Can we leave the table and play near the barns?” Marston asked. “Aunt Erin already said yes.”

Emily beamed at Mark and then at the children. It wasn’t entirely proper but conversation and food could only distract them for so long; it had been a long sitting.

“Sure,” she said. “I… I think that’s alright. Just be careful though okay? Don’t get lost.”

“Mom,” Marston said, rolling his eyes. “This is our own farm, I’m not going to get lost hahaha.”

“Come back in fifteen minutes though cause we’re going to roll out the birthday cake soon,” Emily added.

“Sure thing,” Marson replied. “HEY WAIT UP!”

Annie and Grace were already running across in the direction of the barns. Marston chased after them.

“Don’t get your clothes all dirty!” Emily shouted after them.
Last edited by Infected Mushroom on Wed Oct 28, 2020 6:57 am, edited 7 times in total.

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Main Nation Ministry
Posts: 13014
Founded: Sep 28, 2016
Psychotic Dictatorship

Postby Main Nation Ministry » Fri Oct 09, 2020 7:27 pm

Chapter 2: The Party

The day was Saturday. A dozen assault rifles and submachine guns were scattered among the boardroom table, as the crew were getting locked and loaded. Ammo was being inserted into clips. Several pistols in case, there was a need for overkill. Some hand grenades, though it was George's idea.

"Gentlemen." Nibert said, as Schaeffer looked at the group with a cold smirk of delight, as his men were all prepped up.

"We're going to have a field day that fucks."

The Farm

"This is Lieutenant Louise Donovan at the requested spot." Donovan radioed a spotter from the League, as she was in position. "Copy that, do you see the Whitmans anywhere?"
"Copy. Whitmans are a block away from here. Tell me when the light is green and I can have them drive past the farm." Donovan said, as she was seeing a trio of vans start to approach the farm. They pulled up a good distance to avoid getting spotted, where they started to exit through the back doors of the vans. Nibert had the vans be disguised as pest control and exterminator vans. The reason is that another family in Gladstone was going to have their grain stock fumigated, under the suspicion of rodents. It was an already enacted plan B to provide an abili and avoid suspicion from the other locals of Gladstone.

"Circle around the property. Cut through the cornfields. They don't have the harvesters running. Make sure to know your target. Friendly fire isn't tolerated." Rick Pearson said, as most of the members were wearing kelvar body armor to make them identifiable to each other. A bit of an interesting dress code, though. Fancy suits under body armor. It was the sign of a signature. "Alright. George. Zheng. Your two freaks come with me for the front flank." Nibert commanded, while Pabari, Pearson and Timothy were given the side flank.

Zheng Wheatly held his breath to let out a deep breath. Nibert snickered, as he made sure the safety pin was off from his rifle. George seemed pleased to do some killing. The three started to walk towards the farm..

"You fucking ready?" Pearson asked Pabari and Timothy, as they were cutting through the cornfields to attack from the side flank. "Let's get this over with."

"I tell ya. Nothing beats a good day after some red wine. Not a fan on champagne, but I know a special occasion when I see one." Christian Highsmith said, as he sipped himself a glass of wine. "Christian, honey. You always were a picky eater when it came to alcohol. You always were." Eleanor told the group at the table, as this caused Christian to make this quote. "Three be the things I shall never attain: Envy, content, and sufficient champagne."
"Not to mention you're still reading poetry from the pages, than a Kindle."
"I don't need to read Dorothy Parker from a tablet, Eleanor."

"Hey, Glenn?" John Stamper asked Glenn, as he was helping himslef in setting down some more drinks. "Yes, John?"
"I know you have Mark's son Billy take care of the children, but could you have someone keep a good eye on them?" John asked, as Glenn looked to see Dale and Steven helping themselves to some food. "I got an idea or two. Be right back, hon." Glenn said to Emily, as he went up to both Dale and Steven quick. "Hey, could you one of you check on the kids? They went towards the barns. Wife and John are a bit concerned, but I want to make sure they are playing safe." "That ain't a problem, Glenn! I know your boy knows the farm from the back of his hand, but I can go check on them for you." Dale said, as he set down his plate for Steven to make sure no one stole any snacks from him.

"I hadn't seen any people like kids get lost at the farm. No one is working this hour, so they will be safe." Steven said, as he watched over Dale's plate, as Glenn and Steven were unaware that the dog was starting to bark up a storm. "Otis, calm down!" Glenn yelled to the dog, as the dog suddenly started to running off towards near the cornfields. "The hell is that dog up to? Never saw him act like a guard dog before?" Steven said, as he munched some on some chips.

Unknownst to Steven, it was a warning.

"How do these hicks manage to not get hot near these crops. It's fucking humid being in the middle of corn." Pabari complained, as suddenly all three of the side flank team heard the barking of a dog that was coming closer to them. "Shit! A dog!" Timothy immediately whispered, as Pearson got out his favorite meat tenderizer. "Let me handle this. I shut this mutt up." Pearson said, stepping in front of the two, as Otis was starting to go through the crops and was about to bark directly at the trio. Pearson told a large step forward, as Otis was about to bite, where Pearson raised the tenderizer in the air, as he slammed it down on the skull of the mutt. Otis went silent. The blow already killed him, but Pearson slammed the tool down on Otis again. The dog was now the first victim of the massacre, but no one fired any guns yet. "I already got blood on your sleeves." Pearson complained, as he looked over the scattered remains of the now deceased dog Otis.
"Come on. We need to get into position. Nibert might start shooting." Pabari said, as the trio hurried up, as there was still a clear blue sky above them.

Near the barn by the cornfields, Grace was showing the rest of the kids and Billy her new bubble toy. It looked like a colorful plastic ray gun, but the difference is that the gun shot out bubbles when the trigger was squeezed. Not like a typical bubble wand, as for this toy, you had to load the fluid in to have bubbles appear. "How much did you save up for?" Marston asked, as Grace was causing a bubblefest to occur. "Our mom gave it to her, since she been doing good in school. I have only B's, but I guess my sis gets it easy for being young." Edward said, a bit jealous, though Annie was wondering about hearing Otis. "Did you guys hear Otis head into the corn? Does Mom and Dad know?"
"I don't hear Otis now. I think one of Dad's workers took care of Otis." Marston said, as Billy wanted to explain more about the horror movies he watch.

"So like I said. You don't really root for the victims that the killer gets. The audience don't get to know a lot about them. The movie doesn't develop them. They are just there to serve as part of the kill count."
"Why can't you get to know whoever the victims are?" Annie said, as the kids weren't aware that a strange trio of well-dressed men were approaching them from the cornfields.
"Because it would be a waste of time to know them, only for them to get killed! The audience will feel like things were made for nothing. Plus, the killer usually survives to kill for another sequel. The victims aren't mentioned in the movie or in another sequel after they get killed."

"Hey kids! You not lollygagging or doing something with the equipment, are you?" Dale yelled, as the trio of men were now close to the kids. "We're not! We just-" Billy turned, where Grace stared with confusion at the appearance of the trio of men, as Marston, Edward and Annie did the same. "Uhhh.. Who are they?" Annie said, as Billy was confused on why they were carrying guns.
"Why do you look like mobsters?" Billy asked the men, as Timothy saw the bubble toy that Grace had.

"Nice toy." Timothy simply said, as Dale caught up to them. "You kids better not be doing anything beside the barns, because your parents ain't going it.." Dale saw the men in front of the kids, where the men raised their rifles.

Steven was enjoying himself, along with Mark Greene and Erin Stamper at the buffet table, was when Steven suddenly noticed the three strange men standing at the entrance of the farm with their large guns. Nibert looked at Steven and reacted in disgust. To Nibert, seeing the Marshs hire an African-American to work for their farm showed their incompetence. Of course, people like Steven had to steal other's jobs, Nibert thought. He immediately raised the gun at Steven, where George and Zheng raised their rifles as well.

Life can change in a split second. Normally, one can expect outside forces being a factor in how unpredictable reality can be. However, there are some forces caused by the decisions and choices of others that can radically affect the events that can ensue.

Nibert was the first to press down on the trigger. Pearson nearly was the one to shoot early, until he heard the shots fired by Nibert. In a span of several seconds, there was a hail of bullets fired. No one was shooting at Emily or Glenn yet, but it was easy to get caught up in the bloodlust. The moment that bullets were fired, the screams started happening. Nibert nearly vaporized Steven, wasting a clip at those at the food tables, while George and Zheng was shooting people at the other tables. All of them knew not to kill the targets, yet but George was laughing. When Nibert heard George laughing, he joined in.

Back at the barns, Pearson immediately fired and didn't hesitate. Timothy and Pabari fired alongside, where Pearson didn't even blink while he was firing. It wasn't until all of them mowed down the kids and Dale was when Pearson blinked twice. Timothy's body shook, as he looked at what he was a part of. The kids and Dale were no longer recognize. There was just a large puddle of blood and flesh, as the kids were shot up to hell. Covered in dozens of holes that bullets has penetrated them with. Grace's bubble toy was not covered in her blood, among others, as Timothy picked it up to examine it. "Drop the toy. I hear the others, they started." Pabari said, as they walked over the corpses of the children and Dale.

The main party wasn't any better. The buffet table was soaked in some brain matter from either Steven or from Erin. Arnold Greene was still in his wheelchair, but he didn't have any time to run, since he was stuck in his chair. George was quick to make good work of him, splatting him against a table. Dolores Greene had a large bloodstain fly onto a banner, as the amount of party guests drastically decrease to about two.

"NO!! JOHN! MARK! EMILY!" Glenn was looking around, horrified at the confusion that was unfolding, as he saw that Emily was still alive. "EMILY! GET IN THE HOUSE! I GET THE-" Glenn tried to bolt to the barns where the kids were, but he was met by the side flank, where he already recognized Pabari and Timothy. "Mr. Marsh! A lovely day, isn't it!" Vinnie pointed his gun at him, as they held their fire. "NO NO NO, PLEASE! OH GOD WHY! WHAT YOU HAVE YOU DONE TO THEM!?!"

"Get the wife, George!" Nibert yelled at him to get Emily, as his eyes were now crazed and showed his blood thristy side. "I want MORE!!!"
Local 22 year old Diet Coke Addict College Student Ruins Everything


RPs I do
- How do you do fellow kids? You want to see something violent? - Artemis: Deimos Trafficking League (Horror/Mature)
- Descend into the forgotten tourist traps of Florida on this transgressive RP! - The Community (Mature/Black Comedy/Slice-of-Life)

My overall account that I use for P2TM and even for international roleplaying! MNM is a mysterious and extremely dangerous dictatorship filled with supernatural oddities, demons, militarized soldiers everywhere, and a misanthropic nihilistic dictator who doesn't give a damn. It's basically if the SCP Foundation got mixed with 1984.

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Infected Mushroom
Post Czar
Posts: 38812
Founded: Apr 15, 2014
Corrupt Dictatorship

Postby Infected Mushroom » Mon Oct 12, 2020 12:07 am

Emily Marsh 
Emily was walking to the shed to get more drinks. Mark and Bernice were by her side. 
The party was going well. It was good for the family to get together; they really should do it more often. 
“So how’s teaching?” Bernice asked kindly. 
“Well the same as always you know, the children they somet-“
Emily’s answer was interrupted by the deafening sound of shots going off.
Emily jumped up where she stood. Then she felt something warm splatter against her face. A series of screams ran out from back at the party tables. 
What’s happening?
Emily touched her face. It wasn’t paint… it was blood… who’s?
She turned around, just in time to see her bloodied brother Mark Greene, cut down by a few bullets, fall down next to Bernice. Bernice lay on the grass, her eyes and mouth wide open, a bullet having struck her throat, causing her to choke briefly before going limp. 
There was more gunfire and more screaming. 
Emily turned around further and was greeted by a macabre display: all around the tables, everyone there had been murdered by gunfire. 
The bright cheery sunlight and the idyllic sights of the cornfields and the hills behind stood in sharp contrast to the atrocities. 

Hell itself had descended upon the family gathering. Many of her family members had been shot through the head so that their matter splattered all over the tables and over each other’s clothes.

They... they’re... d... dead... w...
The three shooters stood not far from the table, powerful automatic firearms raised and aimed. They wore Kevlar vests over formal suits. Two of them were grinning psychotically. 
Only one other person from the family had survived. It was Glenn Marsh; he was fortunately standing a fair bit away from the table and was already on the run towards the barn.  

Glenn Marsh
"NO!! JOHN! MARK! EMILY!" Glenn was looking around, horrified at the confusion that was unfolding, as he saw that Emily was still alive. "EMILY! GET IN THE HOUSE! I GET THE-" Glenn tried to bolt to the barns where the kids were, but he was met by the side flank, where he already recognized Pabari and Timothy. "Mr. Marsh! A lovely day, isn't it!" Vinnie pointed his gun at him, as they held their fire. "NO NO NO, PLEASE! OH GOD WHY! WHAT YOU HAVE YOU DONE TO THEM!?!"

“They’ve been taken care of,” Timothy responded (Glenn recognized him, it was the same bodyguard from Schaeffer’s meeting, the same one that had tried to stop his car). “Now don’t make this any more difficult than it has to be. We’re going to your house now. Lead the way.”
Taken care of? Does he mean- 
“Let’s MOVE!” Pabari shouted (Glenn recognized him too). To get his point across, he pointed his assault rifle into the air and fired off a random shot. 
This caused Glenn to cover his ears briefly. 
“Alright alright ALRIGHT!” he shouted, seeing as he had no choice. 
It’s those two again. This… this must be Schaeffer’s doing. 

Emily Marsh
Her husband Glenn had shouted something to her before rapidly bolting off towards the area of the barn and disappearing from sight.
However, Emily didn’t hear anything. It was a total blur of sounds. The previous round of gunfire and punctuated screams seemed to echo endlessly inside her head, causing a strange ringing. 
She experienced a slow, delayed response. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion and at first she couldn’t quite grasp the full significance of all of this… a sort of complete shut down happened.  In that moment she fell down unto her knees, grabbed at her hair, and screamed out like a howling and badly damaged creature caught in a steel trap. 
Her sanity itself seemed to melt into the abyss as her body could not handle the volume of agony that was overflowing her. She was panting and gasping endlessly and it was all too difficult to breath… to stand up… her entire world was caving in. 
How… H… HOW?!!! 
In that moment, she wasn’t in her right mind and it did not occur to her that she could easily be shot and killed as well. 

John Nibert 
"Get the wife, George!" Nibert yelled at him to get Emily, as his eyes were now crazed and showed his blood thristy side. "I want MORE!!!"


Emily Marsh
Emily had somewhat recovered her senses. 
Emily was still on her knees when she looked up. Two of the murderers were approaching her, one of them appeared absolutely psychotic with some bits of drool running down his face, a wide grin across his disheveled face; it must be “George.” 
How do you do missy?” he said joyously. 
Letting out a wail of despair, Emily turned and began to crawl away. 
Marston… Annie… where… where are- G… Glenn?
She was about to stand up but she felt several pairs of hands seize her from above. She screamed as she was grabbed and forced to stand back up. 

One of the thugs smelled like garbage and it was disgusting...

John Nibert
So far, so good. 
George and Zheng had strapped their guns to their backs so they could use their hands to handle the target. They had moved to grab Glenn’s wife and lift her up. She was now struggling and screaming endlessly, even as powerful arms moved to restrain her. 
“Oh my God!” John Nibert shouted, rolling his eyes in disbelief. “Shut her down for CHRIST’S SAKE!” 
In Nibert’s mind, Emily was like a defunct alarm clock that had gone haywire. There was something wrongful about a white woman screaming like this, they’re supposed to be made of better material. 
“George… GEORGE?!” he said, gesturing dramatically with one hand while his other hand skillfully held his assault rifle. Nibert’s eyes and face communicated one thing: 
Handle it. Handle it now. COME NOW.  For God’s sake I told you to handle it, not touch and grope the shit out of her-
I hear you man,” George said, still sporting a nasty grin. 
George aimed and landed a very strong, powerful punch into the defenseless woman’s gut. There was a sickening thud as Emily’s eyes went wide and she was promptly silenced as the air was knocked out of her; a sharp pain filled her up.  
“Yikes,” Nibert said as he walked forward.  “That’s enough George. Now let’s go and meet up the others at the house. Like we said before.”
Can’t we just kill her here?” George asked. 
“Nah,” Nibert said. “The fucking house. We have orders.”
In order to truly crush the Gladstone uprising, Glenn needed to be broken. Which meant that Emily’s execution should be in front of him; it’s the way Schaeffer wanted it.
Cold… I love it. 
Emily was crying and sobbing uncontrollably now. However, she had stopped screaming. The League enforcers were able to firmly march her in the direction of the Marsh family home in the nearby distance; George and Zheng each grabbed one of her arms and directed her forward. 
On the way, John Nibert took out a radio.
“This is Nibert come in.” 
“Copy that, Pearson.”
“What’s your status?”
“Mission accomplished. We have Glenn. We’re sending him to the house too. Over.” 
“WELL DONE over…”
Now the rest of the plan could be carried out. Once they were all in the house, it would be time for the final act. Nibert intended to put on quite the show. 
The brightness of the sun and the beauty of the cornfields and the hills, the barns to the side were a complete contrast to the horrors that had just occurred and were about to occur. 

Glenn Marsh
As the house came into view, Glenn was filled with thoughts of darkness.
Were they all dead… did… did anyone… did Emily-
No! I must focus. 
In his mind, it was too clear that he would be killed soon after entering the house. 
“You better keep your hands behind your head Marsh,” Timothy said coldly. “Because if you so much as TWITCH… we’ll cut you down here and now.”
Glenn said nothing. He maintained his calm as he kept walking, keeping his hands behind his head as instructed.
“So how much did Schaeffer pay for this?” he asked, trying to make conversation, buy time, and get at the truth.
“Who said anything about Schaeffer?” Timothy said.
“SHUT UP and KEEP MOVING!” Pearson said coldly. 
They got to the house. The parked cars were tantalizingly close in the driveway. 
Damn it… the car is so close. If only there was a chance to get to it.
Glenn looked around, but somehow there was no one for miles. It didn’t look like anyone made it back to the house either. 
“I have to open the door,” Glenn said. “Can I lower my hands?”
“Yeah go ahead,” Pabari said. “But we’re watching really close.” 
Fully aware that the guns were trained on him, Glenn opened the front door.
“Easy… EASY now,” Pabari said. 
Glenn opened the door and moved inside, as he did so, he came up with an improvised plan of resistance. It was bold but who’s to say they wouldn’t shoot him soon after he entered? 
As the farmer stepped inside the front door, he faked a forward tumble and seemingly crashed into a wall by the hall. 
Rick Pearson was the first one inside. He rushed up to Glenn and moved up to him. 
“Pull yourself together you idio-“
Hearing the footsteps, Glenn suddenly turned and aimed a powerful punch at Pearson. 
Being formerly a proficient boxer, Glenn’s powerful fist crashed into the side of Rick Pearson’s jaw, nearly shattering it as a few bits of blood flew out. Pearson fell backwards as he discharged a single shot from his assault rifle. Luckily for Glenn, somehow Pearson’s gun narrowly missed hitting him. 
Glenn’s powerful fist sent Pearson crashing towards the doorway where he nearly fell over the other surprised thugs; they nearly shot him. 
Glenn wasted no time and rushed deeper into the house, making a turn and heading for the lounge. 
The backdoor.
The backdoor swung open. An older man holding an assault rifle entered. There were more behind him. 
Reacting on instinct, Glenn turned and ran in another direction.
Pearson and the others greeted him back at the lounge. 
“I’m back,” Pearson hissed angrily. 
Glenn raised his hands to surrender. However, in retaliation for the earlier punch, Rick Pearson aimed his assault rifle at Glenn’s lower half and fired off a single shot. 
The high velocity bullet punctured the farmer’s shin with a sickening crack.
Glenn screamed out as he fell down unto the floor of the lounge, bleeding profusely from his wound. Somehow the bullet had struck a major artery.
As Glenn continued to scream out and squirm in the background, Timothy and Pearson argued. 
“What the hell are you doing Rick?” Timothy said. “We’re not supposed to shoot him-“
“He had it coming-“
As Timothy and Pearson argued, Nabari shook his head with disbelief. It was too unprofessional.  
To make matters worse, John Nibert entered from the other side of the lounge, his rifle was raised and aimed until he realized Glenn was neutralized… but not in the way that he’d want. 
As soon as Emily was dragged into the room by George and Zheng, she saw her husband and began to scream out as well. 
Emily began to struggle again. Zheng had a look of great impatience on his face as he was once again forced to manhandle the problem along with George. The place became unbelievably noisy. 
John Nibert looked extremely cross as he yelled out: “Who the hell shot him?”
“I did!” Pearson shouted. “I’m sorry but he had it coming. He was getting WAY out of line!”
“How the hell are we supposed to frame someone who’s been shot like that! What’s the story now?!” Timothy said.  “Oh… what’s that? Yeah he shot everyone else but then he also got shot-”
Emily: “OH MY GOD!... Someone… someone HELP HIM! Call… CALL AN AMBULANCE!” 
“Maybe he did it to himself!” Pabari suggested. “Maybe he got the chills after and decided to hurt himself. So th-“
Pabari mid-sentence and turned because John Nibert was doing something. 

John Nibert
There was a pause in the argument because John Nibert had decided to settle the argument his way. 
Sometimes, you have to adapt or be destroyed. I think I know just how…
There was a loud clunking sound as he set down his assault rifle on a lounge table in a corner. 
Glenn had stopped screaming; instead, he was quietly suffering now. He was able to crawl now, though in a feeble way. His face was pale and a trail of red followed in his wake. 
Nibert walked over to a corner where an item had caught his eye. Next to a brick chimney hearth and a shelf of interesting books... there was a set of golf clubs.
No one, not even Emily dared say anything, as John Nibert proceeded to decisively take out one of the clubs… somehow it was one of the largest and heaviest looking. Almost at once, the older man turned and threw Glenn a vicious, sinister look. 
As Glenn continued to crawl weakly. Emily realized what was about to happen. 
“Oh no…” she said, her eyes wide open with shock. “No no no no no...”
Well… it’s gotta be done. 
John Nibert strolled over and stood over Glenn’s crawling body. Glenn was almost unable to move already. 
“I’d like to make something clear,” he said loudly. “I hold NOTHING against your community... it’s just that, you just screwed up the plan and I... I just can’t have that. I have to send a message. I gotta do it.”

Nibert paused before saying:

“On some level Glenn you even INSPIRE me. But like my old man used to say, sometimes in life, if you piss on a lion you’re gonna get bitten. There’s a natural order to things.”
Oh boy…
There was a wild psychotic look on John Nibert’s face as he raised the golf very high into the air with both hands. 
“OH MY GOD STOP!!!” Emily screamed.  “YOU CAN’T-“
There was a loud vicious CRACK as the golf club was brought down at full velocity against Glenn Marsh.
As Emily screamed helplessly, she watched, along with the rest of the crew, as John Nibert proceeded to beat on Glenn Marsh over and over and over again with the golf club. Glenn Marsh was completely obliterated by the brutal battering.
John Nibert’s movement was smooth, mechanical, and precise as he wielded the golf club, in this moment transformed into an instrument of family murder, a death hammer. There was a look on Nibert’s face as he did this… the best description for it is that it was a look of absolute serenity, almost zen-like calmness. 
John Nibert seemed to be immersed into the act of killing, so much so that long after Glenn was certainly dead, he continued to beat on him even more just to make absolutely sure. Finally, he stopped. 
Well that takes care of this one.
Nibert promptly dropped the golf club and let it rest, tilted over what was left of Glenn Marsh.
By this time Emily had entered into a state of silent shock and the screaming had stopped.
John Nibert turned to Pearson and Pabari and said: “The plan remains the same. Except now we use Emily instead. She’ll serve as the living warning.” 
OH YEAH I LIKE THIS!” George cried out excitedly. “You hear that missy? YOU GOT LUCKY! You get to LIVE!
Since we’re looking for a breaking, got to do it right. This should be simpler... gals they break easier.
Nibert turned and walked up to Emily Marsh. He looked into her face as he said:
“I know that the whole day… it’s been a BIT of a blur so I want to do right and explain everything… or at least as much as I can… “

He said the next words clearly and slowly:

“Everyone... is... dead. EVERYONE. Your whole fucking family.”

“What… what about-“ she started. 
“Yes,” John Nibert said as he nodded, understanding her meaning and looking just mildly sympathetic. “To put it directly… yes. Yes. Yes they were killed as well. Everyone was killed.”
“My… my Ann-“
Nibert silenced her as he put a hand on her shoulder, as if a friend. He looked straight into her face and said calmly. “We shot em all. Every single child. BOOM. They’re all dead and gone. All dead and gone. I just want to be direct about it. I’m just putting it directly.”
Emily blinked as her entire mind almost shut down at that moment from the impact. 
Nibert removed just hand, stepped back and walked briefly over the fire hearth. “We killed them all isn’t that right George?”
YES SIR!” George screamed out gleefully by Emily’s side. “YIESSSSSS SIR!

Emily began to mumble incoherently. The images of her children flashed before her mind...

John Nibert picked up the assault rifle.

“I’ll have you know... that the League sends its regards.”

He turned, then he executed a maneuver with the speed of a pouncing tiger. He leapt forward, and slammed the butt of the rifle into the shattered woman’s face... instantly knocking her out cold; she slumped as George and Zheng continued to hold her by the arms.

Zheng Wheatley

Zheng could not believe he had been a party to this horror show. But it’s not like you could say no to guys like this.

John Nibert shouted:

“We did it boys! We scored the ULTIMATE home run!”

Pabari and the others cheered. Timothy shook his head as he grinned.

“Alright,” John Nibert said as he cleared his throat. “It’s time for phase two. Phase two is about one thing: storytelling. We have to TELL the people a story, and what’s that story? Anyone?”

Timothy raised a hand ironically.

“Yes Tim!” Nibert said, pointing at him.

“Hmmm let me guess... Emily Marsh has a bad day. So she beat her husband to death with a golf club. Then she went out and shot everyone?”

John Nibert clapped his hands. “Very good... VERY VERY GOOD! ... now let’s SET IT UP!”

The Deimos Trafficking League were professionals and they moved in for the set up. They needed a bit of time so they radioed Louise Donovan and told her to get them more time.

Since John Nibert wore gloves, his prints wouldn’t be on the club. Instead, they placed the unconscious Emily’s hands around the golf club and soaked her body and clothes with her dead husband’s remains.

It was decided that Timothy’s assault rifle and Pabari’s submachine gun would be left behind since they had been fired to cut down children and the ballistics would confirm it. The people had a tendency to read “accused child murderer” and stop there. The effect would be achieved.

All the used clips were collected... all of them cycled through the two rigged weapons. Emily’s prints would be found in generous amounts on the “smoking guns.”

The footprints outside would be too difficult to remove but the League didn’t want to dwell on minutiae. The whole investigation and trial process would be rigged anyways.

After all was done, Emily was moved to a bed and set down. The two weapons with her prints were placed close by.

A few minutes later...

Emily Marsh

Emily felt light-headed when she opened her eyes.

Was it... was it a nightmare?

She knew something was wrong. She was on her bed with the clothes she had worn to the party, the mud was still on her shoes.

Why is there so much blood on my clothes?

She saw red and blue light reflected from a mirror. A police car? Her heart leapt.

The police! They are here to help!

She leapt off the bed, as she did so, she was surprised to hear two large empty firearms slide off the bed and clatter against the wooden floor.

Confused, the woman walked over and picked up the assault rifle and held it up sideways.

Why would they?

Without warning, the door to the room burst open.

A fierce-looking somewhat overweight female police officer was pointing a service pistol straight at her.

“DROP the weapon! ... DROP IT!”

“Wait you don’t under-“

“Drop it!”

Emily dropped the gun. “I... I don’t know what-“

There was a rush of footsteps as the female officer rushed into the room along with several others.

Emily didn’t even have time to protest before she was grabbed and tackled facedown unto the floor.

“Hey S... STOP!”

She felt her wrists grabbed and handcuffed behind her back. The cops pushed her into the ground, very hard.

The female officer said: “Emily Marsh. You are under arrest for the murders of Glenn Marsh, Annie-“

Emily froze in shock as she realized that she had somehow been set up... for the murder of her ENTIRE family.

W... what? HOW COME?

“They killed my family! They killed my entire family!” she screamed out.

But no one was listening... the officer was still listing all the people Emily had apparently killed in a monotone voice.

User avatar
Main Nation Ministry
Posts: 13014
Founded: Sep 28, 2016
Psychotic Dictatorship

Postby Main Nation Ministry » Thu Oct 22, 2020 11:22 am

Louise Donovan

"Stop screaming! You have the right to remain silent, otherwise you say or do will be used against you in a court of law!" Donovan told Emily to get her to shut up. For Donovan, she just needed to act like an usual cop, doing their job to avoid suspicion. She was involved with the massacre, but since she had an air-tight abili and an obvious fact that she never directly responsible for any deaths, Donovan just had to drag the broken wailing woman to her squad car. Another cop was with Donovan. Kept their hands at the gun holster, in case Marsh tried to pull something. Leading her downstairs, Glenn's body about to be examined by several crime scene investigators. Some took photos, as Donovan was making sure that she was still moving.

Outside was much more worse. As the sun was starting to set, the now bloodied party grounds that was meant for a family birthday and gathering was a mixture of warm red, orange, and yellow colors. By now, Emily was trying to look to see what has happened, but it only confirmed that everything that she thought she dreamt had actually happened. There was a light SWAT team nearby. Not the men in body gear, but only some officers wearing heavy police vest and carrying around some shotguns. The Whitmans were giving out their testimonies to the police, as the daughter pointed at Emily Marsh. "Mom! Dad! That's the woman I saw! She was the one with the gun!"

Even though Mr and Mrs Whitman went along with the lie, Emily probably knew that the freaking brat was lying. However, Emily's mind was starting to turn inside out, she couldn't really process anything immediately. Aside from the occasional screaming and wailing, Donovan's most important duty for now was to get Marsh to shut up. There was already a crowd at the perimeters of the farm brewing. Emily could read the reactions of some. It wasn't of anger or disgust at Marsh. It was more of confusion. The community of Gladstone didn't have any issue with crime in their town, but this was different. By now, some were gossiping. Watching the blood covered wife of Glenn Marsh being shoved into a squad car with so much that didn't add up at first was the big question. What happened at the farm? What happened to Glenn? Why is Emily covered in blood?

It didn't help that the media vultures of nightcrawlers and the apathic journalists were showing up in their news vans. Normally, Emily will be lucky with the media at first. Until someone puts out a narrative that everyone jumps on the bandwagon and pretend that everyone had came to the same conclusion by themselves. Then again, if it bleeds, it leads. "You ought to be prepared for lockup." Donovan said, coldly to Marsh, as they were starting to drive towards Starkweather with both a police cruiser in the front and back of them. For Donovan, things were going to plan. All she was to do now was to bring Emily Marsh into the station, where they will throw her in a cell for a while, then after a bunch of pointless interviews that some insiders were going to "lose", she will be shipped to court and sentenced to prison.

All in a day's work.

Vinnie Pabari

Being dropped off at Schaeffer's building, the men were cleaning off the rest of their weapons and getting themselves all tidied up. The vans were parked in a parking structure not far from here, where they took off the kelvar armor and stashed it into some duffle bags. Up many floors above, the men were getting themselves ready to head home. However, after the events of what happened today, some of them weren't ready to call it a day. Especially, since some of them wanted to get stuff off their chests. Along with trying to conceal said stuff off their chests.

Vinnie Pabari was tired for the night. He wanted to settle down back at his place with a smoke or two, then passing out in bed. But even though, all of the men were back in the boardroom, he seemed to be wondering why Schaeffer isn't at the boardroom with them. Some of them were acknowledging that as well. "Hey, where's Schaeffer? Isn't he supposed to graduate us for wiping out the Marshes?" Pabari said, as he was slipping on a white jacket. "Schaeffer is busy with other stuff at the moment, but we can't celebrate yet until we made sure that broad of Glenn's is rotting in prison." Nibert stated, as he was polishing his assault rifle, as Pearson and George Harrelson appeared to have some different plans in mind.
"You can't expect me to wait like a week or more, just because that bitch Umbridge can give her a guilty verdict."
"Schaeffer is a patient man. He can't just brute force things to go his way. He already spent days planning this. He's making sure every cog aligns correctly in the machine."

"We had to let Glenn get killed, instead of the wife! What was that about?" Timothy argued, where he looked over at Pearson, who appeared nonchalant over the issue. "He had it coming. The wife was there. Nibert took care of it."
"We could have had Glenn be framed for killing his wife and family!"
"You mean Emily Marsh killing her husband and her family. What a shame for her to do that." Nibert said, where Timothy wanted to object, but he immediately knew what Nibert mean.

"Yes...I see. We should have had Glenn kill the wife. I mean, we give him a gun and some powder, didn't we?" Timothy continued, where everyone in the room knew it was a lie. But what's the point? The lies are now in full view, but now it was the new truth. "Pearson. How's the jaw?" Nibert asked. "Damn shit nearby dislocated it. He could have rabbit punched me, if he had the chance." Pearson said, as his jaw was now bruised.
"Why are you guys still have your guns nearby? We did our job." Timothy said, as Pearson, Nibert and even his brother George didn't seem to be tired. "Timothy, you don't understand that some of us like to do a little extra overtime? Helps show us that we're aren't lightweights."
"You can't come Timmy? We get to kill more people! I heard this job has some more children!"
"What the hell are the three of you doing?"

"We have a bit of an issue with someone in Starkweather. A fancy 'community expert' who wants to redistrict some parts of the city. While I can't tell you how Schaeffer explained it in detail, we're using the opportunities that we had from the Gladstone hit to make things easier. Along with being more professional. We just get the power cut, kidnap the children, then we gas the parents. A little late-night excursion with a more simplier body count." Nibert explained to Timothy, though he looked over at Wheatley and Pabari. He wasn't the over one who wants to pass out in bed.
"I think I save up my energy for another major job. We already have every news station in the state at Gladstone, covering the next mass shooting that we created to have it end up on Wikipedia. I'm already a storyteller, so I just wait to see how the situation with Gladstone will change." Timothy explained, as he was buttoning up a jacket.

"You three better not cause more trouble than you planning." Timothy warned them, as he walked out the room with Pabari and Wheatley. "You're calling it quits for tonight, also?" Wheatley asked, as Pabari overheard them. "Told you. I'm just staying up for another job. I have enough blood on my plate this week."
"It was easier just to check on shipments. Why did I have to get dragged into this mess?"
"Oh don't be a wise ass, Zheng. You have a job to do, so you have to do it to get paid."
"You two going to argue when we get into the elevator?" Vinnie entered the conversation, where Timothy knew something was getting him stressed.

"No, of course not. Something is nagging me. I think it's been a weird day, that's all. I just want to work alone for once." Timothy explained, as they got into the elevator to head down to the lobby. "I have drugs to make sure reach the border in the morning. I don't know why you don't see it easier to work as a clan, Tim."
"I don't know. I'm getting the feeling of being this underdog. I think it's just nerves."
"I can buy us some coffee the next morning, if Schaeffer has some good news to hear." Zheng said, as they left the elevator.

"Just keep your mouth shut about what happened today. Vultures everywhere, so pretend that you didn't do jackshit." Timothy warned, as he walked to his car, when they got outside.

The Late Night Job

"Gahhh.. George, you smell like fucking shit! Can't you take a shower for once?!" Pearson complained, as he was in the back of an exterminator's van as they were driving to Nibert's base of operation quick, before they had to head to the address where the target was. "But I exist to be TRASH! That's what I strive for!"
"Could you have some self-awareness about your teammates's well being?"
"I could, but I want to KILL more people!"

"Calm down, you two! We need to get ready here to see if we can get some extra help and check our supplies." Nibert said, as they pulled over at the parking lot in front of the now vacant and abandoned Wild World Zoo. Wild World wasn't like Seaworld or Busch Gardens. The city had it's own zoo, but due to budget cuts, the zoo closed down. It was a bit nasty at how they handled the animals, though. Now, the skinheads and the other members of Nibert's organization of neo-nazis have turned the place into their home and base of operations. Lots of caches were there, but the place was well-guarded. Several gang members greeted Nibert, as the three men strolled into the main entrance of the zoo. "Where's Sirri? I need him to help kill a target." Nibert asked a member, where they looked a bit concerned.

"Sirri? About that, Nibert. Sirri got a bit too happy, so he decided to give himself the laughing gas."
"My best man that I want decided to huff nitrous oxide?"
"He just overdosed, but we brought someone to help. He's going to be back in shape, but his brain is currently shit."
"Where is he?"

At what was once an exhibit for some penguins in an "Ice World", Sirri was propped up on a makeshift gurney, as a doctor was forcing him to take oxygen from a tank. "No!" Sirri yelled, but he had a coughing fit. "Shit. Jackass must have forgotten to exhale."
"I saw them outside...on the hood of the car...." Sirri was rambling, though Pearson listened in. "They looked more darker of ash and soot....I knew ghosts are real..."
"The fuck is wrong with him?" Pearson asked Nibert, as Sirri appeared to be hallucinating and making some monkey noises, while he was coughing. "He appears to be regressing towards a primitive stage of his existence." Nibert joked, as George was busy wondering around Ice World for some reason. "Where are the penguins? I want to pet a penguin and take it home!"

"Come on, I think the men outside are done getting the fumigant ready." Nibert said, as another man while they were walking out, handed them some gas masks. "Put these on. We're going to gas the house where this shmuck lives." Nibert said, as he put on the gas mask, as Pearson and George did the same. When they reached their van, the fumigant was already prepared.

"The tablets are already in the fumigant, sir." Another skinhead took Nibert, as he showed the fumigant, where Nibert examined it. For the job, the men used some tablets that contain a chemical called aluminium phopshide, which can be used to create phosphide gas. It was a very toxic chemical, even if it was already a prepared fumigant for grains. Nibert knew that both Pearson and George wouldn't take off their damn masks and wonder what the place was smelling like.

It was practically almost midnight. Everyone was in their homes passed out on their beds, while all of the media were back at Gladstone, covering a story of the month. The Ingrams were in their large happy house, where some of the lights were left on, since Mr. Ingram wanted to finish up some work, before he went into the bedroom. His children were already sleeping, while the wife was watching some late-night news. Things didn't appear to be bad, until suddenly the power went out.

Outside, Pearson had already ripped out a couple of wires from the fuse box in the backyard, as he signaled to both George and Nibert to kick open the back door. Wearing the same suits with gas masks and some less-imitating guns. George was sent to get the kids, while both Pearson and Nibert went up to retrieve both Mr and Mrs Ingram. "Betty! Betty, something's wrong I think-"
Pearson immediately aimed his gun at Ingram, as he was coming out of the office. "What do you want?!" Ingram pleaded, but Pearson forced him towards the bedroom. "Keep walking. Now!" Pearson threatened him, as Nibert was in the bedroom, manhandling the wife by beating her a bit. "Pearson! Throw him into the bathroom! It's the only room that doesn't have a fucking window!"
"Someone help!" the wife cried, but Nibert proceeded to shut her up, before he had her stumble into the bathroom. Pearson immediately threw the husband in as well, where Nibert had gotten the fumigant ready. "Knock them out! We need to make sure they don't wake up!" Nibert told Pearson, as he used the butt of his rifle to make sure the married couple were in a deep sleep.

"At least, their fists were like pillows." Pearson thought, as Nibert was opening up the fumigant, before leaving it in the bathroom with the Ingrams. Nibert closed the door, as they started to head to where George was supposed to get the children. "Have we checked the children, yet? I don't think George knows how to use the sedatives." Pearson asked Nibert, as they wondered into the bedroom to see George standing over two children in their beds. They were fast asleep. Almost like they were stuck in an endless dream.

"Sh...Sleep sleep. Little sheep. The sandman is here. Let the sweets he gives you grant you pleasant dreams. Hey PEARSON! NIBERT!"
"Keep your voice down, you moron!"
"Which child should I carry to the van?"
"Pearson. Keep a watch outside for any neighbors. George, take one of the kids. I carry the other." Nibert told him, as Pearson went outside to make sure no one was noticing the van outside the Ingrams's house. The kids were both 6 years old and small enough to be slumped over both George and Nibert's shoulders. "Pearson, open the door. Set them down. I know where they will be going." Nibert said, as he made sure the children were in the back of the van, while George restrained them if they woke up.
"Are we taking them to Candyland? They will get more sweets there!"
"Not Candyland. I tell you more of the place we're dropping them off."

"Is it on the way to my place? I'm getting more tired. Shit, I should've listened to Timothy." Pearson suddenly realized, as he got into the passenger seat of the van, as the three drove away from the scene. "Oh come on, you can't come to Hollywood with me?"
"Hollywood? I'm not joining you to drive all the way to fucking California-"
"No! Hollywood! It's right here in Starkweather!" Nibert immediately corrected Pearson, as George perked up excited. "Mr. Nibert! You didn't tell me that Hollywood was in Starkweather! I wanna go to Hollywood!"

"We can't disturb Hollywood. I already know some of the people outside will be waiting for us with the children of the Ingrams. We just drop them off and I can take you guys home."
"Nibert, the hell is Hollywood, if it's not the one in California?" Pearson asked Nibert, but for some reason, Nibert only answered his question vaguely.

"Pearson. You need to remember that most of us in the League are primarily focused in the trafficking of human beings, who grant us a good fortune. There are a lot of buyers out there with a specific request. 'Hollywood' is a buyer of ours that really appreciates some of our products. Though, they pay handsomely in the younglings."
"What does Hollywood do?"
"Well, I've been there once. But it's important to not disturb their practices. It's part of their business and it's best we don't get competitive with them, because they are customers with lots of money in their hands."

Nibert pulled over the van to the curb, as they were in part of a rather strange building. It was a square shaped building, where all of the windows have been sealed from the outside. There was a lit billboard near the building that was showing a forgotten advertisement that never changed. "YOU CAN DISAPPEAR HERE! BOOK A TRIP WITH THE HELP OF HOLLYWOOD TRAVEL SERVICES!" the motto from the billboard showed, as two men wearing some hoodies to conceal parts of themselves. Nibert got out of the van to open the door to have the men take the children. "Are you two from Hollywood? What celebrities are there?" George said, eager in knowing what was happening at Hollywood, if it was right here in Starkweather.

"These two will be nice. Here's the payment." one of the men said, as he handed Nibert a large wad of what appeared to be cash. Pearson took a glimpse at the stack. Was that more than 10 grand? "That's all?" Pearson said, as the men left carrying the children into the building. "Yep. Time for us to rest. You know, Pearson.. You are the one to aspire to be a professional. So is George wanting to be like Timothy. You're good at the drug trade, but I can see you working up the ranks sooner or later.." Nibert said, as he gave a sickly smile, as Nibert started to drive to where Pearson and George lived to drop them off.

After all, it was all in a day's work.

Chet Marsh

Chet Marsh was in Virginia, when he heard the news about what happened to his brother Glenn back at Starkweather in Maryland. The rest of the Marsh family were back in Baltimore, but they got the news easily. In fact, Chet got notificated from a damn online news story that popped up in his recommended news. He couldn't freaking believe it. His brother! His own brother is dead!

Something wasn't immediately clicking, right however..

Chet worked as a lawyer and did have plans to attend the birthday party for Dolores. However, his duty calls. It wasn't easy being an attorney, but you got to help people somehow. He didn't understand why Glenn's wife Emily would kill him and the whole Greene family. No, this isn't right.. he thought, as he was already driving over to Starkweather to know what the hell was going on. He did drive to Gladstone first to see what happened at the Marsh farm, but the whole community of Gladstone was nearly a crime scene. It was now a parking lot of news vans and police vehicle. "Shit, this is bad.." Chet needed all of the information he could get. He wanted the truth. He needed to know the simple thing that people strive for. Truth. Just truth.

At a police station in Starkweather, Emily's mind was most likely haywire. The last couple of days was bound to put anyone into a mental breakdown. Her whole family was dead, along with her husband, that's one reason for starters. She wakes up with guns she's holding, where she is arrested for said crimes of her family being murdered. The police were very eager to play "bad cop" during the interviews they set up to have her explain what happened. However, any mention of the League or anyone else relating to it was being dismissed as delusions.

While she was stuck in a small cell in a state of mental pain, a beefy cop showed up at her cell with another cop. "Best to get up. You got a visitor. Some lawyer fellow. You better use your time before the trial later this week." the cop explained, as he unlocked her cell door. There, she was escorted to a visiting area where Chet Marsh was waiting behind a plastic screen and a phone ready to communicate with Emily.
Local 22 year old Diet Coke Addict College Student Ruins Everything


RPs I do
- How do you do fellow kids? You want to see something violent? - Artemis: Deimos Trafficking League (Horror/Mature)
- Descend into the forgotten tourist traps of Florida on this transgressive RP! - The Community (Mature/Black Comedy/Slice-of-Life)

My overall account that I use for P2TM and even for international roleplaying! MNM is a mysterious and extremely dangerous dictatorship filled with supernatural oddities, demons, militarized soldiers everywhere, and a misanthropic nihilistic dictator who doesn't give a damn. It's basically if the SCP Foundation got mixed with 1984.

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Infected Mushroom
Post Czar
Posts: 38812
Founded: Apr 15, 2014
Corrupt Dictatorship

Postby Infected Mushroom » Wed Oct 28, 2020 6:51 am

A few days ago...

Louise Donovan

The traumatized and handcuffed Emily sat between Donovan and another cop, squeezed uncomfortably. A third cop was at the wheel. Of course everyone in this particular car was bought and paid for.

Seeing as Louise knew what a giant risk this was, she had been quite firm when she asked for her terms and benefits.

Oh this is the REAL BIG BREAK I’ve been looking for. You’ll all see.

As the line of police cars and vans moved out of Gladstone and unto the highway, Detective Donovan felt a weight lifting off her mind.

The hardest part is over. Bitch didn’t get a chance to talk to the press. The rest of this is cake.

Once Marsh was at the station, the screwing would begin.

Louise turned and smirked at Emily. Emily looked like a deer caught in the headlights. Louise looked like a she-wolf looking at the latest prey; the leer was quite sinister over her pudgy face.

My God this gets even better. A pretty country girl face like this. Ah with Looks like this; you must have everything handed to you. Not anymore... NOT anymore...

Batting for Team Deimos had many rewards. Large amounts of cash and cheques, several free apartments on the fancy side. However, the greatest rewards were times like this, when she could wield absolute power over those caught on the wrong side of the law. It was in her nature to do so.

There were those who joined the police force out of a sense of idealism, who wanted to do right and be at the front line in the war against crime. Then there were other, less savory characters, who were looking for a chance to crush those weaker than themselves. To carry the power of the blue line while crushing “the bugs” with leather boots.

Louise Donovan joined the force for the less than savory reasons.

Some time ago, a younger Louise had joined the Starkweather PD, looking for power and respect. College hadn’t gone well and all the bad boys had been snagged up; her chances weren’t good, her looks just weren’t there. After a few failed jobs her life changed; Louise turned towards the police force and entered a crash course. Things clicked into place, a few positions opened up, and the Starkweather force let her in. Louise expected her life to turn.

Sadly, the force was a further disappointment. As a woman, she had to endure a great deal of sexism ranging from the thinly veiled to the direct type; the result was that she became angry, bitter, and mean-spirited. Her competence and work ethic just never seemed to amount to much; it was just too much of an old boys' club. Her days as a rookie and junior officer were marked with non-stop harassment, cat calls, and comments regarding weight. She loathed the mountains of paperwork, the brown-nosing, and having to tip toe around the unbelievable idiocy of the average citizen.

Idiots... idiots are everywhere.

Realizing this, the embittered Louise turned her anger on the people she could step on: the female secretaries (fuck feminism), the ghettos, unruly youths, the speeding hooligans, the colored peoples, the hookers.

Louise relished the opportunity to beat down on the downtrodden, to channel and purge her own injustices. In doing so she extracted small pleasures for she discovered the power of the blue line was real; it was possible to get away with things no ordinary citizen could dream of. The first time she tackled and tasered a suspect without cause, she felt truly empowered.

Pretty soon, she had established quite a reputation for ferocity and ruthlessness in the community, even amidst the notoriously brutal Starkweather police force. However, she couldn’t always control it. Her bad temper landed her in messier and messier territory and she seemed destined to plunge and fall.

Eventually she was approached by the League. At first she hesitated to take the plunge into the dirty but after one irritable and unbearable day too many, she bit. It was INTOXICATING, adult chocolate.

It was the BEST decision she’d ever made.

At first the effect was slight and gradual, but soon... it was like a new super heroine had been born. Louise Donovan became spiked with some evil fairy powder. Her life changed forever. However, no super heroine was born that day. Instead, what was born was a putrid super incarnation of police corruption and brutality to be unleashed upon the city.

Louise became rich and powerful. Everyone treated her differently at work. A few dirty trades later she was made a high ranking detective. She hated it when it was frequently brought up that she was the first woman to achieve this rank this fast (her achievements were her own, not some gender quota bullshit)... She still hated her life, her job, her lot, her body... but at least for now, she held more power than ever in her life and there were moments of pure unadulterated joy.

As Louise leered at Emily’s face, she thought to herself:

After this deal... I will be even more important. I always knew there was more to life than a pretty face...

Emily Marsh

The confused woman tried to put it together as the police car rolled onto the highway and Gladstone faded into the distance.

“I... where- where are we-“

“SHUSH,” the female cop said rudely. “There will be no talking. Not until later.”

“I just-“

“SHUT THE HELL UP!” she shouted, her voice slightly high pitched and discordant. It was a strange distortion.

Emily was shocked. However, her insides were empty and feeble. She felt light headed and in her present state of mind, she fell into a useless catatonic state, unable to muster more willpower to challenge the injustice playing out against her.

G... Glenn...

Her mind flashed back to that moment. A psychotic old man, bring the golf club up and down... up and down... the red puddle grew and grew...

Annie... M... Marston...

The screams of her dying relatives echoed through her ravaged mind...

As the cops around her spoke into the radios. There was a moment where Emily felt like she would pass out. But she snapped back in, as if from the brink of an abyss.

One of the cops spoke; the voice seemed a distant echo:

"You ought to be prepared for lockup."

This… This is not real…

But it was, and her life was about to change for the worse.

Emily was still dazed when she finally noted her surroundings. The police were entering what looked like a massive prison of some sort near the city limits. She turned wide-eyed and looked past the cop to her left… there were prison guards with rifles patrolling the walls of the place.

This… can’t… There’s been a huge mistake.

She knew she was being arrested but shouldn’t there be some safeguard-

“Hmmm I,” she said, trying to speak up. “I just want to expl-“

“SHHHHHHHHHH….” Donovan said coldly, a hint of a cruel smile on her face as she raised a finger to her own mouth. “You’ll get your chance. In the meantime, don’t cause no trouble.”

Emily wanted to say more but the words stuck at her throat as she was trying to process all of this.

Finally, the car stopped in some underground parking. Over a dozen police cruisers and vans opened up. The police grabbed the blood-soaked young woman firmly and forced her out of the vehicle. She looked around in shock as she was forcefully marched into a fenced off area leading further into the prison.

Emily blinked because standing in the lobby there were over a dozen prison guards, some of them had firearms out. They very clearly regarded her as a threat.

She stood dumbfounded as she watched the familiar, female cop (the one who had arrested her), walk over to address a person of authority; they traded a few slips of papers and documents.

As Emily watched, suddenly the police officer turned. Emily was confused because she was that there was the faintest hint of a malicious smirk on the pudgy face of the cop.

Wait… I want to explain…

But she felt herself to be frozen. The opportunity was gone because soon she felt herself being handled roughly again.

“Don’t move,” a very cold voice said.

There was a moment of relief as her handcuffs were removed. However, a second pair (owned by the prison staff) was forcefully deployed.

The next moments were a complete blur.

The guards ran her through a metal detector. Then she was comprehensively searched for weapons and materials in very heartless, intrusive procedure.

What?! They CAN’T-

“All clear!” a guard holding a newspaper said firmly. “Move along now. Cuffs back on. Let’s go go go.”

They removed her wallet and her keys and placed them inside a marked tray.

As if part of a conveyor belt, Emily Marsh was marched into the next part of the process. As she walked deeper into the prison, she took in her surroundings. Dull, lifeless grey walls everywhere…

The next part of the procedure was the mug shot and print, and some DNA and sample collection.

An officer looked at the ID and up.

“Are you Emily Greene Marsh?” the officer asked coldly.

“Y…yes sir,” she said.

“Hold out your hand over here like this. Go on. Yes. That’s it.”

They grabbed her hand, dipped her thumb into the ink, then unto a specific grid on a paper. The process had to be repeated for every single finger on both hands. While they processed the prints and made sure they were good, another set of guards took Emily’s height and weight. Some other samples were swiped and collected.

Any further attempts by Emily to start a conversation or inquiry was immediately shut down.

“You ask a LOT of stupid questions,” one of the guards said. “For now, just LISTEN, it's for your own good.”

“The answers will come later,” another guard said.

Some kind of a secretary walked out of the room carrying a large board with a chain of large numbers and letters inscribed into it.

“This is your name for now,” the secretary joked in bad taste. “Well before they-“

“Jill that’s ENOUGH,” the humorless guard said from the side.

Emily blinked as she picked up the rectangular board. There hadn’t been a trial… was she already convicted? What?

“It looks like you’re the only one today,” another guard said. “So you get all the spotlight and attention. Get up against the wall over there. We’re going to take your photo.”

“It’s graduation day,” Jill said.

The guard glared at her, this time suppressing a smirk on her own face. Jill shrugged, giggling silently.

As Emily stood against the wall, holding the large placard, she suppressed the sudden urge to cry. They told her to face the cameras. She choked back some tears as a series of camera flashes were set off.

“We’re going to try again,” a guard said. “You hold that card FLAT and correct… JILL! For God’s sake set her straight.”

Jill rolled her eyes as she walked forward to show Emily how to hold the placard for the next shot. From Emily’s POV, Jill’s voice seemed a faint echo…

Emily turned around, Bernice and Mark were on the floor. The gunshots were going off… the punctuated screams…

“Yo SNAP SNAP!” Jill cried, snapping her fingers at her face. “Back to earth!”

Why am I seeing these things?

“You ready?” Jill asked. “Can we go again?”

“Y… yes.”

Even worse was to come…

Later on she was hurled into a room as an orange prison uniform was thrown unto a bench.

“I… I think that I should explain there’s been a misunderstanding!” she said shrilly. “I think-“

Two female guards walked in and they weren’t having any of it.

“That’s enough!” one of them said crossly. “Here’s what happens now. You’re going to take EVERYTHING off and change into that jumpsuit right now.”

Emily was shocked and scandalized. “Wait… you mean in front of-“

They’re going to WATCH?!

“Well NO SHIT,” the other guard said exasperatedly. “You just offed a dozen plus people so we’re going to make sure you take EVERYTHING off and keep nothing on. We don’t want to deal with no weapons or tricks.”

But I didn’t kill-

“Trust me,” the other guard said. “Everyone does it. You’re no special cupcake and we’d rather be somewhere else. But… it's just protocol. This place’s only for the most dangerous and we… we GOTTA DO IT. Now it’s best to get started.”

Emily didn’t move yet. “I… don’t think this is right. I think I should have some priv-”

“You’ve got THIRTY SECONDS,” the guard said coldly. “Before we start doing it FOR you, and trust me, we don’t want to babysit no one.”

“Don’t make it more difficult than it has to be,” the other guard added.

“Thirty… twenty-nine… twenty-eight…twenty-seven…”

Emily couldn’t believe it. She would later feel very very bad for not putting up more of a fight, but in that moment, there was a shutdown mode and so she complied.

The guard stopped counting as soon as Emily started to strip and change. In an effort to minimize her shame, Emily tried to do it as fast as possible. She bent forth and grabbed the prison uniform before the most improper-

“DON’T…” the guard suddenly screamed, pointing a finger. “Touch that uniform UNTIL everything’s off. We got to see that you hide NOTHING.”

Oh my God…

Finally, Emily was ready to be escorted into the holding cells. If Emily had been more aware of the process, she would have questioned why she was already being held in max security, why she was being held in Starkweather and not Gladstone, and why most of the prison seemed so empty (as if somehow an entire section had been sealed off just to deal with her).

However, she had no legal training and no prior experience with this sort of thing, it couldn’t have occurred to her.

As three prison guards marched her past rows and rows of empty cells, she finally got some answers.

“Now here’s the deal. You have a right to an attorney so you’ll be allowed to place some phone calls later. We’ll send someone to explain more clearly. For now though, you’re under lockup until your first court date.”

“L… lockup?” Emily asked. She kept hearing this term and she wasn’t quite sure-

“It means that you’re in jail- my GOD this really is your first time,” the guard remarked.

“It’s her first time,” the other guard confirmed.

“When’s my court date and when-“

“No more talking,” the guard said. “No more. Just keep walking.”

After some further walking, they reached her cell at the very end. There was a steel door that had to be unlocked with considerable effort.

Emily was beyond terrified now.

When the door swung open, a very small cubicle was revealed. Some dim artificial light turned on inside. The place was very literally only slightly bigger than a small bathroom.

“Welcome to your new home. Let’s go.”

But… but the trial-

Emily was pushed into the place and made to stand against a wall so that her cuffs could be removed.

Before she could ask any further questions, the guards had left and slammed the door firmly shut.


Instinctively, she walked up to the steel door and placed her hands against it, still trying to process the horror of everything and wondering how her life could just so suddenly change…

And then it just became too much.

The woman curled herself up on the small, pitiful bunk bed in the corner; she cried and cried and cried, burying her face into the bed and hoping that it could all End…

A few minutes had passed, or was it hours?

There must be a mistake. The… the police are good people. They will help me if I tell the truth. I… I just have to be clear. I just need to explain everything! Everything is going to be okay.

Emily consoled herself. The police didn’t take her in because they had any ill will. They only took her because she was set up; she remembered the guns placed in her room and the blood on her clothes. The police COULDN’T be blamed. They were just responding to…

Who were those people?

Her mind flashed back to the faces of two of the men in the lounge… where Glenn Marsh was murdered.

The… the killers! I KNEW IT.

She had seen two of the killers at the town union gathering. Her mind flashed back to their faces (the faces of Timothy and Pabari), then to a vision that sent chills down her spine: Dolan Schaeffer leaving the room, before doing so throwing her a look of pure malice and psychosis…

“Do you really want to stand in the way of progress and development?” Dolan said coldly. “You are all making a mistake... a BIG mistake.”

Dolan set me- No this is crazy. It can’t really be happening… right?

But then again, everything that had happened in the last 24 hours was downright mad.

Emily had consolation though, for she felt sure that the truth would be revealed. The police just needed the time. It would be clear that she was innocent and soon; she will be released.

For one thing, she had no criminal record. She was just an English teacher in a small town and it wouldn’t make sense… why would she murder her own family? And how could she even do it? Shoot down that many people all by herself? It was clearly a set up.

She thought back to the shooters. They had used several guns to do the killings. The science would confirm that the shots came from many guns and not just the ones in her bedroom… or at least, it should right? She had seen this in one of the crime movies on TV.

The police may be kind of rough but they are… just doing their job. They don’t understand better. I… I have to show them. Tell them what really happened.

She waited patiently for her phone call. She already knew who she would call: her brother-in-law, the lawyer, Chet Marsh. If she was going to be falsely accused of murder, then she needed Chet in her corner, and not a public defender. She didn’t know much about public defenders, except that one time Glenn and Chet had mentioned that some of them treated the trials like a transaction and may decide to sell her off in a plea bargain without giving it the true all-in.

Surely they’d let me call TODAY and not tomorrow right?

She tried to think back. They didn’t say. The whole thing was very confusing.

Emily leapt up as she heard three firm knocks on the steel door. A small slit opened up and she saw a guard peering in. Commands were issued:

“Stand against the wall. Turn around. Put your hands over your head. Don’t move.”

Emily blinked but complied.

Once she was in the requested position, the door was opened.

Am I really such a big threat?

She felt the placement of the handcuffs again. She was marched out of the cell.

“Please I just want to know… am I getting my phone call now?” she asked as she walked.

“Not yet,” the guard said. “That room over there; let’s go.”

“But you said I’d get my phone-“


She felt a very firm shove against her back.

It was an interrogation chamber. A police detective sat at the end. Emily recognized her immediately; it was the person who had restrained and arrested her. It was her again!

Emily felt a chill down her spine. She couldn’t explain it but there was something un-seeming about the detective. She wasn’t quite sure what it was, but Emily had a sense that Donovan was not her friend.

Relax, you’re just nervous. I must not judge people by appearance.

Louise Donovan

Louise watched with a sneer on her face as the handcuffs were removed and Emily was asked to sit down.

First things first.

“I’d like everyone to leave,” Louise said to the guards.

“Are you sure you’ll be-“

“Yes,” she said coldly.

As the guards moved to cuff Emily’s hands behind the chair, Louise said, “Don’t do it. Let’s give her a bit of breathing space. Hurry along… OUT.”

If Emily gave any trouble, Louise herself would beat her down and that would be a thrill.

“I’m Detective Louise Donovan,” she said. “I’m investigating the events at the farm and the multiple homicides. I’m going to ask you a few questions, and I suggest you answer them directly and honestly.”

“I… er…” Emily said. “Should I have a lawyer here?”

“The lawyer part comes later,” Louise said sleazily. “This is the prelim interview and it’s supposed to be one on one. If you don’t cooperate that’s you choice… but I’ll have to make a note and do a write up on it. It won’t look good for you. It will be better if we talk.”

Emily looked at her in shock.

“I’m not really here to give you a hard ball,” Louise said, forcing herself to smile, but it looked more like a sneer. “I’m actually trying to understand the situation and help. See I’ve been told to arrest you but I don’t understand the whole picture. It doesn’t add up-“

“I’ve been set up,” Emily said shrilly. “I think it’s Dolan Schaeffer, he set this-“

“Now now now,” Louise said, raising a hand as she pulled out a notepad and a recorder (it was time to sneakily begin the interrogation). “Let’s start from the beginning. My first question for you is this: How’s your marriage?”

Emily Marsh

“W… what?”

What does this have to with anything? My… my marriage?!

Louise repeated the question: “How was your marriage? How would you describe your relationship with the deceased, Mr. Glenn Marsh prior to the incident of today?”

“It… it’s wonderful,” she said. “It… I mean it WAS, it was…”

“Now now now,” Louise said. “I don’t want any bullshit answers. I need to know the REAL answers. You can tell me the truth.”

Something strange was going on; Emily was confused.

“Did he beat you?” Louise said. “Did he ever raise a hand against you?”

“No,” Emily said. “He never-”

“I’ve got a statement here from your neighbor, Mr. Whitman that a week ago he saw you and Mr. Marsh arguing about something in the backyard, would this be around the time you considered moving to the city?”


Emily didn’t understand. The questioning direction… where was this going?

“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Emily said.

“Why don’t you just play it straight and tell me what you were arguing about? Was that the SAME THING you were arguing about this morning, prior to the start of the party? Because… yes… some people saw that part as well.”

Emily was speechless. Louise pressed.

“Have you ever had an argument with Glenn Marsh before?” the policewoman asked aggressively.

“Some… sometimes-“

“What about?”

“Well the little things. You know, everyone argues I mean it’s not like- … Why are you asking these things?”

Louise was busy writing things down unto the pad. Emily was confused, why was there so much writing? She wasn’t aware she’d even said anything of much importance yet.

“What… what are you writing down?”

“Just some notes,” Louise replied as she smacked her lips with her tongue. She jotted a few more things down furiously than she looked up. “Anyhoo… Have you ever harbored any violent thoughts towards the rest of your family? Did they ever do anything to piss you off?”

Emily blinked. “I don’t know what you want-“

“You gotta give me something here,” Donovan pressed. “Look…”

There was a pause, during which the detective looked deceptively maternal. “I’m trying to help you Marsh, but you gotta tell me the truth. The whole truth. This way… I can protect you from the real threats. You see? The DA’s office, they really want to hammer you down. They want to go after you with the death penalty.”

But I… I didn’t-

“They want to go with the whole Hard On Crime stance… which I want to protect you from cause I believe in second chances. Now tell me the truth. Why did you shoot your whole family up?”

“I didn’t,” Emily replied firmly, she was starting to get angry. This felt like a very bad faith engagement.

“Yes you did,” Louise said. “Now don’t go on lying now. Cause the proof is all there. See we found your guns… BOTH of them, with YOUR PRINTS of them. VERY clever of you to enlarge all the magazines to carry more bullets. See, we found the blood of your relatives on your clothes and persons… there’s powder around your fingers and then who knows what else we’ll find when the results they come back flying from the labs.”

But… this is IMPOSSIBLE.

“I was at the party,” Emily said. “Then they showed up and killed my whole family.”

“They? … Listen, there were no intruders. It was just you and your family.”

“Yes there were. There came. You must have found their footprints-“

“No,” the officer insisted unreasonably, raising a finger. “No no no. There weren’t. We saw all the footprints and we looked at the crime scene… there’s only you and your relatives. Your grandfather, your parents, your brothers, sisters and their children. And you… you snapped. You killed them all.”

“You didn’t find any other footprints?” Emily asked, incredulous.

Louise shook her head. “Nope. It was only you. EVERYTHING at the crime scene, showed only YOU and your family. Your family’s dead, now what does the 2 plus 2 lead to?”

Emily couldn’t believe it. What was going on? Was this some sort of magic? Was this-

Louise folded her arms and looked at her, there was a very unpleasant expression on the policewoman’s face.

Emily decided she had to try again.

“I… I saw them,” Emily said. “There were six of them. They carried automatic firearms, and… and then they shot everyone to death. I saw it with my eyes. And Glenn… he was beaten-“

“You got an over-active imagination Marsh I’ll give you that,” Louise said. “PFFFFFFFFFF I mean just WOW… WOW. I just told you there was no one else but you insist there was… so either you’re a liar or a crazy… OR BOTH.”

“I… maybe… maybe someone erased the evidence. I was knocked out after they beat my husband to death. So maybe things were moved and then-“


The transformation was absolutely terrifying. The policewoman screamed out the word so loud that Emily almost fell off her chair.

Louise Donovan leaned forward across the table and as she did so, her face resembled a vicious toad; there was an air of menace across her pudgy features… a shadow seemed to descend upon the room itself. In that moment Emily was terrified.

“There was no one else!” Louise shouted, her eyes wide with mania. “So you’re going to tell me the truth! WHY DID YOU DO IT?! Why did you shoot down your own children? Why did you shoot down your parents? Your brother, your sisters? YOUR ELDERLY PARENTS! Why did you do it YOU SICK FUCK!”

Emily started crying but Louise pressed harder. The policewoman leaned back and started talking instead of shouting, but she continued to turn the screws.

“You’ve been planning it for some time, see? Cause a gal like you just doesn’t show up one day with a fully loaded MP5 submachine gun with extended magazine clips and an M-16 to boot. Oh no. You had to get the money to buy the guns, you had to hide em, you had to plan the day, the perfect day. You had to make sure everyone was in the right places so you could shoot them down in one go. So tell me… why Marsh? Why did you commit them murders?”

“I… I didn’t!”

“Admit it Marsh…” Louise said. “I can help you… get you life or maybe just 10 to 20 years who knows but you GOTTA PLAY BALL. Or the DA, the prison staff, the courts… they’ll eat you alive. You’ll be a piece of juicy steak for the crazies and there’ll be nothing I can do. I’m the only one who can help you but you have to tell me why. WHY did you do it?”

Emily wiped some of her tears away. “I… I can’t explain it- but… but you have to believe me when I say I didn’t do it. I saw them kill my family. It wasn’t me.”

“Then we have nothing more to talk about,” Louise said simply. “If you’re going to act all crazy and make up lies, then I can’t help you. I can’t. It’s just how it is.”

“I’m not lying.”

“You are,” Louise said. “You’re the biggest liar I know, and they’ll nail you straight for it.”

Emily couldn’t believe it. It was almost as if the policewoman had no interest in hearing what she had to say at all. But the whole thing… it just made no sense.

Suddenly, Louise seemed to change gear again.

“You know Emily, I can get you help… real medical help, cause it’s clear you got the crazies. I mean at first I thought you were a liar, but NOW I think you’re just seeing things that aren’t there. I mean you’re making people up that are doing the killing.”

Without warning, something in Emily Marsh seemed to snap clean open. She felt a rush of blood rush up to her brain as she lost all control and shouted:


Louise seemed to maintain calm. Emily didn’t back down as she was hot with anger. A different person seemed to overtake Emily as she suddenly stood up and made a desperate lunge forward… the table was too long.


The door burst open and three guards rushed in.


She was interrupted because at once several pair of arms grabbed her firmly from behind. This was followed by an immediate beatdown as the guards proceeded to mercilessly club her over the back again and again and again…

Emily fell down to the floor but the guards held her down as they kept beating.

Louise Donovan

And there we go…

Louise stood up. She watched with considerable satisfaction as her opponent was beaten down on the floor, having been successfully provoked into making her own situation even worse.

“That’s enough.” Louise said at length. “I think she gets it yeah?”

The guards stopped. Emily moaned and cried on the floor. They grabbed her and proceeded to restrain her again with handcuffs.

It's unfortunate I can't join in on the fun here. Guards they got here too fast. Would have loved to deck her too.

“You need to keep that temper of yours in check,” Louise said condescendingly as she walked out of the room through another set of doors.

She reached another room where a prison employee was operating several recording screens.

“You got that?” Louise asked. “The whole footage?”

“Yes,” the employee said.


With a bit of tweaking from the best, the footage would add ammunition at the trial.

In the present…

Chet Marsh

Chet Marsh sat on a chair. His sister-in-law faced him across the visitor plastic divide but he barely recognized her. Both sides picked up the phones.

Emily looked sickly and her brown hair was a mess.

My God…

“Chet?” she said blankly. “Chet, I’m… I’m so glad to see you.”

“Emily I… I’m here to help-“

“Thank God you came,” Emily cried out. “I… I was so worried that you wouldn’t come. I was worried-“

“Hey hey hey,” Chet said. “Calm down. OF COUSE I would come. I’m on your side.”

“I didn’t kill Glenn or the… the children,” Emily insisted. “You… you have to believe me. They… they’re lying. They set me up.”

Th… they? I want to believe it. But… but now I’m just confused-

“It’s Dolan Schaeffer,” Emily said furiously. “He planned the whole thing. I think the police are with them, or at least some of them I’m not sure. The murderers, I saw them. They were six and two of them were fami-“

“Slow down please,” Chet said, raising a hand. “You need to start from the beg-“

“I SAW THEM CHET!” Emily cried out. “They came here with guns and they did all the killing; it wasn’t me!”

"How do you know it was Schaeffer?" Chet asked.

"The... the security he used, for the town union meeting. I recognised them. Two of the men who murdered my family... I recognised them. It was THE SAME TWO GUARDS. The same ones that were at the town union meeting."

"Are you... are you absolutely certain?"

"Yes. I'm SURE."

Chet thought about it.

“Okay I'll look into it. But Emily please…” Chet said. “We need to use our limited time here carefully. I have some information that you need to hear.”

Emily listened with rapt attention.

“You’re in lockup,” Chet said. “The DA is going to press forward with the murder charges. All of the murders, all eighteen of them, in the first degree. That means life. You'll never get out.”

Emily froze with shock. She had learned earlier from Chet that the death penalty was no longer a thing in Maryland; Detective Donovan had lied.

Chet continued, “Now the next stage is the preliminary hearing. That’s in a few days. In this hearing, the judge will decide whether you get bail or not. Since you’re accused of multiple homicides, the state is going to win this phase by arguing that you’re a danger to-“

“But I didn’t kill anyone,” Emily insisted. “Are you saying I can’t leave this place?”

“It’s either going to be this place or some other place but yes,” Chet said. “You can’t go home. Not until it’s over... the whole trial has to run.”

“And when… WHEN will it be over?”

Chet looked at her grimly. “It’s very hard to say. Days, months, years and it pains me to say it… maybe over a decade?”

It absolutely pained Chet to see the gravity of the situation rain down on Emily. In a way, the phrase Innocent Until Proven Guilty was a bit of a misleader… once the government points its fingers on the highest charges, a huge chunk of your life is potentially tied down even before the determination of guilt.

“I know you think this is the end of the world,” Chet said. “But it’s not. Not if you work with me. Look, I don’t believe for a SECOND that you killed my brother or the others. But you have to tell me the truth… THE WHOLE TRUTH. From start to finish. That way we can start to work on a viable defense strategy…”

“Al… alright.”

“Before we go there. There’s one really big point. Emily, did the police talk to you after the arrest? After they’ve placed you in this place, did any officers talk to you?”

“Yes,” Emily said. “They pulled me out of this cell twice. I, I answered a few questions and I think I might have lost it-“

“You talked to them?!” Chet was said, scandalized. “T… TWICE?!”

He wasn’t happy about this. This puts them in a very bad situation. He also wasn’t happy because the state didn’t yet turn over those transcripts to him, he had NO IDEA what was said or whether it was proper or not. He hated it when the stateside played dirty.

“Didn’t I tell you over the phone NOT to talk to-“

“Sorry that was before you called, and I couldn’t tell you last time because we only had ten minutes-“

“Jesus Christ,” Chet said. “What did they say? What did they ask you?”

“I don’t… I don’t really remember everything,” Emily said. “But they… they kept asking me if Glenn and I argued about anything. They… they asked me if I was stressed out at my job. I think… they kept trying to get me to confess to something I didn’t-“

“And you didn’t RIGHT?!”

“No. I… I stayed firm. I didn’t tell them much. Not much I don’t think-“

“Okay,” Chet said. “I’ll… (he was conscious of the time*). I’ll get to the bottom of it, but I’m sure it was very improper for them to talk to you in that way. I don’t know, I’ll find something. It could help us but it’s hard to say… I’d need to know exactly what they got. Err… look Emily, I’m sorry but I have to go. The time is going to be up. But we’ll meet tomorrow for a longer period, for a few hours at least. It all has to happen in a bit of a rush with the preliminary coming up but that’s not the main battle, the trial is. I’ll need to get all of the facts straight. I think-“


A no-nonsense guard appeared behind Chet. The doors behind Emily opened and a number of guards were stepping up.

“I may need an additional minute with my client,” Chet said, raising a hand.

All the guards stopped moving briefly.

Chet looked at Emily.

“Stay calm okay? Everything will be alright. I’ll be on your side the whole time. Remember, we’ll talk tomorrow again. For far longer. We’ll have a game plan. Stay safe.”

“Al… alright Chet thank you.”

As Chet walked out of the prison, his mind was racing.

My goodness… this is going to be the most important case of my life.

The image of Glen flashed before Chet’s eyes. In that moment, he realized his entire life had been leading up to this moment. He had to do right by his brother. He had to get to the bottom of the truth. He believed Emily… for now, but he kept all possibilities open.

He had heard about the Gladstone dispute and the town meeting from Glenn. But really? Dolan Schaeffer? It just seemed a bit far-fetched. The man was legit. It had the makings of a conspiracy theory. Had it been anyone but Emily, Chet would have dismissed it. But still... the timing of it all it was just so... convenient. There was at least an air of reality.

I should do a bit of investigating myself. Every minute counts.

But first, I need to request those DAMN TRANSCRIPTS.

If only his clients would stop talking to the police first…
Last edited by Infected Mushroom on Tue Nov 17, 2020 6:36 pm, edited 5 times in total.

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Main Nation Ministry
Posts: 13014
Founded: Sep 28, 2016
Psychotic Dictatorship

Postby Main Nation Ministry » Wed Nov 11, 2020 12:09 am

Chet Marsh

This wasn't good. This wasn't very good at all.

This thought rang out inside of Chet's skull, as he asked in the prison, if he could review the evidence and the transcripts of Emily's interrogation. He needed to find the detective who conducted the interrogation. Chet was probably the only one who immediately knew that something was wrong. He was tempted to say that Emily might have not harmed a fly, but the investigation might try to paint her as a woman gone postal. They might have to ship her off to another state, so she can get the death penalty. While Starkweather or any city in Maryland at the moment had the death penalty, Emily's verdict might actually lead to her getting shipped off, so she can get a lethal injection.

He needed to act quick. The transcripts. It was the only thing on his mind. The damn transcripts! He first started at the prison where they interrogated Emily. The problem was that the prison was a bit too private. He wasn't very to meddle, but as he asking that he request to see some of the staff, he was starting to get some dirty looks. Then if that wasn't bad, he tried to request that he see the prison warden. That was when the guards have started to get aggressive towards him. "Hey! I have you know that I'm a defender of the law! I will not have this treatment be given to me in any-"
"You better leave," a guard said in an almost sadistic tone as he got a baton ready, "We know people who like to snoop without permits. We don't want that in our prison.."

After leaving the Starkweather Correctional Facility, Chet knew he couldn't rely on the support of the Gladstone community. By now, all of Gladstone were in an uproar with itself on if the words of Whitman were true or not. The media was stressing everyone out to burst a blood vessel. Chet figured the best and only way to get the transcripts was with the help of the courts. Get permission from the judge on the case, then he can analyze the transcripts.

At the office of Judge Umbridge, she listened to Marsh's explanation for the request to see evidence. "You want to access soon to be court records for the trial I'm scheduled to do in a couple of days?"
"Your Honor. I'm a relative of a murder victim who has full belief that my future client that I'm defending is innocent. I'm aware of the reputation that lawyers tend to get, however I'm defending the woman who I believed didn't murder my brother."
"Mr. Marsh. I can't simply request to the Starkweather Correctional Facility that they hand over to the transcripts to someone without permission from the District Attorney."
"The District Attorney knows the public wants blood!"
"This trial I'm doing for Emily Marsh is risky, Marsh." Umbridge raised her voice. "I demand no interruptions from you, when I state this. We live in a country that is easily paralyzed by fear. Hadn't you know in the news of such incidents and travesties committed by the evilest of people? We had the Southline bombings, the Gatsby slayings, the Shawman Church Massacre! It gave me so much hope in helping the lives of many by tweeting out for a prayer in the form of a hashtag from what happened in New Orleans!" Umbridge condescendly explained, where she believed a single act of slacktivism of sending one tweet literally helped with the hate crime that was what caused many lives to be claimed.

"If I give Emily Marsh a non-guilty verdict, they will kick me out from my chair! The only form of mercy I can give her is if her psychological profile shows that she is mentally unfit for proper incarceration."
"SH! No interrupting! I'm not finished. For all I know, she will get a life sentence. I read a bit on her and I know that she speaks volumes on what is wrong with our society. The white trash are the ones that are most prone to violence, than the people of color. There will be no miscarriage of justice when I will be the one with the gavel to make sure that no one likes that woman leaves the court scot-free!"
"I need to, at least, have the transcripts to prove that Emily might have had a possible psychosis!"
"I can't give you the transcripts that easily, Marsh. I need authorization from the DA, before I can hand you the transcripts."

Naturally, Chet fumed over this issue, since his efforts was heavily lopsided against him. "It's overwhelming bureaucratic to get a response from the DA. He's not going to be at the Court or want to help the woman!" Chet raged at Umbridge, since he was the only one that knew Emily was somehow innocent, seeing how things still weren't clicking, right. "No DA. No transcripts."

"It's bullshit! I know there is something wrong with this case! I'm not going crazy! Emily Marsh didn't kill her family!" Chet screamed into his cell phone, sitting at the end of his motel bed to his assistant, who was back at Virginia. "She's on the news here, Marsh. She's making national. A mass shooting like this is going to give her a heavy verdict." the assistant said, as they were watching the news coverage of Nibert's masterpiece. "The District Attorney isn't going to help me! I even gave him a call, but he knows that it's not going to change anything! I'm fucked here!"
"Did she act crazy when she met you?"
"She looked 100% innocent. I'm trying to make notes of my own, but I might have a lead or two to use!"
"What kind?"
"Emily claimed that Dolan Schaeffer, some philanthropist is responsible for the massacre."
"Why some rich guy?"
"It might be due to the conflict with some projects back at Gladstone. The community is already being torn apart, because of this. I think if I try to convince the court to continue with the investigations to add further suspects, I can win this case."
"You mean delaying it?"

"I'm saving my sister in-law here. I call you again in the morning. I need to go over my case files. Bye." Chet hung up, as he was putting his notes in a folder. That was until there was a knock at the door. The door had a peephole and a chain lock, but Chet didn't see himself in any danger. He looked through the peephole. There was some random guy in a cop uniform. A cop? Why is there a cop at my door? Chet thought, as he opened the door, where the chain lock was still on.

"Mr. Chet Marsh?" the officer asked him, as he was looking directly at Chet, almost with trying to make sure it was him. "Yes, officer?"
"I've been brought along to assist with a meeting between you and a fellow detective."
"A detective? What do they want?"
"They claim that they are seeking you, in concern of providing case evidence."

The transcripts? Are they finally asking for the damn transcripts? "Where are they? Do they have the transcripts?" Chet said, as he was now eager to get the evidence that he needed. It was vital enough that Emily might get screwed, if he couldn't find a link or two. He will take any chance as he can. "They are waiting for you at the parking lot and they happen to ask you some questions as well."
"Concerning some possible involvement, but they will explain everything down there."

Leaving his motel room and heading down to the parking lot, there was a police cruiser and a neatly dressed man in a large overcoat that Marsh didn't recognize. He didn't look like he was from the Correctional Facility, but he didn't look like a detective either. Then again, some of them are undercover. "Chet Marsh, is it?" the detective asked him, as he nodded.

"I'm Detective Pearson. I'm part of one of the investigations in the massacre at the Gladstone community."

"Why did you want to see me? How do you know I'm a lawyer?"
"I was notified from someone at the Starkweather Correctional Facility that you were requesting specific parts of evidence for the current investigation."
"I just need transcripts. I've been asking throughout the whole city and that judge wouldn't give me permission for some goddamn transcripts!" Chet vented, as Detective Pearson seemed to understand him. "We're able to provide transcripts for the investigations. It's the transcripts for the interrogations that you want, correct?"
"Yes! It's-"
"Sh! Keep your voice down. What I'm trying to help you do isn't something I can do easily.. Over here." Pearson directed Chet and the officer into an alley, where it was starting to reek from a day of hot garbage from a dumpster nearby. The alley was completely out of sight from many. It was just the three of them there.

"Yes, I need the transcripts on everyone during the interrogations. Even Emily Marsh."
"Chet, I'm unable to provide the transcripts currently, but I can guarantee it will be before the scheduled trial."
"How will you give me the transcripts?"
"Flash drive, of course. You brought a laptop, right?"
"It's in my room. I'm guessing we can't describe this to other people, since you had to cut through some red tape here."
"Red tape isn't the worst of our problems, Marsh. Are you with anyone else? Anyone else who is following on the investigation as you? Private eyes?" Pearson starting to ask some other questions, though Chet didn't understand them at first, since even if they might appear related to his own investigation, they were rather specific.

"No one believes me on what I think about Emily. She has to be innocent!" Chet explained, as the police officer stood at the entrance of the alley, directly behind Chet. "Did she mention any possible suspects? Even if the investigation is happening, we can still look into any possible links."
"She mentioned Dolan Schaeffer, but- Wait a minute.." Chet suddenly knew something was up. "Didn't you view the transcripts? Did she say the same thing?"
"Some of them are beyond my reach in viewi-"
"Also, I know you're a detective, but you never bothered to show me your badge!" Marsh told Pearson, where he was digging into his overcoat. "Relax, I didn't want to show people I was a cop, it's right here."

Of course, Chet was right about Pearson all along. The overcoat was good to make him look like a professional eye, while also concealing the meat tenderizer that Rick Pearson pulled up and swinged up into Chet's jaw. Chet fell backward onto the ground, as his mouth was too screwed up to scream. Pearson immediately struck him again. And again. He made sure that Marsh went limp, before he had the dirty cop toss him into the dumpster. "Hang on, move this trash over the body." Pearson demanded, as both of them were piling complete garbage on top of Chet. "Wait! Hang on. I need to make sure that Nibert knows the job is done." Pearson reached into the dumpster, where he managed to find Chet's arm and pulled it towards him.

Pearson pulled out something sharp. A knife. Large for hunting. He started to dig into Chet's hand. He wanted to give Nibert proof. "Damn...I should have brought the machete. Several fingers will do. I can sell them to Cumberworth after I'm done. Find me a glass bottle. We need to prevent someone cut themselves bad with some dirty glass."

Both the cop and Pearson broke into the motel room and started to get whatever Chet had on the case. It was easy to trash it, but they didn't know if it could be weaponized.

"Come on! Out of your cell!" a guard demanded, as Emily had requested a phone call to Chet, since he wasn't showing up today. It was a day after he showed up, but now he was gone. As Emily was marched to the phone, which was being closely monitored, Emily made a call to Chet Marsh.

Somewhere in a dumpster somewhere, the cell phone belonging to Chet Marsh was ringing. However, it was unlikely that anyone would pick up. As the owner of the phone was in the dumpster as well. Stuck to rot, until a garbage truck would take his remains to the dump.

"Well, you had your choice. Now, back into your cell!" the guard said, as they made sure to get a club ready in case Emily was going to resist. Another shove into the cell and it would be another day alone in maximum security until the start of the trial. Speaking of which...

Chapter 3: The Trial of Emily Marsh

Emily didn't have her brother in-law laywer to help her. When it was revealed that she couldn't find a lawyer to represent her, the court decided to help give her a public defender. It wouldn't sound bad, but the lawyer that popped up in the visitation center already looked like some wannabe hotshot. He wore a tacky Hawaiian tie with his suit and looked like the sleazy used car salesman that was trying to give you a car with a faulty brake or airbag. First, he tries to start with the whole "Did you actually do what they are accusing you of?" approach towards Marsh. Obviously, she was innocent.

"Alright alright alright!" the lawyer who introduced himself as Ace Ondowsky said in a hyper tone, though it was reminiscent of someone selling snake oil. "Here's the deal. I know they are going to smear your image. However, I've been looking a bit into your profile. A school teacher who suddenly goes postal is still going to raise eyebrows. My plan is that we present the sympathetic side of you at the trial. We press some doubt into the evidence a bit, then we just wing it." Ace explained, but Emily figured he didn't really have a structured plan at all for his defense strategy. "Just remember to keep yourself quiet. If you blurt something out, they will get pissed at you." Ace continued, not wanting Emily to incriminate herself by accident.

"I will do all the talking here. When they have you testify, you say what you have to say."

At the courthouse in the middle of the city, it was already a disgusting mess. They had Emily wear a white bulletproof vest, as they led her inside. There were going to be tons of wannabe Jack Ruby's in the crowds, so the fuzz can't have Emily get shot by a vengeful shooter. It was a mixture of journalists, cameramen, and angry crowds. Some snapped pictures, some jeered violently, some were wishing that Emily would get the lethal injection. It was a mess.

At the defendant lobby, Emily and Ace were getting prepared. She didn't have any hope, but wanted to be proved innocent. However, she didn't know what happened to Chet Marsh. Did they get to him by killing him? Did he go yellow and deserted her? Those thoughts ran in her mind, as Ace was going over the case.
"Hey, you two! It's time.." a bailiff said to the two of them, as they escorted them to the courtroom.

Judge Umbridge was already at her bench, as she peered at both Emily Marsh and Ace Ondowsky, coming in through the bar to their place at the court. The witnesses were in a room outside of the courtroom, so they didn't get influenced on what the other had to say. The trial was being filmed, though they forbid all of the mainstream news outlets from disrupting the courtroom. The prosecutor at his side of the courtroom, adjusting some papers, where he shot a nasty glare at Emily. Whether he was on Schaeffer's side or not is unknown. The court clerk and court stenographer were at their positions. Some people were at the gallery, while there was a jury present. Might not be helpful, since Umbridge herself might change the jury's recommended sentence against their wishes with something more on judgment not withstanding of the verdict.

"All rise."

"The court today is here to absolve or condemn the actions of Mrs. Emily Marsh in this month's massacre. If we may begin, prosecutor?" Umbridge said to the prosecutor, where he delivered the case summary to the court.
"The court will now be addressed by the actions of Emily Marsh in the murders of the following.." the prosecutor said, where Ace let Emily cover her ears. She was still shaken, but Ace didn't seem to care about her mental state. As the prosecutor said the names of those killed, it felt like a nail being driven into her skull. "These people were slain in a violent act of mass murder that is far too common in our country. The evidence and eyewitness testimonies that was provided during the investigation links the main suspect and perpetrator as Emily Marsh!"
"Objection, your honor!"
"Sustained. You may speak on behalf of your client, Mr. Ondowsky."

"Very well.." Ace coughs a bit and started to speak. "Your honor. Members of the court and of the jury. As the lawyer of Emily Marsh, who confirmed to me that she is innocent, is to not be guilty! We disagree with the claims, where we ask that the court provides the evidence on the mass homicide, in question."

"The court may continue."
"Yes, your honor." the prosecutor spoke up again. "The investigation has uncovered an assault rifle and a submachine gun that both were found near the defendant. For the safety of the court, these weapons have been unloaded and are currently being displayed. As weapons in the chaos, the investigation has uncovered a golf club that was used as a melee weapon for one of the victims, Glenn Marsh."
"Your honor, if I may-"
"Overruled! May the prosecution continue?"
"We had uncovered fingerprints on the clips used on the guns and on the golf club used. Both of which matched the defendant-"

"Objection, your honor! If I may!" Ace immediately spoke, where he tried to counter this. "Your honor, I provide doubt that the forensics 100% matched Emily Marsh. My client has no criminal records to be known and the profile that she shows currently is that of nonviolence. Only trauma. To use the excuse of the CSI effect in this court will not be used against my client!"
"Would you like the client to testify?"
Shit.. She might not be ready to.. They think she's talking gibberish. "I have my client remain silent, until given. The evidence, in question. The two weapons. They shouldn't belong to a school teacher."
"Gladstone is known for supporting traditional values, such as hunting and the use of guns. Especially in the farmland of where it's at."

"May...we have a witness!" Ace said, where the prosecutor looked baffled. "The prosecution is ready to present a witness, your honor."

Emily immediately recognized the two people who entered and were at the stand. It was Mrs. Whitman and her spoiled brat of a daughter. They had the looks of terror on their faces, where the daughter looked nervously at Emily, before being comforted by her mother. "Wait.." Ace suddenly realized that something was amiss. "Ms. Whitman. Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth?" Ms. Whitman was asked, where she hugged her mother. "Take it easy! She's just a child!"

A spoiled brat of a child, that is.

"I...I swear.." Whitman said, as she was accomplished by her mother at the witness stand. "May the witness explain the events that they had seen at the Marsh farm?" the prosecution said, as the daughter began to explain.

"I was with my mom, as we were driving past the farm. Mom and Dad wanted to stop by a gas station, but I heard something outside of my window. There was these bangs like fireworks. It sounded like fireworks, so I looked outside to see if it was. Then, I see this woman with these guns. She was firing at these people and she looked very scary! She...she was..." the daughter was struggling to hold back tears, where the cross-examination began. "If I may ask, how did the parents of the witness manage to contact the authorities?" Ace asked, pressing the daughter's statement.
"We paid the cops on our cellphone. The police came a while later, after we made the 911 call."

"Has the 911 call been submitted as a transcript?"
"The 911 call is in the court round, yes." the prosecution explained, where Ace viewed the transcript. "In this transcript, you never mentioned the description of the defendant. It's shown that you call the authorities to report screaming and gunshots."
"We didn't see what was happening, but we had the windows down, also. It was a hot day, and the AC was broken in our car."

Ace gave a nervous smile. Ok... The first witness testimonies, but even though the jury was giving both him and Emily dirty looks, things should be better. They must!

"Mr. Whitman. You reported days before the massacre that you had overheard or viewed a dispute between Emily and Glenn Marsh. May you try to specify the reason for this argument?" the prosecution asked Whitman who Ace knew was full of shit.
"I heard most of it. They were arguing heavily about how the slaughterhouse proposal was going to screw up their whole farm. Glenn wanted to stay at the farm, however the wife wanted to move to the city."
"Objection, your honor!"
"Overruled. The witness must continue their testimony until the cross-examination." Umbridge said, as Whitman explained more bullshit.

"They had been arguing about stuff the month before. I can tell a rocky relationship when I see one. I tend to hear the farmhands at the Marsh farm that Glenn goes to the city to buy himself a crate of beer to drink outside and feed to the kids. I think I overheard the word 'divorce', but I can't really tell."
"Defense has the ability to cross-examine."
"Your honor, I have reason to believe that the witness testimony is extremely unreliable!" Ace said, where Whitman gave him a dirty look. "I saw the truth and nothing but the truth!" Whitman yelled, where Umbridge banged on her gavel.

"Order! Order! I will not have this petty argument start! Defense, you are to explain to the court why you find the testimony unreliable, otherwise you will be given a penalty."
"Your honor, I had spoke a bit with my client. My client explains that she was a part of a lovely marriage with two kids and a healthy family. My client's mental state gives me reason to believe every word she says. There would be no reason, even if she was a part of a dysfunctional environment that she would commit a crime this major."
"The prosecution would like to switch witnesses.."
"Objection! I wish to continue my explanation. Furthermore, Emily Marsh did mention to me of the supposed slaughterhouse proposal, which both my client and her late husband were fighting against. My client also happened to drop a name on someone who happened to support the slaughterhouse.."
"If we may continue-"
"Whitman was mentioned-"

"That's horseshit!" Mr. Whitman screamed, where the court erupted in chatter and arguments, until Umbridge had to bang on the gavel more times to get the court to shut the hell up.

"Order! Order! There will be order in this court, immediately!" Umbridge screamed, which Ace saw it as a bit of a win.

"Mr. Ondowsky. Before I can allow the prosecution to present the next witness, you seem intent on having the defendant testify last. What are your reasons?"
"Your honor, I wish that my client has the ability to confirm or deny any of what has been said in this court. My client is innocent, to which, she deserves some freedom. Even if she may have done so, it's obvious that she was in no control of her actions."
"So you would suggest that even if the defendant has committed the murders, you believe that it was due to mental instability?" Umbridge said, where the prosecution started to pick up on it.

"Well... She explains that she has a good life, however it's still possible that in an extremely rare case, my client might had let an intrusive thought enter her mind, however she shows total confusion and she would show total remorse. The most lightest sentence in this scenario, unless my client has committed no harm, is that she is to be given proper treatment so that she can be back into the person she wanted to be as usual. In the form of rehabitation, of course!" Ace said, where he didn't know why some people were giving him some funny looks, until he looked back at Marsh.

Then, it struck him.

"..! Shit.." Ace immediately mouthed, as people were starting to think that Ace only wanted a non-guilty verdict to look good on his record, along with the fact that he didn't care if Emily really did do it.
"If we can continue, I'm sure that there is another flaw in a testimony and evidence that can prove that my client is not guilty." Ace said, where the prosecution brought in Louise Donovan. Emily immediately recognized her. This wasn't going to be good.

"The prosecution asks Ms. Donovan on her involvement with the defendant."
"Well, I was one of the people who arrested her. I was given the duty of patrol outside of Starkweather into Gladstone."
"So you work as a detective and as a standard cop in your seperate shift?"
"Correct. It was while I was inside of my car was when I was given the bulletin of the situation at the Marsh farm."
"Where was Emily Marsh when you arrested her?"
"She was in her bedroom! She was holding one of the weapons. The assault rifle. We aimed our guns at her, but she immediately surrended. We had to tackle her to make sure she didn't pull anything."

"It's reported that you interrogated the defendant a while after the massacre. May we examine the transcripts and some video of the defendant?" the prosecution asked, where Donovan allowed the court to present the interrogations between Emily Marsh and Louise Donovan. Ace noticed that Emily was now worried. "What's wrong?" Ace didn't get his answer, where the footage was starting on a TV that was set up.
Local 22 year old Diet Coke Addict College Student Ruins Everything


RPs I do
- How do you do fellow kids? You want to see something violent? - Artemis: Deimos Trafficking League (Horror/Mature)
- Descend into the forgotten tourist traps of Florida on this transgressive RP! - The Community (Mature/Black Comedy/Slice-of-Life)

My overall account that I use for P2TM and even for international roleplaying! MNM is a mysterious and extremely dangerous dictatorship filled with supernatural oddities, demons, militarized soldiers everywhere, and a misanthropic nihilistic dictator who doesn't give a damn. It's basically if the SCP Foundation got mixed with 1984.

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Infected Mushroom
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Posts: 38812
Founded: Apr 15, 2014
Corrupt Dictatorship

Postby Infected Mushroom » Tue Nov 17, 2020 11:06 pm

Emily Marsh

As Emily watched the proceedings, her heart began to sink. She had no understanding of the law but she got the sense that so far... things didn't look very good for her.

The Whitmans had gotten up and straight up lied about her and this sent her blood boiling. How could they use a child to lie about what happened at the farm? Was there no limit to the depths her enemies would sink to?

AND H... HOW?! Children shouldn't lie like this. What's going on?

As a teacher of young children, Emily always felt that there were lines of fair play. Lines that everyone, no matter who you were, implicitly understood and followed. It upset her to no end that the Whitmans not only lied, but even brought A CHILD into this mess.

As the kid was testifying, Emily tried to look at the jurors. She couldn't see them as clearly as she'd hoped since the setup of the courtroom was such that the plaintiff's table stood between the defendant's table where she sat and the jury box.

They HAVE to be able to tell the witness is lying. JUST LOOK AT HER! She's scared of her parents can they not tell?!

Her mood darkened when she saw several of the jurors nod and whisper into each other's ears. A burly-haired young man in the juror box turned and looked at Emily; he looked... angry? Disappointed?

They BUY THIS?! They-They think I DID THIS?! W... What is this?!

As the child spoke, her public defender Ace stood up from time to time to object. Emily wasn't sure if these objections were doing any good. How did this trial thing work anyways? How did it REALLY work?

Emily grew annoyed. She grew even more exasperated, angry, and shocked when the Whitman adults then went on to further vilify her character.

There WAS no argument between me and Glenn. Why does everyone keep saying there WAS? First that detective and now these people too. This... this isn't fair. This is an INSULT to Glenn’s memory.

Ace Ondowsky

I can't wait for this to be over. Because from where I’m standing, this is going to crash…

Ace couldn't believe it. The worst part of all this was it actually went to trial. It was a horrific waste of his time, not to mention, now there was a risk he
could embarrass himself with how inexperienced he was at trials.

Law school was the worse deal ever. Now I'm overworked, underpaid, and everyone else's time matters more than mine. What do I have to show for it?

Unlike his counterparts in the high end private sector (those LUCKY sons of bitches) who could pocket thousands of dollars PER HOUR (God DAMN), his time was worth less than pennies. He had gotten the ultimate short stick. A series of bad life decisions had led Ace to this.

Ace had tried to tell Emily from the start that she should settle (if she had settled, then he could get more cases done in the time span and up his reported caseload; then maybe he could get out of public sector work, at the very least buy himself some time off). It would be a win-win for everyone, she would get some jail time but be out in a few years to enjoy what’s left of it. Meanwhile, he could move on without risking becoming a chew toy for the DA's try hard lawyer and being made to look bad.

He told her that they were in for a long shot... the prosecution had a long line of experts to testify to the reliability of the physical evidence (the prints, the weapons, the blood, the DNA etc), there was a seemingly endless line of people willing to assassinate her character, and he (Ace) had found it exceeding hard, to find experts or witnesses who would vouch for Emily.

Despite his outwardly, confident and aggressive look, Ace Owdonsky was in fact something of a pretender. Years and years of law practice had burned him out and he eventually settled into a “false bravado mode” when dealing with clients, other lawyers, and judges. Over the years he had grown somewhat jaded and disillusioned. After a number of trials with mixed results, Ace decided that the best survival strategy as a public defender was to avoid 99% of trials. "If I don't play, then I can't lose." It was a fairly good strategy for filling up the yearly quotas, besides, most of these people (if not all of them) were guilty. Even if they were in fact innocent, how do you beat the government machine with its 99%+ conviction rate? The result was that while Ace maintained a sort of flashy, superficial confidence and knew how to act "lawyerly" (at least in front of clients with a TV-based understanding of lawyers), the vast majority of his lawyerly skills from the analysis of evidence, legal research, legal brief writing, and worse of all, examination and cross-examination had gone down to the depths from lack of regular sharpening.

He was sure glad Emily Marsh didn't really know what was going on.

Thus far, his objections, though numerous, amounted to little and when he tried to cross-examine a witness... it was more often than not poorly formulated or else beside the point. It was like an 18th century rifleman with a musket trying to perform in a modern ranged targeting contest. What Ace excelled at was reloading and firing repeatedly. There were impressive puffs of smokes and awe-inspiring sounds with every shot; it even looked amazing how fast Ace could reload and fire (resulting in a very high rate of fire). However, if one were trained to look closely... the target board was almost completely untouched by the bullets.

Thankfully though, Emily had no idea what a normal cross examination was like. So long as he kept at this and maintained the outward confidence, Emily probably wouldn't sue him after.

As the trial went on, Ace grew disheartened because he could see that the prosecution really was going all out with this one.

Damn they must really hate my client... When am I going to get a break?

As the trial went on, much of what was going on became a blur for Emily.

She became briefly aware that Ace was objecting about a large number of surprise technical witnesses being introduced by the prosecution. There was some kind of a meeting, then the judge somehow allowed it to proceed anyways.

"Mr. Ondowski," the judge had said crisply in legalese. "The introduction of a few important witnesses to the trial in a less than completely timely manner by a party, where the heart of the matter of the case to be decided hinges on the evidence to be presented by said witnesses and where it’s in the public interest of law and order, is in certain circumstances appropriate and even NECESSARY for a true determination of the facts involved. The principles are elucidated in the cases of Georgia v McCormac, Docket Number 05-2845 and Hornhill v Kensington, Docket Number 06-1366."

"Oh well..." Ace said, looking down with uncertainty. He had never heard of these cases himself (memorizing cases was the worst) but he'll be damned to question a judge or to ask them to repeat the case names. It would look like he knew nothing.

"I'm going to allow the defence to proceed," Judge Umbridge said. "Of course, Mr. Ondowski, you'll have opportunity to cross-examine each and every one."

"But... but your honor," Ace said uncertainly. "Could I ask for a day or two to adjourn so that I might be able to prep-"

"It's really more or less the same thing as what the last three witnesses said right?" Umbridge asked tersely. Not waiting for an answer, she pressed. “We got to carry on. Any junior lawyer could unpack this tuna can. You can handle this yes?"

"I- I think I can-

"Good," the judge said. "Let's carry on. The people? Your witness."

The prosecutor nodded savagely.

Emily Marsh's head was spinning as the prosecution spent three days and a half days mercilessly introducing an uninterrupted line of technical witnesses to lend credibility to the physical evidence. Emily felt that this was crucial to the outcome of her trial but even then she struggled to stay focused.

It was simply UNBELIEVABLE how long these people could drone on and on about the mundane details of the evidence; she had no idea what was being said more often than not. The whole trial was beginning to seem like a torture wheel of boring bureaucracy… only this boring bureaucracy could send her to prison for life.

What she didn't know though, was that Ondowski was also quite bamboozled by the evidence.

Ace objected very aggressively for the first five witnesses but then his energy soon started to visibly fizzle. As for his cross-examinations, he increasingly fell back and heavily relied on the tried and tested (but not terribly effective) strategy of asking the experts questions that weren't related to their SPECIFIC areas of expertise and then saying "It's okay if you don't really know the answer to this. Can you answer this? No?"

Ace had tried to pull a few all-nighters in the first few days to actually comprehend what all the files were about, but since the handwriting of the experts was hell and it amounted to thousands and thousands of pages, he decided to wing it. The result was catastrophic.

In a solid chunk of the trial, a number of medical witnesses were called up. They suggested that it's possible for Emily, due to stress from work and having an overall mental defect, to have an altered sense of reality and go on a killing spree without much of a reason.

"I've seen it happen before," Dr. Schmidt said. "The stress at work just becomes too much and sometimes people snap.”

“What do you mean by snap?” the prosecutor asked.

“They go crazy,” Dr. Schmidt said. “They take it out on the people. Co-workers, family members, friends. Due to poor impulse management, they need a release and they find wildly improper avenues to vent their suppressed emotions.”

“So are you saying that people can go violent?”

“Oh yes. It doesn’t happen all the time or even very often, but it’s not an uncommon occurrence,” the doctor said. “Sometimes, the patients harbour violent thoughts. Violent thoughts and impulses that they carry out into the real world.”

“Would you say that is it POSSIBLE, quite likely in fact,” the prosecutor said, pointing a pen very rudely at Emily while maintaining eye contact with the doctor. “That THIS woman, in THIS courtroom today, could have lost her marbles and gone on the mass murder spree like many of your patients?”

“Yes I think so,” the doctor said. “In fact, in this particular instance, it’s very likely-“

“OBJEC-“ Ace said dramatically but he was quickly interrupted.

“Overruled,” Umbridge said, without hearing the nature of the objection. “The people may proceed.”

With a borderline scripted conversation, the prosecution continued to elicit further testimony from the expert regarding the likelihood of Emily’s state of mind when she exploded.

Ace also had a number of technical experts, but their numbers were alarmingly low compared to the long line of people batting for the state.

Judge Umbridge

My my… I don’t even have to do anything…

She watched the sweating face of Ace Ondowski with hidden pleasure.

The last public defender assigned to Emily was actually quite competent. So Umbridge pulled some strings behind the scenes, invoked some legal gymnastics, and had him removed, citing a minor malpractice citation. She worked further behind the scene to get one of the most incompetent public defenders assigned to Emily. Nominally in the court system there was protection against these sorts of things, but Umbridge knew how to exert her influence across traditional, seemingly opaque boundaries.

Umbridge was looking for a shiny, toothless tiger. Someone who may end up doing more damage to Emily and in the best case… doing so while thinking he’s doing his best. Umbridge rightly sized up Ondowski at the beginning of the trial.

The fool does half the work for me already. His examination and cross examination are absolutely ABYSSMAL.

Despite having a reputation for aggressive one-upmanship and confrontation, some sectors of US law was actually quite collegial. When experienced judges and practitioners faced down someone less than experienced or who made clear mistakes, sometimes they’d offer friendly advice and prompts. Even the more than stern judges, when facing such a situation, might exhibit a concern for the fairness of the trial and give the beginners some stern hints (“Uh HUM. Are you sure you don’t want to address X or Y?”).

However, Umbridge wasn’t about to help Ondowski here.

I haven’t even gotten started…

Umbridge considered the evidence that had been read into the case so far. A long line of expert testimonies against Emily. A lot of it was hogwash but to the untrained eye, it was good enough.

Yes I can move this past Beyond A Reasonable Doubt.

As she had hoped, Ondowski failed to adequately attack the experts. It was telling that every single examination and cross-examination by the prosecution was more than five times as long as what Ondowski had prepared. The poor man was getting burned out.

My my… if I closed my eyes, this Ondowski might as well be a law student intern. How many years have you been in this ball game? What a DISGRACE…

Umbridge was already preparing a large series of “case law” which she intended to whip out later to use as the final nails against the coffin of Emily Marsh.

Emily Marsh

"Your honor, I wish that my client has the ability to confirm or deny any of what has been said in this court. My client is innocent, to which, she deserves some freedom. Even if she may have done so, it's obvious that she was in no control of her actions."
"So you would suggest that even if the defendant has committed the murders, you believe that it was due to mental instability?" Umbridge said, where the prosecution started to pick up on it.

"Well... She explains that she has a good life, however it's still possible that in an extremely rare case, my client might had let an intrusive thought enter her mind, however she shows total confusion and she would show total remorse. The most lightest sentence in this scenario, unless my client has committed no harm, is that she is to be given proper treatment so that she can be back into the person she wanted to be as usual. In the form of rehabitation, of course!" Ace said, where he didn't know why some people were giving him some funny looks, until he looked back at Marsh.

Then, it struck him.

"..! Shit.." Ace immediately mouthed, as people were starting to think that Ace only wanted a non-guilty verdict to look good on his record, along with the fact that he didn't care if Emily really did do it.
"If we can continue, I'm sure that there is another flaw in a testimony and evidence that can prove that my client is not guilty." Ace said

What do you mean IF I did it? Are you… are you not COMPLETELY on my side? What is THIS?!

She wanted to cry. She wanted to open her mouth to object but before she could say a thing the next witness had been called.

Emily recognized the next witness. It was that accursed detective.

Well this can’t be good…

"The prosecution asks Ms. Donovan on her involvement with the defendant."
"Well, I was one of the people who arrested her. I was given the duty of patrol outside of Starkweather into Gladstone."
"So you work as a detective and as a standard cop in your seperate shift?"
"Correct. It was while I was inside of my car was when I was given the bulletin of the situation at the Marsh farm."
"Where was Emily Marsh when you arrested her?"
"She was in her bedroom! She was holding one of the weapons. The assault rifle. We aimed our guns at her, but she immediately surrended. We had to tackle her to make sure she didn't pull anything."

"It's reported that you interrogated the defendant a while after the massacre. May we examine the transcripts and some video of the defendant?" the prosecution asked, where Donovan allowed the court to present the interrogations between Emily Marsh and Louise Donovan. Ace noticed that Emily was now worried. "What's wrong?" Ace didn't get his answer, where the footage was starting on a TV that was set up.

Emily was speechless. She was going to say something more but the tape had started to play.

There was a marked timer and the footage was shown from a contorted, but still clear angle. Somehow, the conversation had been changed entirely. The blurring of the footage was atrociously bad. The viewers could make out it was Louise and Emily but the whole thing seemed somewhat pixelated and it was unclear when the people were talking in real time as opposed to just moving. Louise’s voice and Emily’s voice formed a conversation… BUT THE WORDS WERE DIFFERENT SOMEHOW. The whole thing was tempered with.


Louise: “Emily Marsh, please listen to me. I know you want to do the right thing. Why don’t you just tell me what you did? I’ll promise to help you as much as I can. There is a clear separation of power between the judiciary and the executive, I’m part of the police force so I can’t promise you complete protection but I CAN tell the DA that you want to make right what you’ve done wrong.”

She wasn’t nice and polite like this. WHAT IS THIS?!!! THEY-THEY CHANGED IT!

Louise: "I think you should tell me why you did this. Why did you kill your entire family?"

This is NOT what happened. Where did the part where she threatened me with the non-existent death penalty GO?!

Emily: I’m not going to talk to you. Like every police officer from the city, you’re just a piece of shit. Even if I did commit this murder, I wouldn’t talk to you. I just don’t see much gain in doing so. So save yourself.”

Somehow it WAS her voice down to the tee. Except now she sounded like a slimy “catch me if you can” type…

Louise: “Then we have nothing more to talk about. If you’re not going to cooperate with me in good faith then I can’t see this ending reasonably. I mean I’m only trying to get at the truth, there’s no other way to explain this evidence.”

Emily is shown wiping some tears away: “How… how dare you treat me like this. I didn’t kill my family, it wasn’t… it wasn’t me.”

Louise: “I can’t help you if you’re not being reasonable. How do you explain the gunpowder residue and the blood samples?”

Emily: “I’m not lying.”

Louise: “I don’t want to call you no liar but then how come there was blood on you? How come?... You know Emily, I just want a rational explanation’s all. I just want to know, how it’s become the case… that you’re found with gunpowder around your fingers, your family members’ blood, your CHILDREN’S BLOOD no less, on your person… and there’s been no sighting or sign of anyone else… and yet you say you didn’t kill your own family?”

There was a pause.


In the courtroom, several jury members let out audible gasps of shock as they saw on a courtroom TV, the footage of Emily lunging forward to attack Donovan. Only to be later restrained by the security. The footage conveniently stopped, right before the beatdown.

“THIS IS A LIE!” the real Emily stood up, her face red with anger. “The conversation was CHANGED!”

“SIT DOWN!” Umbridge barked as she began to hammer the table. “Bailiffs, RESTRAIN THE DEFENDANT!”

Ace put a hand on Emily’s shoulder and said, “Please… please calm down.”

“NO!” Emily yelled as she pushed Ace away. “Do you not see? The footage… it’s been CHANGED! That’s NOT what I said! It’s not what SHE SAID!”

Emily turned and pointed at Louise, the latter now had the most obnoxious smirk on her face possible.

“Ma’am you’re going to have to sit down,” the bailiff said very firmly as a number of other guards moved in.

“I want you to bring out the real tape,” Emily said aggressively. “The one where the voice has NOT been switched up. I’m not going to-“

“This is your final warning! SIT BACK DOWN MA’AM.”

Fuming, Emily sat down, crossing her arms. There was sensationalistic chattering and cries from behind.

“ORDER! ORDER IN THE COURTROOM!” Umbridge screamed as she kept hammering. The voices died down.

“RECESS TIME. Court will adjourn in 30 minutes,” Umbridge said loudly. “Counsellor, PUT A LEASH on your client or I WILL.”

“I’m sorry your honor,” Ace said as he placed his hands together submissively. “I’m sorry your honor, it won’t happen again. I promise I promise. I’ll get this matter settled at once. My client won’t lose control again, she won’t. I promise.”

Emily threw Ace a furious, murderous look.

“What the hell was THAT?!” Emily raged.

They were in a separate part of the courtroom now so that the client and the public defender could speak alone.

“What was what?” Ace replied, blinking.

“Did you just APOLOGIZE to the judge?” she asked. “Couldn’t you TELL that the tape was changed? Who’s side are you on anyways?!”

“I’m on your side,” Ace said. “I just… I just didn’t think.”

“You’ve seen the tape before right… BEFORE THE TRIAL I mean?” Emily asked crossly. “And you knew it didn’t line up with my story.”

“It does line up with it, it matches what you said, it even matches the transcripts they gave,” Ace said slowly and carefully. “You said you might have lost your cool. It seems to be what’s shown.”

“NO,” Emily said flatly, waving her hands around as she said exasperatedly. “No no NO it doesn’t. It’s NOT what happened. I told you she threatened me with the death penalty, she was very rude, and made aggressive swipes at my mental illness. That’s not what happened on tape were you even paying-“

“See the thing is,” Ace said. “I assumed your recollection of the events was flawed. I mean what was said there matched the written transcripts that they gave to me. Cause cause you’re not SERIOUSLY suggesting the prosecution or the police would edit the tapes right and change the audio? That’s CRAZY. This isn’t some legal fiction this is REAL LIFE. In all my years of courtroom experience… hey you know everything gets cleared with the evidence people first right? They would NEVER get away with-”

“The tape made me out to be unreasonable and full of ‘I’m Guilty’ snide remarks. That’s-that’s not how it went down. They changed the words of the dialogue, they edited it I don’t know how. They… they changed what was said and I-“

“I’m just trying my best,” Ace said.

“Well PLEASE DO BETTER because my life is on the line!”

There was knock on the door. A cop’s voice rang into the room.

“Hey counsellor, the judge wants to get started sooner. Judge wants to know if we’re good to go?”

“YES!” Ace roared back.

Emily sat down, choking back tears. Ace walked up to her and placed a hand on her.

“Don’t worry Marsh,” he said with false gusto. “I’ll bring this up. We get this fixed when it’s my turn to cross-examine her. Watch my moves then. I’ll get it thrown out.”

Emily looked up.

Ace Ondowski looked confident, but Emily was beginning to lose faith in the salvageability of this situation. It just kept getting worse…

“Detective Donovan, in your many years of police work,” the prosecutor asked while walking around in a practiced assertive movement. “Is it fair to say that you’ve arrested many murderers?”

“Yes,” Louise replied. “I work in homicide.”

“So is it fair to say that in a limited but SUBSTANTIAL capacity, you’re something of an expert on murderers… based on the work that you’ve done in dealing with them?”

“Objection!” Ace said. “The witness is an expert in law enforcement, not criminal profiling.”

“Overruled,” Umbridge said flatly. “Detective, you may proceed.”

“Yes,” Louise said, looking the prosecutor. “That’s a yes. I deal with murderers. I have experience, lots of.”

“And does Emily Marsh fit the profile of a typical mass murderer?”

Louise looked at Emily, there was a look on the policewoman’s face that suggested she was looking at garbage. “Well see the thing is… murderers aren’t your typical run of the mill criminals.”

“What does this mean?”

“Well the thing with killers, is that they come from all sorts of backgrounds,” Louise said. “For many, it’s their first criminal offense… maybe their ONLY criminal offense ever. In my many years of detective work, I’ve seen this play out over and over. Someone without a record, going on a killing spree, and then once they’re behind bars… easier to control than your run-of-the-mill vandalizer. Cases like this are NOT uncommon.”

“So would you go on record saying that, based on your regular detective work, it doesn’t surprise you Emily Marsh could be a murderer?”

“I would go on the record. I would.”

Emily couldn’t believe it.

Ace got up to talk to Louise Donovan.

“Detective Donovan can I call you that?” Ace asked.

“Sure,” Louise said, smirking unpleasantly.

“Detective Donovan,” Ace asked. “What time would you say it was when you arrested Emily Marsh?”

“The time was about four thirty PM,” Louise replied.

“Right… and would you say that’s close enough to lunch hour?”

“Objection,” the prosecutor said. “Is there a point to this?”

“I’m going to allow defence to continue,” Umbridge said.

“So I’ll repeat the question,” Ace said. “Was the time… NOT not all that far away from lunch hour?”

“I guess?” Louise replied, somewhat thrown off by the quirky double negative.

“Did you have any beers for lunch?” Ace asked, looking at her.


“Any alcoholic ciders?”

“N… nope?”

“How about anything alcoholic? Anything that could cause a blurring of the senses so to speak? You can tell me the truth you’re NOT on trial, my client is,” Ace pressed, he sounded almost desperate.

“N… nope.”

“What did you have for lunch then?”

“Your honour-“ the prosecution said.

“Counsellor,” Umbridge said, lowering her glasses sternly. “You may proceed but my patience runs THIN.”

“Do you remember what you had for lunch Detective?”

“I believe it was a pork sandwich,” Louise said. “I might have had a Coca Cola to go with it-“

“Since you don’t ENTIRELY remember,” Ace said in a moment of A HA while raising a finger. “Isn’t it THEORETICALLY POSSIBLE, that you in fact… DID drink some alcoholic drinks before your shift? Isn’t it THEORETICALLY POSSIBLE that you did but don’t really remember?!”

“Nope. Not really.”

Since Ace felt he wasn’t getting much mileage, he switched tracks almost at once. The transition was as jarring as it was sudden.

“Okay let me move on… Hmmm… that security footage you were in where it showed the accused, Emily Marsh attacking you… are you sure that it was in truth, a completely true-to-life 100 percent accurate depiction of how the conversation really went down?”

He looked at the detective with a mad glint in his eye. “I mean… are you 100% sure that’s how the talk really went down? Does it 100% show what you in fact really said?”

“Objection,” the prosecution started. “Where is this-“

“Overruled,” Umbridge said, eying Ace with interest. “Please continue.”

“I’ll rephrase,” Ace said. “Do you swear that the words you said in that tape, is completely word for word… what you said in real life?”

“Y… yes?” Louise said. “Yes that’s what I said. That’s why it’s on tape.”

“Is it possible… LIKELY EVEN, that the evidence was tampered with?” Ace asked.

“OBJECTION!” the prosecution yelled.

“The tape was so unclear I think someone switched out the audio, things were messed with, put out of order,” Ace insisted but Umbridge shut him down.

“COUNSELLOR it is YOU who is out of order,” Umbridge said, her entire form leaning forward like a powerful shadow.

Ace blinked as she turned to face the judge.

“Counsellor,” Umbridge said. “I hope you’re not alleging at such a LATE PHASE in the trial, that evidence has been tampered with? This is something you should have done at the discovery stage or soon after at pre-trial, not now that the trial is in full motion. Are you sure you want to continue down this avenue… MORESOEVER, why are you asking a police detective about security footage run by the prison facility? She’s not even qualified to answer that. Mr. Ondowski, what on earth are you doing?”

Ace blinked. “Well I… I just think that there’s a problem with the ev… never mind, I’ll ask… I’ll ask someone more qualified to answer that later.”

“You better,” Umbridge said.

“Can I… can I call for an adjournment to talk to you about this? Cause I think there could be new evidence-“

“Alright, let’s do this now. And I hope you’re not here to waste my time. COURT ADJOURNED FOR ONE HOUR.”

Soon after, a very angry looking prosecutor approached the bench along with a nervous looking Ace. Emily tried to hear what they were saying but she was forcibly removed from the premise during the break by the bailiff.

Emily couldn’t believe it, this was so obviously sloppy. Maybe it was time to switch lawyers? But was it too late?

Emily and Ace were alone once again.

“I want to switch lawyers,” Emily said, looking tearfully at Ace with a very displeased expression.

“What do you mean?” Ace asked.

“I… I just don’t think you can win this thing,” Emily said. “I mean I don’t know… maybe someone else can-“

“I’m your only chance at defending your rights,” Ace insisted. “The judge will come around.”

“Really?” Emily asked. “She rejected your argument that the tape was false evidence. All I’ve seen this entire trial… is you not being able to convince the court of anything-“

“I’m playing with a stacked deck,” Ace insisted. “Trust me. This is how ALL TRIALS GO. The defence always APPEARS to be losing, but in the end, truth tends to prevail. Look look… do you know what Beyond a Reasonable Doubt means? It means that the state has to eliminate all of the doubt, more than 99%. All it takes, is a few jurors to decide that there is at least ONE DROP OF DOUBT that you’re guilty for you to walk. When you view it from that point of view, we’re doing well. We don’t have to win every battle, we just have to not lose the war. We can lose more battles than we win and still win the case. All we need is to inject that 1 percent doubt. It’s like the American Revolution all over again. George lost more battles than he won, yet he still won the war and secured freedom for all.”

Emily tried to process that. It made sense, yet not entirely…

“Besides,” Ace added. “If you switch lawyers, they’d have to re-learn your whole case and that would be a headache. We’d lose all headway. Nah. You should stick to me. I’ll give you the best chance. I’ve seen trials like this before.”

“You… you can win this?”

“I can’t promise you 100. These things… they’re unpredictable. In fact, I think it’ a LONG SHOT but I can provide you the best because I know the case inside out. …However, are you sure you don’t want to make a deal with the state?”

“I didn’t do it,” Emily said flatly.

“Are you sure you don’t want a deal?” Ace said. “They can lower it down from life. They don’t have much of a plausible motive. We can use that to get us some leverage.”

“Which is why they WILL find me innocent,” Emily said coldly. “Because I didn’t do anything wrong. Truth and justice will prevail. It HAS TO in this case. This is my life.”

“I also think…” Ace said. “That we should consider a… a contingency plan. We could switch your plea to insanity, and then you might not get that bad of a-“

“No,” Emily said, looking at Ace in the eye. “Absolutely NOT. I am NOT crazy.”

“If we keep playing it this way you could spend all of your life in jail and you won’t-“

“I am NOT crazy. I am NOT some person who’s lost it. I am innocent.”

Ace nodded. “Alright then. Well there… hmmmm…”

Emily could sense there was something else Ace wasn’t telling him. “W… what is it? Is there something else?”

“I’m afraid so…” Ace said. “I met with the Judge Umbridge this morning. She has ruled off the record against our request to examine Dolan Schaeffer to put your version of events to him.”

“What does that mean?” Emily asked. It did NOT sound good.

“It means he’s not coming to the trial and we can’t question him at all, he’s got a witness shield of some sort,” Ace said. “She said that the connection between the events of the case as established by an air of reality doesn’t necessitate the calling of a witness far removed from the facts… she cited some case law where-“

“But that doesn’t hold up,” Emily said crossly. “He’s not far removed from the events. He’s totally involved. How are we- Wait, that doesn’t sound very fair. It sounds like she’s already decided that she doesn’t believe me. Are you sure this is-“

“She said that the court rules will still allow me to advance our defence theory, just that Schaeffer is protected by some exclusionary principle set out by case law. She assures me that this will not impact the probability of an acquittal if so-”


Emily Marsh

“The defence calls Emily Marsh,” Ace said.

It was now or never. This would be Emily’s only chance to tell the truth. It had to be done right.

Emily walked up to take the stand. As she did so, she felt every single eye in the courtroom watch her with the closest of scrutiny. For the first time in a long time, she turned and looked, briefly, into the direct eyes of the twelve jurors who would decide her fate. She was discouraged to see that many eyed her with considerable hostility, although there was a hint of sympathy in the eyes of others.

I will tell the truth. I just have to tell the truth. The whole truth. Truth and justice must prevail.

After getting the preliminary, mandatory swearing in and introductions read in, it was time for the focus of the testimony.

The first thing Ace did was to use the questions from his examination of Emily to have Emily tell the court that she loved her job as a teacher and had a healthy, strong relationship with her husband Glenn. This was not the same story the prosecutors had been telling; Ace did a reasonably good job here and helped the jury see another side of the story. Despite the objections from the prosecution, they got through this part decently well.

Then came the tricky bit.

“I want to talk a little bit, about the town union meeting and the events leading up to it,” Ace said. “Do you remember the night of the town union meeting to discuss the slaughterhouse proposal at Gladstone?”

“Objection,” the prosecutor said. “Your honor what is the relevance?”

“Goes to central defence premise,” Ace said coldly. “It’s a critical part of the defense narrative.”

“I’ll allow it,” Umbridge said reluctantly.

Through a series of questions and answers, Ace and Emily were able to bring up the slaughterhouse proposal, the events surrounding the disagreement with Schaeffer at the town union meeting, and the ensuring unease.

“You said your husband Glenn went to the police about the bodyguards?”

“Yes sir.”

Everyone listened with rapt attention. All of a sudden, this became an interesting point in the trial. After mentioning that there was a disagreement between Schaeffer and the Marshs, Ace finally got to the events of the incident itself.

“Miss Marsh,” Ace said. “Can you describe in your own words, what you were doing on the morning of the incident?”

“I was… I was…” Emily started, but in the worst possible moment, she got a bit nervous and she looked down briefly.

“Take your time,” Ace said in a soothing voice. “Take as much time as you need. Start from the beginning. Tell the court where you were starting from the morning.”

Emily looked back up; she turned to the jurors worriedly.

“Don’t look at them,” Ace said. “Look at me. Now tell answer the question to the best of your ability. What happened? Please tell the court.”

Emily turned to Ace. She cleared her throat. Then she began.

“I… I woke up. I made breakfast. Then I was going to prepare for the party. I made some preparations with Annie and Marston… and Glenn. I… we… my husband and I…”

She choked back some tears. Then she continued, her voice cracking slightly.

“We wanted to make the party really special. Because it was my sister Dolores’ birthday and a very… very rare chance for the… for my family, my entire family to get together and spend some time together.”

As Emily kept speaking, she felt her nervousness begin to fade and her confidence rise. She had expected a lot of objections from the other side but for some reason, the prosecution was letting her tell her story. It suited her well for now.

“We were going to have the party near the farm. We… wanted it to be outdoors. So we moved everything there.”

“At what time would you say the party started?” Ace asked.

“At about close to noon,” Emily said. “They arrived one by one. My whole family. It was supposed to be… well it was supposed to be a joyous occasion.”

“How old was your sister Dolores turning?”

“Thirtieth,” she said.

Judge Umbridge

Umbridge looked at Emily and then at the jurors.

Hmmm… I don’t like this part.

It didn’t look scripted.

Well… it doesn’t really matter. Not really.

She was a bit confused. What was going on here? Was Ace finally getting his act together? Has he finally found his stride?

Oh well… it’s still too late, he botched the other parts up too much. Plus I've yet to deploy the ultimate weapon case law.

“Tell us who was at the party and where everyone was?” Ace guided her.

“We were eating at the table. It was me, my husband Glenn… and then there was…”

Visions of the dead family members flashed before Emily’s eye but she ignored them. She had to proceed, this was her chance to tell the truth. She owed it to them.

“And then there was my sister Dolores. My other sister Erin and her husband. My father, my mother, my grandfather, and their children. My aunt Eleanor, her husband Christian. The farmhands Steve and Dale; they were there too. All the children were there. There was Glenn, Annie-”

“Excuse the directness of the question,” Ace said solemnly and lowering his head slightly. “But is it true that everyone who ended up murdered… was at that party? At that table at one point during the party?”

“Y… yes,” Emily said, she swallowed.

“Please Misses Marsh,” Ace said. “I know it is very traumatic. You may take as long as you need. But tell us in as much detail exactly what happened.”

“I… I was talking to Erin at the table,” Emily said. “And then… and then Marston and Annie came up to me. They asked for my permission to allow them to play with a new bubble toy that Grace had. The children wanted to play together, they asked for permission to go to another part of the farm to play. I gave them permission, I told them to be careful.”

“So all the children left the table where everyone else was eating?”

“They… they did,” Emily said. “Later I heard Glenn tell Dale to check in on them, so Dale left the table too. Around this time I… I left along with Erin and Mark to get some more drinks from the table. That was… that was when it began.”

“What began?”

“I heard gunshots and screams,” Emily said, her eyes were widening as she spoke, when she turned and looked briefly at the jurors, she saw that all of them were looking at her with rapt attention.

“Look at me please Emily,” Ace said. “Just look at me and tell me.”

Emily turned back to Ace. “I… I heard shots. Then I turned and I saw that Mark and Bernice… they were both on the grass… they were dying. They had been hit.”

Ace stepped back and created a space. “Can you walk over here and show the court where their bodies were relative to where you were standing?”

“Objection!” the prosecutor yelled. “This is unnecessary-“

“Overruled,” Umbridge said.

Emily Marsh trembled slightly as she walked over. Then she showed the court. The way she was pointing, it was clear that both corpses were right next to her.

“So they were shot dead but you weren’t hit?” Ace asked.

“Y… yes,” Emily said. “They were shot and killed. I heard the bullets.”

“Thank you,” Ace said. “Please return to the witness box.”

When Emily returned, he continued.

“And then what happened?”

“Then… then I turned and I saw that everyone at the table… was… was murdered-“

Emily exploded into tears as she covered her face; she made a brief clawing motion at her face as she turned away.

“My client might need a recess-“ Ace said.

“There will be no recess,” Umbridge said. “Please carry on to the best of your ability.”

It took a few more minutes for Emily to get a grip. Then she stood back up and faced Ace once more, having wiped away some of the mess with a tissue.

“I… I saw them… the killers. They were standing around the table and they had guns.”

The juror let out a gasp. There was excited chatter amongst the audience scattered throughout the courtroom.

“ORDER!” Umbridge shouted angrily as she slammed her hammer. “I SHALL HAVE… ORDER!”

It took a while for things to die down.

“Can you describe the killers?”

“I saw three of them. There were all men. There was one slightly older man, the other two were younger. They were… they were all wearing suits and Kevlar vests. And they were carrying large guns.”

“What type of guns?”

“I don’t remember exactly. I think one or more of them was holding a submachinegun. Then there was an assault rifle. The oldest, he held an assault rifle.”

Ace then said: “I’d like to raise Exhibit G-2 now.”

There was excited murmuring as the a projected slide was fired up against the courtroom’s largest wall. It was a colorized diagram showing the table where the party occurred. There was a depiction of three dark gun-holding silhouettes (the Killers) standing around other silhouettes marked with the names of Emily’s relatives.

“Glenn Marsh” and “Emily Marsh” were shown as positioned away from the table… with “Emily Marsh” next to the fallen Stampers.

“On this diagram here,” Ace said. “Which we compiled with the help of the witness here. It shows from Emily’s perspective… where her family members were at the table, and where the killers stood in relation thereof. Misses Marsh, is this diagram an accurate depiction of the positions of the parties?”

“Yes sir.”

“To the best of your knowledge, every single one of your relatives at the table… was already shot and killed?”

“Yes sir.”

“What about Glenn?”

“I’m… I’m not sure. I thought I heard his voice. I don’t… I don’t think he was at the table. He was already trying to run away. Yes. He got away because later I would see him again. I think he was telling me to run away too but it was all… really unclear.”

“Emily, did you recognize any of the three killers? The men holding the gun?”

Emily paused before continuing. “I… I didn’t recognize those three. But later on, I would see faces that I recognized-“

“Objection,” the prosecution said. “Disjointed.”

“Yes,” Umbridge said. “Let’s stay in order. Continue.”

Ace continued: “And when you saw these three armed killers, with their guns, how did you feel?”

Emily gripped the witness stand table as she said. “I… I was scared. I, I don’t think I could think very clearly. I… I tried to run but I tripped down and fell unto the grass. I’m not sure what happened after. Someone… someone grabbed me.”

“One of the killers?”

“Yes,” Emily said, looking at Ace. “They grabbed me, that was after one of the killers shouted out some commands to grab me. One… one of the killers, he grabbed me and he hit me very hard on the stomach as he did so.”

“And then what happened?”

“The three killers dragged me back to my house. I… I asked them where my children were but they wouldn’t answer. They just kept marching me and beating me the whole way.”

Ace Ondowski turned and said to the juror. “Does this SOUND like a woman who’s lying? Can you see she tells the truth?”

“OBJECTION!” the prosecution cried out, looking throughly scandalised.

“Sustained,” Umbridge said. “Counsellor, this is your LAST WARNING. Do NOT… talk to the jurors directly during cross examination except in special circumstances. I won’t warn-“

“Understood,” Ace said. He turned back to Emily, but not before giving the shocked jurors one more meaningful stare. “What happened next?”

Emily wiped some tears from her face. She took a deep breath.

“They dragged me to back to my house.”

“How far was this from the farm?”

“It… it took about ten minutes, maybe less.”

Emily sped up a little, as if trying to get it over with as quickly as possible. “I heard some screams from inside the house. The three men moved me into the lounge area and that’s where I saw the other three killers… along with… G… Gl… Glenn- Gl-“

She buried her face into her hands and leaned forward as large amounts of tears came streaming out again. She found it very difficult to breath.

“Your honor,” Ace said, turning to Umbridge. “I think my client really REALLY needs a recess.”

“Fine,” Umbridge spat. “Court will re-convene in thirty minutes. No more. No less. RECESS.”

She angrily banged her gavel, and wasted no time in leaving the place.

User avatar
Main Nation Ministry
Posts: 13014
Founded: Sep 28, 2016
Psychotic Dictatorship

Postby Main Nation Ministry » Thu Dec 17, 2020 1:16 am

Ace Ondowski

For Ace, he believed he was going somewhere with the trial. He felt like he was winning. He had a general direction, but he knew that things with Emily were still going to get rough. As the two of them were alone again, Ace was discussing more of the legal stragety of the case. "Ok! We might be reaching something great here. We have a good structure, but we might be able to get the courts to expand the investigations to get you off from being the prime suspect."

Ace, having his thoughts a bit consumed by the sheer luck that things were going in his favor, wasn't really thinking about the verdict, which was one of the questions that Emily asked. "We have been doing this court for literally half a week and they are going to make sure that this trial lasts a whole week. Your testimony is enough to swing the jury. I don't know what tricks the prosecution has up their sleeves, but here's the deal: We can't bring Schaeffer to the stand, but we still are able to get the investigation to continue." Ace explained, as a bailiff had them come back into the courtroom.

There was murmurs in the court, as Umbridge slammed her gavel as usual.

"Recess has ended. That time alone had to be extended from the usual 15 minutes for reasons I needed to have to overlook this trial. The conclusion of this trial cannot be done today for which I ask that both the prosecution and defense prepare their closing statements and arguments for tomorrow. The prosecution has given evidence of this violent act of mass murder at its fullest, while the defense has held its ground to their fullest extent. Knowing that the process for sole justice for what has happened is more complicated, I ask that both the prosecution and defense prepare themselves."

"I had heard enough, so I will be expecting more.."

"Oh shit shit shit.." Ace started to pace the room, as he was getting a bit stressed while Emily was observing him. "Umbridge is going to deliver the verdict tomorrow... I get to work on the closing statement, but it looks like you're going to have to spend another day in lockup. Things are going to be in our favor, but I make sure to deliver to the jury that you are completely innocent of all wrongdoing!" Ace said, making sure to get Emily's hopes up.

Ace thought that Emily might have wanted to nearly kill him for what happened with Umbridge and the interrogation tape, but maybe there could be a reason for it. It might be some clever editing, or maybe Emily was a bit insane and had a split personality. You never know. As Ace promised that things would get better, it did raise some hope for Emily. However, Emily was still right about a couple things...

Deimos Trafficking League

"Gentlemen. We have a problem that needs to be corrected immediately." Dolan Schaeffer immediately brought in some of his finest men with a quick meeting, since Schaeffer has been observing the trial and its updates from the news. He didn't want to go risky with it, but he knew that he needed some help at making sure that the bitch Marsh didn't end up scot-free. He needed her to be stuck in the Correctional Facility. She was getting that defense attorney of hers to add some implications that he was involved, but he knew that Umbridge might play dumb, like she usually would.

Dolan had Tim Harrelson, Pabari, and Pearson appear before him, as he was showing them footage of the trial. "Now, the defense for Marsh is starting to manipulate the jury against our favor. The trial doesn't continue until tomorrow, however I'm alreday having an informant get the names of our jury."
"You're doxxing the jury?" Timothy asked, which Dolan shook his head. "It isn't going to be that simple. Plus, it's too easy to leave behind a digital trace. I'm already having someone from the police get access to the court records. They'll share the names, where all you have to do is track them down. Bribe them, blackmail them, and threaten them. Don't make a scene.." Dolan said, where the men nodded.

"What about Nibert? Isn't he available?" Pabari asked, where this was an obvious answer. "He's still on the wanted list. If he's seen out in the public, they'll kill him. For me, I think I have a little talk with Judge Umbridge."

Schaeffer sent a little devil of an informant to impersonate a courthouse security guard to get some access to the records. Schaeffer made sure the informant didn't tamper with any of the evidence, before they discreetly sent Schaeffer the information on the jurors. It was easy to start at looking them up at the phonebooks to see their contact number and later looking for information on where they resided.

The following evening, it wouldn't be long until one of the jurors was given some bribe money. A couple grand was enough for them to pretend to give the blind eye. When the bribery didn't try, the men sent after the jurors decided that they couldn't probe into blackmail, without meddling with the juror's personal and private affairs. Pearson got to work with the death threats. The morning of the trial, one of the juror woke up to find their car torched. On said morning, another learned that they are scheduled for their own funeral.

When the indirect contact didn't work, the men gotten a bit closer. A weightlifter and owner of his gym was trying to do bench press by himself in the middle of the night when the gym was closed, until Pabari suddenly appeared above him, because trying to force the large barbell towards the juror's throat. "You better make it guilty tomorrow! Don't want any accidents." Pabari said, as the juror nearly dropped the barbell over their jaw. "Jesus Christ, help!" the juror pleaded, as Pabari left the building, where the barbell was still dangerously close to the juror's neck.

"Don't drown me, please!" the woman said to Pearson, as she was being drowned by him at her own pool. "You better vote guilty, or I make sure that it isn't just you that gets drowned.." Pearson said, as he kicked the woman into the pool and left. "You tell the cops, I will fucking you and your family!" Timothy managed to get creative. Poor soul worked as a janitor, where Timothy offered to have him drain cleaner and bleach, unless he happened to vote guilty for the jury. Even if the jury tried to do a non-guilty verdict, they would be forced to still have Emily sent to the mental hospital, which the only one was at the pysch ward of the Correctional Facility.

Ace Ondowski

There was a knock at Umbridge's office, as she was tending to her paperwork. "Come in." Ace opened the door, where Umbridge had expected him. There was already an expression that Ace saw on her face that showed disapproval. A look of someone who looked down on him. "You called me earlier, demanding a meeting concerning my law ethics?" Ace said, as he sat down.
"I have been monitoring your performance with the trial, where I must bring up some important information, knowing that your duty has been trying to work out a non-guilty plea and an accusation of a conspiracy."
"Of course! With what I had managed to work with, I consider this the first trial that I done where I have faith in my own client." Ace said, a bit smugly, though he did doubt Marsh's story once. Umbridge immediately knew this.

"So you don't doubt Mrs. Marsh?"
"No. I don't see how my judgment on my client has to do with this meeting."
"It does, Mr. Ondowski."

"What are you getting at?"
"Mr. Ondowski. The evidence presented by the prosecution and the DA has been against your client. Hadn't you forgotten about the evidence presented?"
"There are still holes in the evidence to prove that my client did not kill her family!" Ondowski argued, but Umbridge demanded that he lower his voice.
"What about the police interrogation? The ballistics reports? Fingerprints! You spent the days in court making excuses and excuses that there is this elaborate conspiracy that one of the greatest men in the city was responsible for mass murder!"
"Umbridge, there were multiple suspects that I mentioned! He couldn't be directed involved, but this could have been the result of a contract hit."

"You will not slander Schaeffer's name in court, you hear me? A detective already told me that there is no reason or gain that he could have gotten from the deaths of the Marsh family."
"Someone questioned Schaeffer?"
"Of course. You pointed the finger at him, so someone had to question him on his involvement. The fact that you went as far as to slander a philanthropist and his organization?"
"No! It's not like that! They were still victims of a hit! Emily had no reason for the heinous crime that she herself was a victim of!"

"Don't paint Mrs. Marsh as a victim, Ondowski. You don't understand how much she matchs the profile of your average white mass shooter! She has all the qualities of being the perfect murderer.."
"You're...You're cruel." Ondowski said in disbelief. He couldn't believe it. He couldn't fucking believe it! The judge that he is trying to convince is straight up telling him that his own client is a murderer!

Ok... This wasn't bad. As long as she didn't bring up the Mazaton case-

"Cruel? I'm only delivering judgment. If you're lucky, the jury might go easy on your client. However, the prosecution and me are pushing for a 2nd degree verdict for the massacre."
"2nd degree?"
"If you are to make your closing statement, claiming this elaborate conspiracy of yours, I will guarantee that the jury will have Marsh behind bars for 40 years, or even perhaps 20 if she's lucky with the parole."
"So what do you want me to do? Are you bribing me?"

"I'm helping you, Mr. Ondowski.." Umbridge said, as she knew that she had him in her grip. "I want to make it fair for you, don't I? I insist that you dismiss this nonsense about Schaeffer at the courts. Especially since your handling with the cross-examination of the witnesses has been poor. Is that clear?"

"...You can't be joking.."

The Verdict

It was the final day. Emily Marsh was taken back to the courthouse, awaiting her lawyer Ace Ondowski. When they were in the defendant lobby alone, Ace had a grim look on his face. Was something wrong? Emily asked him the obvious. "Emily..." Ace said, with a hint of sincerity. "There's a problem. I had to do this, since I didn't have a choice, but I had to edit the closing statements."
"For what?"
"Emily. I was unable to get the finger pointed at Schaeffer like you wanted. The judge grilled me on that, due to the excuse of his 'pitch perfect angel status' and the whole 'alibi' he has. Now if you could cooperate, we can have a good chance for the final verdict."

Emily couldn't believe it. Ace, her only option left, was now forced to change the closing statement and transcript. Ace further explained that he had to make the excuse for an insanity plea. The excuse that Emily wasn't in control of her actions, where a simple loose screw caused her to black out or hallucinate what has happened. It was a hard pill to shallow. Emily wasn't happy.

Stratch that. More like pissed.

She might not understand the law process that well, but she knew that she was innocent. She didn't kill her family! It was Schaeffer and his men! It was them!

"Calm down... Just calm down-"
"Hey! You two! It's that time." the baliff said, as they called them into the courtroom for the last time. "Please. I'm trying to help you. The jury should understand your story. I can still get you out of the prison cell. Let me handle the jury and Umbridge." Ace tried to keep reassuring her, but he didn't know if it would work.

At the courtroom, it was now a tense scene. The jury, most of which were intimidated into giving out the guilty verdict, were sitting uncomfortable at their stands. Umrbidge seemed chilled as a cucumber, compared to everyone else. It was most likely that Umbridge was expecting a heavy sentence. The prosecution was given the closing statement first, where Ace listened in.

"People of the court. It has come to our attention that we cannot let individuals, such as Emily Marsh walk back into our streets after a diabolic and heinous crime that had befallen the American countryside. Men, women, and children were killed by the defendant's hands in cold blood, where the prosecution asks the jury to shed some courage and deliver the defendant a suitable punishment. She couldn't be allowed to be seen the light of day, knowing she might relapse into killing another. The maximum sentence of 2nd degree murder is what we need. It's a hard task to deliver, but judgment must be absolute for the defendant." the prosecution explained, however Ace saw it as a load of bull.

"The defense is now ready to present their closing statement, I presume." Umbridge asked, where Ace cleared his throat. With some detail, he began to explain to the jury and to those at the gallery.

"The defense wants to point out my client's history before this terrible crime has happened. To the jury that are deciding the fate of my client and to those at the gallery, Emily Marsh works at an elementary school at Gladstone, where she is most known for teaching English to 5th graders. She is also a friendly individual in the community of the farmlands of her own town. She is described by many to be a compassionate person. What my client was a victim of was an unfair scenario that many even herself wasn't aware of. The complete term is that I would describe as a rare variation of a psychosis. Mrs. Marsh had 100% of any actions that happened at the party and she she shouldn't be held accountable for such. People tend to rely on warning signs of a dangerous individual, however Emily Marsh is not a dangerous individual, which will fate in my client, I believe she needs... help. She is a real tragic figure in all this. There is the chance that there are other forces at work here, but what's important is that the health of my client is what can really help her. So I ask the jury to give a non-guilty agreement. For the sake of all that she has been through. I ask that you do justice proud.." Ace said, as Judge Umbridge observed him in silence.

The jury was excused to discuss the verdict in private. Both Marsh and Ondowski waited on the verdict. This was it. Emily's fate was due to a large group of people. They better make the right call, which Ace thought. They better..

The jury returned to the benches, where there was suddenly a feeling of unease. Ace observed the expressions of the jury. Was something up?

"The jury may now state the verdict for Mrs. Emily Marsh." Umbridge said, where one member of the jury stood up and deliver the jury's statement. "Ahem... Due to the evidence that has been presented, the overview by both the defense and the prosecution, along with several witnesses who testified to the court, the jury of the people have decided to deem Emily Marsh unable to attend a proper prison sentence, where she is to be declared Not Guilty by reason of insanity."

"Yes! Fuck yes! I kept my record good after all was done! Now all I need to do was- Wait, why did Emily have a weird look on her face while looking at me?" Ace thought as Emily looked at Ace, where Judge Umbridge started to make a statement of her own.

"While I would ask that a more strict verdict was delivered, I believe that I can make sure that Emily Marsh is given the help she needs. From what I have been given after all of this discord has happened in the wake of this henious crime, the jury has given me the duty to enforce mercy onto the defendant. Emily Marsh is to be taken to the psychiatric ward of the Starkweather Correctional Facility, where she is to receive treatement for whatever illness or disorder she had no control over."

Ace immediately reached his hand to get Umbridge's attention, where he knew what happened. He got tricked.. Holy shit, he got circlejerked.. "May the defense not interrupt me."
"For a quick moment, Your Honor."
"Make it quick." Umbridge said, as she got the gavel ready, just in case.

"Your Honor, Emily Marsh was already put in maximum security in that prison! That place isn't good enough for her to cope with proper treatment from any medical professional! She needs to be taken to a mental hospital, not a correctional facility!"
"Mr. Ondowsky. I can assure you that Starkweather Correctional Facility is the only utility within both Starkweather and Gladstone that possesses a psychiatric hospital. The sentence is to stand. Emily Marsh is to receive treatment and proper care from Starkweather Correctional Facility."

"What about the witness Whitman?! There's heavy evidence that he committed perjury!" Ace immediately argued, where Umbridge immediately interrupted him. "You are to not judge any of the witnesses over the verdict! As the jury has explained, the evidence along with statements by you and the prosecution are responsible for how Marsh's sentence will be handled."
"I demand a retrial immediately!"

The prosecution immediately facepalmed, as Ace caused Umbridge to bang on her gavel, as the baliffs arrived to calm him down. In a span of several minutes, Emily Marsh's life became that of a rollercoaster.

The "walk of shame" didn't help things at the slightest. The press and reporters were awaiting at the entrance of the courthouse, where they watched with their cameras and snap photos, as Emily Marsh ended up being escorted by several officers, as she was taken to an awaiting police escort to be taken back to the place she now dreaded the most.

That was probably the last time she saw Ace Ondowsky. She hated him for what he forced her to follow. But Ace didn't really have a choice. He got screwed by Umbridge, since the judge exploited the reasoning that since Starkweather Correctional Facility had the only psych ward in the city and county, she was to be taken there. When she got there, she already recognized the guards that belittled her. One of them gave a smirk. This time, she wasn't in an orange jumpsuit. Now, she was stuck in white.

Her new home was a padded cell was a small window high up in the room that was impossible to reach. Another guard who escorted into her cell heard the usual pleas for her. "Shut up. You're lucky to still be alive and in this situation. Had they sentenced you to maximum security, they would have killed you already.." he said, as the door to her cell was a large door with a plastic opening that was impossible to break. "Don't get your hopes up. You're bound to be here for 5 years, until they fix you. You get time outside at the yard, but you still stuck here, no matter what.." he finishes, before closing a slot at the door that was to deliver food to the inmate in their cell.

For Emily Marsh, she had a bad day. Her life was now ruined. Her whole family was gone. Her innocence was destroyed by a miscarriage of justice. The perpetrators were still out there. Dolan Schaeffer was free from the law. She was hopeless. Yet, when hope is destroyed, all that brews is despair. Where the latter swells and bloats into something unholy.
Local 22 year old Diet Coke Addict College Student Ruins Everything


RPs I do
- How do you do fellow kids? You want to see something violent? - Artemis: Deimos Trafficking League (Horror/Mature)
- Descend into the forgotten tourist traps of Florida on this transgressive RP! - The Community (Mature/Black Comedy/Slice-of-Life)

My overall account that I use for P2TM and even for international roleplaying! MNM is a mysterious and extremely dangerous dictatorship filled with supernatural oddities, demons, militarized soldiers everywhere, and a misanthropic nihilistic dictator who doesn't give a damn. It's basically if the SCP Foundation got mixed with 1984.

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Infected Mushroom
Post Czar
Posts: 38812
Founded: Apr 15, 2014
Corrupt Dictatorship

Postby Infected Mushroom » Sat Dec 19, 2020 5:23 am

Emily Marsh

The rays of the sun shone into the brightly-coloured classroom. Misses Marsh stood by the blackboard.

The students watched from their desks. Some of their eyes were a bit disengaged.

Emily was a little bit out of her element. Math was never her favourite subject and they were on the subject of fractions now. Still, since Mr. Taylor had called in sick, she was the one available for the time slot.

A different sub may have decided to wing it but Emily decided to invest a big chunk of the morning to relearn. She only hoped that her slight nervousness wasn’t showing now…

“Hmmmm…” Emily said as she looked down at her book on a desk and then back up at the example on the board she was writing out, Problem Number Nine.

“Yes that’s right,” she said carefully. “It says Bob already ate seven of the twenty slices, so really… it should be thirteen over twenty that we’re using for the equation. … Yes we didn’t confuse it.”

Internal sigh of relief…

“Okay so then what do we do next?” Emily asked the class. “Anyone? What’s the first thing we have to do before we can add up the two fractions? Anyone?”

Peter raised his hand, but then again, he always knew the answers.

“Hmmm Peter you’re very good,” Emily said warmly and smiling. “But I’d like to see if anyone else would like to give it a try? We’re here to learn and it’s perfectly alright if- yes Abigail?”

Abigail, a girl in a violet dress who sat at the front raised her hand. She lowered it when called upon; there was a blank, glassy look on her face.

“Misses Marsh,” she said, her eyes wide open. “Why did you murder your entire family?”


“EXCUSE ME?!” Emily hissed angrily. “What did you-“

Without warning, all of the students stood up from their desks all at once, every single one of them like an animated trap. Their faces were angry, full of cold judgment, full of hate and they all stared straight at her. With their hands to the side of their bodies and their upright postures, it was like they formed some kind of army.

Marston Marsh wasn’t among them. But of course, he was dead, along with his sister and the others…

“You’re the teacher,” Peter said. “We trusted you.”

“Dad says you’re a crazy killer,” Abigail added. “You shot them all. You shot everyone.”

“You never liked your family, you never liked your job, you never liked us,” Vincent added.

“You shouldn’t teach us anymore,” Peter said. “No one should listen to you. No one should trust you. No one should love you.”

Emily was speechless. What… what was happening?

And then the chanting began… all of the children said it, a chorus of condemnation…

“Why… why… why… why… why… why…why… why…”

The ground began to tremble and shake. A few of the crafts and posters from the classroom walls began to fall down. Emily raised her hand to try and silence the students but they continued their condemnation…

“Why… why… why… why… why… why…”

The combined zombie-like chanting voices became louder and louder and louder.

Emily Marsh covered her ears. The classroom continued to shake up, more and more violently. Emily closed her eyes as she pressed harder against her ears. But somehow she could still hear the chanting and feel the tremors on the floor she was standing on. It was now accompanied by a strange, indescribable ringing sound…

And then…


Emily opened her eyes and uncovered her ears.

She was somewhere else now; she recognized it: it was the Gladstone school playground. A slight breeze blew against her. The sun was setting, casting a beautiful crimson and orange glaze over all the surroundings. The sky was cloudless.

Where are the children?

There was no one. The swings were empty; the sandboxes were empty, as were the skipping squares and the roundabout… the football pitch in the distance. The school was in the background.

She was all alone. And then it happened...

The tremors began again. Emily let out a brief cry as she nearly fell down; she grabbed a nearby swing just in time to keep balance. All around her, the earth and the concrete began to shake up with a slight, but consistent tremor.

All around the woman, patches of the earth and the concrete began to open up… allowing a large number of massive objects to fly out and float upwards… It took a while for Emily to recognise the floating shapes.

It was the corpses of her family members… somehow their bodies were enlarged considerably and their mutilated bodies, features and clothes appeared slightly inflated to allow for flight… like some grotesque flesh balloons. Emily let out a shriek of terror as Marston, Annie, and Grace flew high into the air close to the school tower bell.

Once the corpses flew to a certain height, they just hovered around and stopped going higher, casting strange flickers over the hole-filled playground below. The orange and yellow lights of the sky interacted with their disturbing forms. Christian was one of the biggest balloons. He floated around close to where Eleanor, Erin, and Billy were. Everyone was here… everyone at that party. Horace Green was visible floating around over the vast soccer pitch along with several others.

The shaking of the earth under Emily’s shoes became more and more violent and explosive… Emily moved around for she feared more of the earth would open and possibly swallow her whole. She looked around frantically but it only got worse.

Somehow the floating motions of the human balloons seem to accelerate...


When she woke up, she was in her cell. Her face was streaked with sweat and tears. It was one of those horrifying nightmares again. For inexplicable reasons, there had been a string of them recently; they were the most dreadful surrealist things... and it was a very strange thing, for Emily Marsh rarely ever had nightmares, let alone ones so vivid, horrific, and realistic.

Now that she was back in the waking world, Emily remembered how and why she ended up here.

THIS… this isn’t FAIR!

Letting out a howl of rage, Emily Marsh rushed up to the wall of the small cell and began to pound against the soft walls with all of her might. It was an exercise in futility; their texture was set up to negate and absorb all impact. There wasn’t even any absolution in pain; even this slight catharsis was denied to her.

Despite having been in jail for quite a while now, this place, this new cell, was in many ways the worst. The containment cell, it was a very claustrophobia-inducing space; it was insufferable; she felt contained… shrunken down somehow. The place was atrocious. The place was a true personal hell and a horror all on its own. The padded cell was something she could never get used to; the texture was grotesque, like she was trapped inside some evil soft monster. She feared that the longer she stayed here, the more likely she was to really go insane; the walls would devour her. They had thrown her in and she’d been here for a few days now. Aside from a few meals delivered and a few trips out, she had been left alone.

Everything had gone wrong. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go down. Everyone had betrayed her. The system, the police, the judge, even her own lawyer. It was all too much.

She felt heartbroken and betrayed that apparently no one, NOT A SINGLE PERSON, not any of the parents, not any of the students, not anyone from the town council, not anyone from Gladstone... no one came forward to help her. In her mind, it was clear she was a good person caught up in a plot and it should be self-evident to anyone else and yet... and yet no one stood up for the truth.

HOW COULD THEY? I… I sacrificed so much for Gladstone. For these people. I was there when they needed me how could they… how could they abandon me?

As Emily buried her face into the walls and cried endlessly she recalled the verdict. The voice of judge Umbridge seemed to echo in her head.

Not Guilty by reason of insanity? There shouldn’t BE any insanity. I’m not insane. I… I want to go, I want to leave NOW…

Emily felt massively betrayed by the system. America was supposed to be a democracy; everyone was supposed to get a fair shake. Where was her fair shake? The whole thing felt rigged, set up. In retrospect, that awful judge could barely conceal her bias the whole time. It was all a massive slap in the face. If someone had told her a long time ago that Maryland court could run fabricated evidence, Emily would have thought it was too much. Yet the unthinkable happened. All of it and much more.

At length, Emily calmed herself and stepped back, wiping away some tears. Distraught, she sat down on her bed.

Okay Emily… stay calm. Stay calm. This… this can still work out. They’re just working on the other people, I’ll get my turn. Someone will show up, a police officer, a doctor, SOMEONE. Then I just need to really calmly explain my situation to them, make them believe.

Emily was aware it didn’t work well in the courtroom but that was because (she reasoned to herself) the whole process was dehumanizing and unnatural, removed from the personal. Truth got distorted somehow, lost amidst the mountain of bureaucracy, the formality of procedure. Truths weren’t supposed to be told under such rigid and unnatural ways… examinations, cross-examinations, motions… things were bound to get lost. That must be it. She had run into a bit of bad luck but HERE… HERE things could change. They have to. A person could only have so much going against them and she had done nothing wrong. The forces of good must prevail over the forces of evil. They HAVE TO. Otherwise… things would be out of balance. It… it couldn’t be otherwise!

I’m being TESTED in some way… That is all. I… I must persevere.

So far the authorities hadn’t been sympathetic, but still... she told herself... this was a new beginning, a new chance. She must not lose hope. Maybe here… maybe here she would be believed. She was “Not Guilty” after all. Maybe the doctors, being medical experts, will be able to tell between people who are REALLY insane, and those assigned wrongly. It was their job.

Stay clear-headed Emily… stay clear-headed Emily…

Later on that day, Emily Marsh would again be hit with periodic flashbacks to the day of the massacre. The screams of her family members interspersed with the gunfire would seem to ring across…
Last edited by Infected Mushroom on Sat Dec 19, 2020 7:04 am, edited 15 times in total.

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Infected Mushroom
Post Czar
Posts: 38812
Founded: Apr 15, 2014
Corrupt Dictatorship

Postby Infected Mushroom » Mon Dec 21, 2020 8:07 am

Emily Marsh

A very loud buzzer went off, signalling that the small plastic door, the only link into the outside world for Emily, was going to be opened.

About damn time…

Emily stood up from her bed as her cell opened and two hospital orderlies in uniforms faced her.

“Come with us,” one of them said curtly. “A doctor will see you now.”


Emily allowed herself to be escorted out of her cell and across a long corridor.

Well at least for now… no handcuffs. That’s an improvement.

A brief moment of hope passed over Emily; she had at the very least progressed from criminal suspect to “sick patient.” It was an improvement, if only marginally.

Maybe I can leave…

However, a moment of horror awaited her. The orderlies paused before a large steel door.

What’s behind that?

In the few times Emily had been escorted out for breaks, it had been through another corridor to either the desolate yard outside or the bathroom area. This time… the door was swung open and she was marched down a new corridor; thrusting the young woman into another world of nightmares. The first thing she noticed was the putrid stench… and then the eruption of noise.
There were rows and rows and rows of cells with prisoners inside…unlike the padded cell Emily was kept in, these seem to be of a lower security setting so they allowed for steel doors with sizable openings with tightfitting bars of... hardened plastic? Metal?

Emily’s appearance through the hallways seemed to have awakened a beehive of sorts; there was a scrambling like the sound of a few dozen monkeys scurrying and banging. Suddenly, a legion of grotesque hands and fingers pried and poked out of the endless rows of bars… A large number of largely male faces pried from behind many of the cells to see who the new person was. There was a huge amount of shouting, jeering, slurring of sounds and lots of strange phrases. The volume was turned up to 10,000 but even through it all, Emily could make out a few intelligible sentences:

“I don’t want to-“

All colour flushed from Emily’s terrified face and she paused, making an involuntary movement to clutch her heart.



The orderly gave her a firm shove from behind; Emily nearly fell over. “Let’s keep going!”

Gulping, Emily Marsh marched stoically forward; she looked straight ahead and avoided eye contact with anyone (it was difficult). The corridor seemed to go on and on and on… Emily deduced that these prisoners must be from a lower danger setting than her; she had somehow been isolated in another part of the prison.

Wait… prison? No. Hospital… that was part of the prison but… not the same… RIGHT?

Am I considered more or less dangerous than these people?

Keep walking… keep walking… stay calm…


As Emily marched through the corridor, she feared for a second that some of the doors would open and the crazies would mob her or drag her inside their dark spaces…

After going through another set of steel doors and hearing them shut behind her, she was in another section of the facility now. At last it was quiet; the place had the appearance of a rundown hospital. Orderlies went by, cracking some jokes with each other; a few of them threw Emily some looks. They walked past a counter with a clerk behind it, she was dressed in some nursing uniform.

“Keep going,” the orderlies that marched Emily said, “Let’s keep going, that door straight ahead.”

There were many sets of wooden doors against a wall; they were numbered.

Emily was marched up to one of the doors. An orderly walked up and knocked three times.

“Doctor, she’s here!”

So this is it…

Emily wasn’t sure what to expect when she stepped inside. To her surprise, it was a comfortable-looking doctor’s office, not a prison interrogation chamber. The floors were covered by carpet; there were shelves on either side neatly filled with books. There was even a window in the corner through which the rays of the sun could shine in. There was a pair of chairs facing a large desk behind which sat the singular doctor:

He was a middle-aged man with glasses. The man was thin, with a mop of straw-coloured hair and a somewhat pale complexion; he wore a white doctor’s coat. His spectacled eyes and slightly bearded face was even a bit… kind?

“Hi Misses Marsh, can I call you that?” he said to her.

Emily blinked, she wasn’t used to manners anymore, a sign that she had been separated from the world for too long.

Without waiting for a reply, the doctor said, “Please, sit down. We’ll begin immediately.”

Emily walked over timidly and sat down, she looked around nervously. There was a diploma in a gilded frame behind the doctor’s comfortable chair… a large globe of the world, and a collection of statues on another shelf… they were… African? Polynesian?

The doctor looked at Emily. “I’m Doctor Appleholm. Kay Appleholm to be exact. You may refer to me as, Kay. I’d like that actually. Kay.”

Emily blinked. Then she remembered her manners… “It’s Emily. Emily-“

“Marsh,” Kay said as he looked down at an open file on his table. “Emily Greene Marsh. Yes?”

She nodded.

Kay began to write some things down on a notepad. Emily was a bit nervous because she hadn’t even said anything; but she found it cautious not to interrupt. At length, Kay looked up at her; spectacled eyes were watching her closely.

“I want to set the stage properly,” he said warmly. “I understand that you may be well… a bit thrown off by your surroundings. It’s normal, entirely natural… it’s a noted thing that we as humans, need time to … acclimate to our surroundings. That takes time.”

Emily said nothing; she was so nervous.

“In any event,” Kay said. “I’m your doctor. I’ve been assigned to your case. That means that you can trust me, and I’m here to take care of you, to help you with your… your recovery.”
Emily opened her mouth but Kay raised a hand, smiling, as if somehow reading her mind, “You’re not here to be PUNISHED. I know that we as a civilization… all across we’re not at our best when treating prisoners in the jails. The American penal system well… it’s a dire travesty. But we’re past that. Over here, we are a MEDICAL FACILITY. We help the sick. As an institution, we can rise to the challenge and help people get back on their feet. We want to help you. We want to help you get well. And yes…”

Emily held her breath.

“Once you are well,” Kay said. “You’ll be able to leave. No strings. Yup.”

Then Kay got the point and his expression hardened.

“But we have to get to the main point here,” Kay said. “Which is that a Maryland court found you… medically unwell, a danger to society and they have reached a finding of fact that you murdered… well do you remember?”

Emily chose her next words carefully. “Hmmm look doctor I-“

“Kay,” he said, “It’s Kay.”

“Right err… Kay,” she said. “I remember what happened on that day and it’s… it’s not what the court found. See I’m innocent.”

Kay looked down and wrote down some more notes unto his papers. Emily realized she may be making a mistake but she continued:

“I didn’t murder my entire family. I saw the people that did it. It wasn’t me.”

Kay looked at her closely, Emily wasn’t sure what to make of his expression. He had a very unreadable quality.

“So you’re saying,” Kay said. “The government set you up-“

“Y-YES!” Emily cried out shrilly. “No I mean… not the government, not all of the government, but many people in it because I was-“

There was a sudden shift in the tone in Kay’s voice, it suddenly turned stern and cold as ice, as if it was suddenly weaponized. “Emily. STOP.”

Emily paused.

“We’re going to need a few ground rules here, first of the rules being… NEVER interrupt me. EVER.”

Oh no… he’s just another power hungry-

“It’s a facility wide rule,” Kay said, somehow suddenly smiling. He lifted a finger playfully and pointed to a poster on another wall. Emily followed his finger and found it, three things were written in coloured bolded text…

The Rules

1. Listen to the Doctor

2. Never interrupt the Doctor

3. Accept and follow the Treatment

Was this some sort of strange irony? It reminded Emily of some of her own classroom rules only in some surreal setting-

“The rules aren’t for my benefit,” Kay said, smiling warmly. “They are for YOUR benefit. For the benefit of the patients. Can you follow the rules?”

Emily looked at him. She waited a few seconds to make sure he wasn’t going to say anything else so she wouldn’t interrupt… “Y… Yes I got it.”

“Good,” he said smiling. “Now you’re a teacher yourself, so I’m sure you have a similar set of rules for your students. How’s that job by the way?”

“I… I like it,” Emily said almost tearfully. “Well I used to… before… before all this-“

“Yes well my point is,” Kay said. “As a teacher you’re always trying to help your students grow and learn. That’s why you have rules. So I have rules too for the same reason. I want to help you recover… not just recover and get well… but also become a better woman.”

Emily got the chills. A better woman? What on Earth did that mean?

“Tell you what…” he said. “Let’s establish a climate of trust. Right now, you don’t entirely trust me and I don’t hold ANYTHING against you because… If I were in your spot I’d feel the same. Who is this doctor? What does he know? What does he want? … Well the thing is, I’m here to help you to recover but to do that we need to be able to trust each other. Any ideas on how we can do that?”

Emily said nothing.

“Tell you what,” Kay said. “I have an idea. I have one set of facts… what the court and the police passed on to me but I think that’s not the ENTIRE story. There’s probably more. See some of what they said, it doesn’t entirely add up. The puzzle, it’s not complete.”


Emily opened her mouth in excitement but then she remembered the No Interruption Rule and stopped.

“I’m a scientist and a doctor well… a psychiatrist really,” Kay continued. “I need to assess all of the facts and question everything… it’s a scientific method. And if it turns out, there’s something they overlooked, then the law makes it my responsibility to report this upwards. If there’s enough evidence that in fact, you are not as the court ruled, mentally unwell… then I have to vouch for your early release. Those are the rules.”

Emily began to smile.

“Don’t say anything though,” Kay said. “If your lawyer is anything to go by, you have a very long story and when you try to recall such a long chain of events verbally, you’re bound to run into some hiccups, create distortions that will hamper the search for the truth.”

Kay took out a large notebook and passed it to Emily; she blinked.

“This is for you,” Kay said. “Take as long as you need. A few hours, a day, a week, a month even. Write down your recollection of the entire event. The whole thing starting from the day of… well from where you say it began… the killings perhaps… all the way to your arrest.”

“I write it all down,” Emily said nervously. “And you’ll believe what I say?”

“I can’t promise you I’d believe you,” Kay said. “But I promise you I’ll put myself in your shoes, and give everything you say, a serious, clear, unbiased consideration. I'm going to read every single word."

Well that’s as good as I can expect for now…

“I recommend you write straightforwardly and clearly, don’t embellish or exaggerate anything,” Kay said. “Avoid the traps of the mind, don’t let the mind reconstruct anything, just view things as they are and write it as such. But I don’t need to tell you, you’re a teacher, you know all about clear and concise writing right? Thesis statements? Paragraphs? Intro? Conclusion? All of that.”

Emily nodded.

“At the same time,” Kay said gently. “Take as long as you need to. And write as much as you need to, whatever it takes to help me understand your points of view and what happened that day. Two more things though: First, I can promise you that what you write to me will be completely confidential until you choose to make it anything else, you’re my patient so this is strictly between you and me. Secondly, there’s a facility-wide rule that patients aren’t to be given any sharp objects including pens but I’ll make a special exception for you for this first assignment.”

Emily paused; Did he believe-

“Because I think there’s more to the story,” Kay said, looking at her. “Then what I’ve been led to believe. So let’s make a deal. You write down your version of events, take your time, in return I promise to give it my complete attention, free from preconception… and once we’re done with that, we’ll work together to get you out of here. If you’re unwell we’ll make you well… if there was never anything wrong with you at all to begin with, then it’s your lucky day. Deal?”

Emily nodded.

Kay extended a hand across the desk towards her. “Let’s shake on it.”

Smiling, Emily shook his hand.

I can’t believe it…this isn’t so bad.

Once Emily let go, Kay said: “By the way, I’ve been told that you’ve been having nightmares?”

Emily blinked.

How did he-

“The guards say you’ve been screaming in your sleep,” Kay said. “It carries over the walls. These walls; they are a travesty in need of change. Now tell me… have you been having nightmares?”

Emily nodded.

"Periodic migraines? Headaches? Unwanted flashbacks to the past?"

Emily nodded.

“Now I need to preface, that doesn't mean there's ANYTHING wrong with you. Anyone can experience these things after going through a traumatic event; it does NOT make them unwell. It is very common to experience nightmares, even those with a grotesque and vivid quality, after the onset of traumatic events and what you went through definitely fits this. That’s going to interfere with your ability to recollect events, write clearly, and convince me. Even more unacceptably, nightmares like that can leave lasting psychic scars, it’s a phenomenon that’s well-documented in some of the recent articles and it could dent your mind permanently; we can’t have that,” he said. “So I’ve got a solution for you. I’m going to prescribe to you some medicines… pills that will allow you to suppress your nightmares and ameliorate the other problems. They will come with clear instructions on how to take them and how often. The staff will help you with their administration."

Pills? But aren’t they for sick people?

“You need to take the medicines, all of them, exactly in the way that I say,” he said. “Otherwise… they won’t work and you’re going to feel even worse. Some of the pills are designed to do one thing: to make your nightmares disappear by balancing both sides of your brain, regulating the chemicals and reinstating the default state of the areas of the brains most associated with the subconscious. Others will make your migraines and flashbacks disappear. Tell me Emily, do you want the nightmares to go away?”

Emily nodded.

“Good,” he said to her as he clapped his hands once. “Well that’s all for now. You’ll be moved back to your cell, the staff will deliver this notebook and specialized writing instrument to you. We’ll meet again in a few days once you’re ready.”

In a few days? I don’t want to go back to my awful cell!

“I can have it written out today if you-“

“No no no,” Kay said. “You need to take at least a whole week if not longer. On this matter I MUST insist. It’s the only way this important truth-finding activity is going to work properly. This exercise isn’t just about you talking to me, it’s also about you having a conversation with yourself… no one really knows where things will lead. And that’s going to take time. Once you embark on this quest, you’ll find that it isn’t so easy. In fact, you may well decide, and it wouldn’t surprise me, that you’d need more than one week… perhaps even a month.”


“That’s all for now Emily.”

“Thank you Kay.”

Kay beamed. “Oh you remembered? I’m touched. Remember Emily, take your medicines and next time we see each other, I’ll have a better understanding of how to best help you get out of here. If I can say one thing to encourage you Emily, it’s that there's a possibility that a few months from now, you’ll look back on much of your past tribulations… however dreadful they seem now… and feel that you’ve come out stronger for it. You are a strong woman, and I’m sure you’ll make it. I really want the best for you.”
Last edited by Infected Mushroom on Mon Dec 21, 2020 8:16 am, edited 1 time in total.

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Main Nation Ministry
Posts: 13014
Founded: Sep 28, 2016
Psychotic Dictatorship

Postby Main Nation Ministry » Sun Mar 07, 2021 7:16 pm

Chapter 4: Grey Devil

Emily was forced to return to her bleak white padded cell, against her wishes. The metal door shut behind her, as she was stuck back in her cell as usual. Oh course, she was given some dinner and a trip outside to the desolate yard to stand around and do nothing. It was at the start of dusk was when there was a loud knock at the door. Emily went over, where the food slot open up, where a tray with a notebook and a plastic pen went through. On the side of the tray was 3 tiny paper cups, each with a white pill. "Appleholm told me to send your therapy book. He also told me that you need to be shallowing those pills, so you better get to it, or else I get another orderly to make sure you get the medicine down in you, you hear?" a familiar sounding orderly said to Emily in a passive-aggressive tone. She was forced to take the pills. Appleholm said the pills were supposed to help, but she didn't realize that this was what she had to take for her treatment.

Each of the pills were in different shapes and sizes, but they were all the color of white. Marsh couldn't tell which was supposed to help and which was supposed to be for something else. There was no instructions? Did Kay just give the pills to the orderly, so they could just read the back of the pill canisters then call it a day? Unknownest to Emily, even as she took the pills, she was taking more than expected. One of them was a happy pill, another was a neuroleptic to treat Emily's "illness", and another was a sedative. Emily shallowed her pills, though they didn't give her any water. She took her book and pen, where she kept the paper cups on the tray, as she put it through the food slot, so the orderly can collect it. The food slot being shut was enough for Emily to know that the orderly believed her on taking the meds.

Emily sat at the corner of her cell, as she opened up the notebook. There were enough pages to write in. The pen was more plastic and cheap-looking, but it was probably in case a patient had suicidal tendencies. Someone could still die by a simple pen, if they thought things through. However, Emily wasn't suicidal. She wanted to write down the truth. Starting on a blank page, she started to get to work..

"My patient Emily Marsh. 26 years old. Profession was a grade-school teacher in a elementary school. Perpetrator of the Gladstone Massacre. Victims were family and friends. Patient proclaimed innocence for the wrongdoings she had been charged for, where she professes the attack to be the work of government forces. Statement she made was self-contradictory, where it's common for individuals who believed higher and powerful forces are the reasons for their misfortunes. Patient had been reported by guards and orderlies to be screaming in her sleep from nightmares. Exhibits symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder and disassociative amnesia. Schizophrenia is likely. Patient is to be given literary therapy to record events of the Gladstone Massacre to give a clear picture on the events that occurred. Overall condition of patient might improve or worsen, depending on outcome of the therapy and medications that the patient has been provided." - Audio Tape #1 by Kay Appleholm.

Emily Marsh opened her eyes for a brief moment. She looked at where she was. It was... It was the farm! Her farm! She was outside on a bile of hay, as the sunshine was pooling directly on her. She was lying down, where her head was resting on the legs of someone sitting up straight. She tilted her head. It was her hushand Glenn. Staring into space, as he was humming a small tune, as Marsh got up from her position to comfort him. She started to cry into his shoulder, until he immediately said something. "Emily..." he simply said, as Emily raised her head.

"You know that I'm not here anymore."

Emily reacted in horror, as Glenn's head was bashed in. Blood dripped from the gaping wound from his skull, as his body started to bloat. Emily immediately got up and screamed. Glenn was bloating, almost like he was being inflated like a balloon. A flesh balloon, almost. He reached for her. It wasn't like he was accusing her, but it was more of a gesture for a plea for help. He floated up into the air, as his mutilated body was raising up to the glaring sun. "Please.. Know..." Glenn could be heard saying, as Emily suddenly saw them. They were surrounding her. The men! Those men who came and kill everyone! There was blood on the grass and ground. They had their machine guns and kelvar armors. But their faces. What's wrong with their faces. They were blank. Like something erased their features.

No! Get away! Get the hell away from me, you monsters!

The pills! Why weren't the pills working?!

"Look at yourself. What a mess. You're a mess like us." one of the blank figures said, as they moved closer to Emily.

"You should have had your brains bashed in."
"You should have had your mouth ripped apart, so we can burn you later."
"You should have had been thrown into a shredder and turned into mulch."
"Or how about we mulilate you in the backseat of a car in the middle of a desert? Keeping you alive for hours and hours in the heat."

No. Get back! Get back! Emily felt powerless. They were all around her, pinning her down. Cold arms forcing her to her knees, as she wanted to cry and scream. Suddenly, she can see someone among the crowd, as they were...dancing to her? She was confused, as the figures stopped moving. It appeared her. It's hands stroking Emily's cheek, as it was nothing but pure darkness. It was about to say something until-

Emily immediately jerked awake in her cell, as she looked around. There was nothing to tell if she was still dreaming or not. A pinch might have helped. The nightmares.. Why were the nightmares continuing? Emily was about to head back to sleep, until she looked down at her own notebook.

My god. Did... Did she write all of this?

Dolan Schaeffer was in his office, as he was examining a set of antique coins that were meant to be worth about 18 grand. His flatscreen TV that was near a fine painting of the Dorset coastline back in the UK was broadcasting a recording of the news that was meant to be a recap of this morning. "Mr. Schaeffer. Do you have any comment on the trial concerning Emily Greene Marsh?" a reporter by some mainstream news outlet was interviewing Schaeffer in front of his company building. "I find the mass shooting done in Gladstone to be a dreadful event. The fact that our state is another location for mass murder is one of the most unfortunate things to happen."
"You were mentioned during the trial concerning the Gladstone community union over the new meat processing plant that was said to be open at the town. Many in Gladstone are starting your involvement is the main reason for trouble that the town of Gladstone is facing."
"My dear, if I may address. What are your thoughts on the criticisms that you're heavily pushing for the Starkweather/Gladstone Slaughterhouse and Pig Farm?"

"The project that I'm working with is controlled mostly by the city government and the state government. The city wanted to lend their work towards my private company to aid in the construction. I'm merely a showman to the city, really. It's very common for people to have their faces plaster onto flyers and newspapers to something unrelated. You know how many athletes put themselves on boxes of sugary cereals? People need someone charismatic to sell something. An endorsement. I just happen to be a large endorsement. I'm also aware that I have lost my temper back in Gladstone several weeks ago, however I deeply apologize for those who I may have antagonized. One doesn't understand how something that has been given a large amount of progress would suddenly stop.."

Schaeffer smirked, as he switched off the TV. He got up to take the coins to a display case among the many antiques that he kept in his special warehouse of a floor. He was alone, but he trusted his guards that no one was snooping around. There was a ship bell from the 17th century during when pirates roamed the seas, photogravures of Native Americans long past, ancient Egyptian masks, and a medal with a Polish Kotwica on it which was stolen from a WW2 collection. All of which were visible, but it was scratching the surface. Schaeffer set the coins down in a glass case that he locked, before returning up a floor to his office.

It was then he got the text from one of the informants at Gladstone was when he knew that people wouldn't be directed towards him in terms of what has been happening at Gladstone.

Managed to identify Whitman's little attorney. Plus I got the information on the buyer Whitman contacted. Expect a leak soon.

Dolan: Get rid of loose ends. Find a way to get rid of the Whitmans.

Schaeffer smirked a little, knowing that the Whitmans were next on his list.

Joseph Schwab

At the Starkweather Saint Judas Church at night, the head priest Joseph Schwab was hosting an evening sermon as he was mentioning the rejection of Jesus Christ to some parishioners. "Now, Jesus Christ was a messiah to some, however one will argue that he was rejected by not just his family, but by those of Judaism. It's true that he is not the Jewish messiah, however it's important to recognize that Jesus was the son of God, or perhaps even a messiah to most. The real messiah for his believers. It's important that we still see Jesus as the son of God, for he is one who has helped move God's movement all around our world." Joseph said in a speech to the parishioners, as they listened with their faith in their hearts.

Joseph Schwab was in his 60's, but he was still doing whatever to stay afloat. He had a full set of white hair and an outfit for an usual priest. He was a community hero for Gladstone. He was the type of man who the parents of the city trusted, since he wasn't a creep. He was innocent. He wanted to spread faith onto others. Isn't that the point of the religion he based his life as a priest on? However, as he was a simple priest, he wasn't no messiah. Recently, the Oppressors had started to demand "protection money" from the church, because they saw the area around the church as their turf. This was almost heresy, Schwab thought. It was illegal. It was wrong. But were the police helpful? In this miserable city, it was lucky if any of the cops did anything.

The corruption was evident. Sometimes, they were arrive at the church and casually turn a blind eye. This only kept provoking the Oppressors, as they were trying to trash the church until they could milk some "protection" money from the priest. It was a nightmare. This church was practically a landmark. It was made during the Great Depression during a time where people needed faith to guide them through their lives, but now these sinners and parasites wish to tear down his church?! All over it has done to help many?

These thoughts of wrath immediately were clouding Joseph. After his speech and as people were leaving for the day, he immediately went to the altar to pray. He wondered if God would come to get rid of them. Send them to hell or force them to see the errors of their ways. However, as he was praying, he heard someone approached him from behind. He turned around, as he looked with surprise to see the man in the gray business suit. It was Dolan Schaeffer. Joseph looked at him with surprise, as he introduced himself. "I hope I wasn't interrupting something, Father. I know how much you need your faith." Dolan said simply, as Joseph got himself organized to speak out.

"Dolan Schaeffer? I'm... I'm surprised that you're here! Are you here to make a donation to the church? Or did you come just to have a confession? Go on, I let you speak." Joseph said, knowing of Schaeffer's public influence on the city. "Well, I would enjoy a confession, Father. However, I had been aware of your troubles as of late, so I wanted to make a proposition that you wouldn't deny." Dolan explained, as he went to the confession booth, as Joseph got onto his side of the booth to hear all of Schaeffer's sins. "If I may ask, my son. What would you like to confess to me? All that is said will stay in this booth."
"Forgive me, my Father. I had committed multiple acts of greed, vanity, emptiness, pride, and sheer violence for the sake of advancing my own personal goals for the sake of myself and others. The only excuse I can give is that I did it all for progress." Dolan said in the confession booth, as Schawb listened on to what Schaeffer said.

"My son. You have felt remorse of these actions that you committed? Yes?"
"No. I hadn't, Father."
"My son. My child.." Schawb said, hesitant with Schaeffer's behavior. "You must do what is right with society and put yourself on the right path. You are a philanthropist, are you not?"
"I am, but I just consider it a job. Nothing more. I don't get enjoyment from giving money to cancer boys or women with STD's. Honestly, I fail to see the interest in our God. I hadn't seen him. I wasn't one of the three witnesses to see him descent onto this great nation?"
"Isn't that part of the Latter-Day church?"
"You know what I'm trying to say, my dear Father."

Schawb took a deep breath, as he stepped out of the confession booth. However, he was met by an intimidating man with a pistol. "By all of heaven's grace.." Schawb muttered, as he immediately grabbed the cross necklace he had around his neck, as he was praying to himself. Dolan stepped out of the confession booth, as he looked at Schawb. Schawb, the poor old priest could only do little, as he felt like he was doomed. "Now, Father. I do not intend on harming you, however if you disagree, there will be some consquences. I do mean that literally.."

"If you want to sell the church, you can't have it!" Schawb yelled, as he heard the cocking of the pistol. "No no no.. You still get ownership of the church. I would technically call myself the co-owner. Besides, the Oppressors wouldn't harm anything that's part of my property, oh no.." Schaeffer said, as Schawb suddenly recognized who he was talking about. "What kind of devilish deal you are offering to me?"

Dolan Schaeffer immediately smirked. "What if I told you that you can have your church, if I made some... adjustments.. You have a minute to decide.."

While the holy father was in the midst of a gun to his head and an offer from the devil, it turns out another type of misfortune was happening elsewhere in the middle of the night. At Gladstone, it didn't take long until the farmers of Gladstone got wind of the leak. Schaeffer managed to make it look like that he was being set up himself. Everyone in Gladstone believed that the Whitmans deliberately placed a hit on the Marsh family, which was how Emily Marsh was arrested, since most of the community thought that poor Emily was framed. Now, the Whitmans were public enemy #1 in Gladstone. Mr. Whitman learned this the hard way, when they nearly killed him at the bar, where he immediately drove him, as he woke up his wife and daughter.

"EVERYONE GET THE FUCK UP NOW!! GET PACKED! GET DRESSED! HOLY SHIT!" Whitman yelled at the top of his lungs, as his wife and daughter woke up. "Honey, what is it?"
"It's Schaeffer! He did something! He told the fucking town! They are going to fucking kill us! Come on! We're not safe! We need to get the fuck out of the country!" Whitman explained, as outside of the Whitman residence, a large crowd was brewing. They were definitely pissed. They knew of the Whitman's scheme. They knew of the lawyer. They knew they were exploiting the situation at Gladstone. The mob mentality was enough to drive them into a frenzy. Whitman and his family immediately ran to their car with little they would use. However, the crowd was blocking the driveway. Whitman honked the horn, but they didn't budge. The Whitmans could see them. Their faces full of rage. For the betrayal of their own community.

Then, Mr. Whitman did something out of sheer stress and lack of rationality. He immediately stepped on the gas pedal, as the car sped forward, as he ended up running over several people just to get to the main road. There were screams of the crowd, as some were now lying on the ground with skid marks or broken bones. One woman cried out, as someone's skull was broken.

Whitman was speeding down the main road, as he was trying to get out of both Starkweather and Gladstone. He knew he needed to disappear. However, his phone started to ring. "Not now, I'm driving!" Whitman fumed, as his wife and daughter were scared out of their minds. As it finished ringing, Whitman immediately grabbed his phone as he looked ahead at the road. It was a voicemail from "Unknown". He played it on speaker, as he heard the chilling familiar voice of Dolan Schaeffer.

"Hello, Whitman. I know you didn't bother to pick up, seeing how you think you're ahead of me. But I'm much smarter than that.. You think I didn't know about that lawyer of yours from out of town named Jay? You think I don't know anything? I got some bad news for you. I recommend that you don't skip town." Schaeffer said in a voicemail. Whitman didn't know the true purpose of what Schaeffer had planned, until..

"THE ROAD!" his wife yelled, as something immediately knew out of nowhere in the main road. It was a large RV. It was from a scrapyard back in Starkweather, but it had good use as Schaeffer used some contacts to stage an ambush at the town's exit. The RV immediately blocked the road, as Whitman tried to brake the car. However, it was already too late. The damn thing came right before Whitman could stop the car. It didn't help, as he was driving at a high speed, so when he plowed into the RV, practically everyone in the car got a nasty dose of whiplash. Made worse, since the youngest member of the family forgotten to wear a seatbelt, so she ended up crushing her face onto the back of the driver's seat by the force of the impact.

Practically, the Whitmans nearly died immediately from when the car crashed into the RV. If that didn't kill them, the car and RV began to leak gas. Someone who was near the RV that was hired for the ambush immediately got a match from a matchbox, as there were hovering over a puddle of gasoline that was seeping on the asphalt. A bit of a pyromaniac this shifty character was, as he actually was part of George Harrison's gang of crazed homeless. He let out a giggle, as he let the lit match fall onto the gasoline. A trial of fire appeared, as it spreaded to the car and RV. The Whitmans were given justice, however it was from the cruelty of Dolan Schaeffer.

Zheng Wheatly

Zheng was resting in his apartment in Chinatown, until he heard the buzzer. It was his grandmother again. Wheatly's grandmother relied on a button and a buzzer to get the family's attention, when she needed it. She was too old to do things herself, especially since she was deaf. Wheatly entered the bedroom, as his grandmother was in the wheelchair near a music box that was on the dresser. It was a family antique for when Wheatly's family had fled from China, however it was only meant to be for Zheng and his daughter Liu. He stepped into his grandmother's view, as he gave some sign language to communicate with her.

"I'M HERE. WHAT'S WRONG?" Zheng used his hand motions to "talk" with his grandmother. His grandmother used some hand motions to explain to him what happened. "I HAD A NIGHTMARE. I WAS DAYDREAMING WHEN I THOUGHT I SAW A HUNGRY GHOST IN THE MIRROR." Zheng was confused by what his grandmother said, until she pointed to the music box. The music box was full of clockwork in the bottom, where beneath the top lid, there was a mirror that can reflect whoever was listening to it, as it played. Zheng went over to the music box, as he opened it. The music box played a somber tune, as Zheng can see his reflection in the mirror. However, there was nothing out of the ordinary.

"YES?" Zheng looked confused at what his grandmother had to say.

Zheng didn't know what to say. He had committed horrible things, but he didn't any regret. He wanted to feel remorse, but it was more of the daily grind of what he does. He wanted to say something, but he simply replied with this. "NOTHING'S WRONG. THINGS ARE JUST GETTING DANGEROUS OUT THERE. I WANT YOU TWO SAFE." Zheng said, trying to explain it to his grandmother. "ZHENG. YOU'RE AWARE THAT YOU'RE BECOMING MORE LIKE YOUR FATHER?" his grandmother asked him, as he nodded. "YOU'RE BEING RESPONSIBLE FOR BOTH LIU AND I THAT YOU HAD FORGOTTEN THAT YOU'RE STILL A YOUNG MAN. YOUR FATHER WAS JUST LIKE YOU. HE KNEW OF THE TROUBLES OF THE WORLD, YET YOU'RE ACTING AS RESPONSIBLE AS HIM. I HOPE YOU KNEW THAT."

Zheng nodded, as he closed the music box to retire back to his rest. "I KNOW. GOODNIGHT." Zheng used his hands to give one last message, before he went back to his bedroom. He was being a bit superstitutious, as his family was looking up to him. If they knew of what horrors he was involved with, only God knows what could happen. He remembered when his mother told her about hungry ghosts and the jumping vampires. The dead walking the earth. However, Zheng could care less of such nightmares.

It was practically late, as Timothy Harrelson entered the room. It was one of the rooms in Dolan's penthouse. "Boss? Did you call me?" Timothy asked, as Dolan Schaeffer was busy making a small miniature for a diamora. "Timothy. Take a seat. Next to me. You wouldn't do anything bad." Dolan said in a quiet tone, as Timothy was about to sit next to him, but he paused. There was a mannequin in the room. It had blue hair and a blue dress. It was almost like a doll. Timothy looked disturbed, as Schaeffer observed him. "You know her, Timothy?"
"Boss.. Isn't that the Colemont chick?" Timothy said, as he was immediately uneasy.

"Got a good eye. Now tell me. Are they dead? The Whitmans?"
"Yes. George had someone get a RV from Mazus. They got out just in time, before a mob showed up. Police are already believing it to be an accident."
"Good. Now. I have some assignments later this month that you should look inside. Sit with me." Dolan ordered, as Timothy took a seat on a stool next to Dolan. Timothy looked at the diorama that Dolan was working on. It was a forest diorama, where Dolan had put the miniature in the middle of the diamora, laying down.

"What's your orders, Schaeffer?"
"You know about Lupton and Cumberworth?"
"That Latino fellow? His street gang is the largest in Starkweather."
"I know. That's why he's a problem for me. Him and his gang may be customers of ours, but he is probing ahead of us. He wants in on the bigger pond. I had a plan regarding Lupton's father that you should find interesting."

"What about Cumberworth?"
"Leave him. Avoid him and make sure he doesn't do anything rash. He's too much of a master extortionist and rapist. Not to mention his sweet tooth and his habit of prowling on manosphere websites. He is still an asset that I might try to acquire. Do you understand?" Dolan looked at him, as Timothy noticed how casual he was currently dressed. There was something unnerving. He was trying to act fatherly, despite being his boss. "Yes. I do. I really do mean it. It's just your dolls are creeping me out. I just tired."
"I get it, Harrelson. How about I tell you a story to put you at ease?"
"Go on?"
"So I know you and the boys have been hard at work with everything that had happened, regarding the Marsh family. Especially those hicks at Gladstone. I met this one man. Ivan Murphy. Annoying hotshot. I mention to him how I made money from a Spanish shipwreck due to gold. Then, he mentions that we shared the same hobby together. He took note at the coins I liked to collect. I showed him a half dollar from Fort Vancouver. He was pleased. Then he told me something. He believed that I should change the world some more. All the while bragging that his knowledge in finance and stocks could net him to be more wealthy than the average millennial. It's weird. He has all of this money. This dough. So you want to know what I did?"

"You killed him?"
"How did I kill him?"
"You had me kill him, Boss. I drove a big rig and splattered him against the grill." Timothy said, as Dolan was waiting for him to get the punchline. "You want me to laugh, sir?"

"Timothy. That's one problem you have. I don't want to compare you to Rick Pearson or Vinnie, but you lack humor. You're cynical. You know how it is with people. Random stereotypes and flashy showoffs." Dolan said, as he jabbed a toothpick sword into the miniature. "It all leads to death. Which is what's funny and ironic. I want you to understand that."

Timothy didn't say anything, as he nodded. "Good. Maybe tomorrow, you should start laughing along with your brother George. He understands more than you." Dolan gave the remark, as he had Timothy leave. Timothy could only hide his jealousy and annoyance at both Dolan and George. After Timothy left, Dolan finished the diaroma for tonight. He took a look at it. It suited what was left of Penny Colemont, especially after he had someone hack into her accounts. He looked at the doll-like mannequin of her. He took a step to it and grinned.

"Serves you right, you c###."

The Scrawlings on a Notebook

Local 22 year old Diet Coke Addict College Student Ruins Everything


RPs I do
- How do you do fellow kids? You want to see something violent? - Artemis: Deimos Trafficking League (Horror/Mature)
- Descend into the forgotten tourist traps of Florida on this transgressive RP! - The Community (Mature/Black Comedy/Slice-of-Life)

My overall account that I use for P2TM and even for international roleplaying! MNM is a mysterious and extremely dangerous dictatorship filled with supernatural oddities, demons, militarized soldiers everywhere, and a misanthropic nihilistic dictator who doesn't give a damn. It's basically if the SCP Foundation got mixed with 1984.

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Infected Mushroom
Post Czar
Posts: 38812
Founded: Apr 15, 2014
Corrupt Dictatorship

Postby Infected Mushroom » Thu Mar 18, 2021 7:22 am

Emily Marsh

Emily blinked.

I… I didn’t write this. H… HOW?!

She wiped away some tears as a sort of panic gripped at her heart like a steel vice.

She looked around, but no one could have written it, it must be her. Unless the guards came in?

Emily didn’t understand; weren’t the pills supposed to make her feel better?

Yet for days on end now, the nightmares continued. She also seemed less focused. She began to develop a sort of nausea along with a rising anxiety.

She forced herself to keep writing. At first, it was all she did day and night. But as the days went on, she developed a gripping anxiety.

What if he doesn’t believe me? What if the writing isn’t clear? What if I fail?

Emily was never one to procrastinate but on some of the coming days she found it impossible to write. She suffered from a sort of writer’s block and inexplicably, the writing slowed down. There was no eraser, the mistakes couldn’t be changed unless she crossed parts of her writing out.

I must not sound crazy…

She became scarcely aware how much (or how little time) had passed since her session with Dr. Appleholm. She was certain that a few days had gone by… but beyond that… was it a whole month? Two months? Longer? Things became unclear.

A few days into The Treatment, she woke up in the middle of the night, screaming with pain. On this night it was particularly brutal: There was a strange force drilling into her head… it wasn’t just from the nightmare either. It had come out into the real realm and now it hurt… it really really hurt…

Thre was a violent tapping at the door to her cell:





Episodes like this became increasingly common after.

A few days ago…

Louise Donovan

On this night, Louise was technically off duty so she wasn’t in uniform. She had tried to dress up; she was wearing a singular long, dark blue and red, sleeveless dress. It wasn’t that the material wasn’t expensive or that the colour was bad… rather, something about the size fitting felt wrong; at any rate it didn’t suit her heavy form. Louise was travelling with a brown leather handbag with a strap which partly hung from her large shoulder and across the front, somewhat wrinkling the fine dress fabric.

Her pudgy face shone with a heavy shade of pink and red as a result of hastily applied make up.

Then there was the matter of the large number of rings she had decided to put on her many fingers…

It was evening outside the building. When she entered the lobby area, she saw some red carpet and some scenic paintings on the wall.

It’s just a FUCKING lobby for God’s sakes…

Her mood darkened because there was no contest between this place and her residence.

Fucking America…

There was an area downstairs with a concierge, he was wearing a sleek green uniform. He was just putting down the phone when he looked up at her.

Did he just SNEER?!

“What the hell you looking at?” Louise said aggressively.

The concierge looked down at once. “N… nothing ma’am. Good evening.”

“Damn straight,” Louise replied, leering like a wolf. The wheels were spinning inside the policewoman’s head.

I could look him up. Pay him a visit in uniform later, cuffs, guns, batons… nothing on record of course. It’ll be easy to find who he is and how to get to him. He’ll pay.

As she reached the elevator, she reconsidered… was it worth it? After all, this building belonged to a friend.

Upstairs of where Louise was, there was a vast, spacious and clean apartment flat on the 77th floor. This was inside one of Starkweather’s finest condos and it belonged to none other than…

Judge Lucinda Grace Umbridge

The place was well-decorated; there were painted portraits of famous historical figures on the walls (many of them jurists and philosophers), shelves filled with books on many subjects of law, history, philosophy, and sociology. By a large, well-lit fireplace, there was a large, antique marble statue of Athena, Goddess of Wisdom. On another shelf, there was a large collection of antique objects from antiquity, Mesopotamian potteries, Roman and Greek swords and daggers, jade dragons, bronze plates…

A fine dinner was being prepared in the kitchen by two uniformed servers. The smell of the fine sea bass stew rose from the pots, the carefully crafted Mediterranean salads with sauces imported from Europe were being made, as was the rosemary pork, and a large number of fine aperitifs; there were a number of sweet-smelling desserts being made in the oven.

In the dining room, fine blue and red candles were tastefully spaced about the place. All the walls in this residence (and the living room was no exception) was painted with a light, delicate shade of bright pink.

Chamber music was playing from a well-crafted wooden box that contained an antique CD player.

Two women sat facing each other across a large rectangular table with red-and-white-chequered tablecloth. The food wasn’t here yet because they were waiting for the third guest. However, they both had large glasses of red wine.

“It’s absolutely UNACCEPTABLE,” Judge Lucinda Umbridge drawled after taking a sip of the red wine. She was dressed in a stately black dress. “That in THIS day and age, the youth of the day aren’t doing everything they can to help the society move forward to a better place; I mean, do they not OWE it to the future generations? WE BUILT THIS PLACE. We can’t keep cleaning up after them.”

“No we can’t,” the guest replied. It was Judith Kernan, Warden of Starkweather Correctional Facility. On this occasion, she wore a blood red gown. “We can’t keep doing that. Nope.”

“I mean the TRAVESTY that is the online world now,” Umbridge said. “I follow it a bit, sometimes launch a few tweets here and there, I can’t fix it all; it’s dreadful. I mean have you SEEN what they got to with the hashtag Gatsby?”

In truth, Kernan was getting bored. Umbridge was a never ending Clever Takes machine on the politics of the day.

Judith thought to herself: Well… if you’re so clever you’d have been elected Governor right?

But at present, Judith simply nodded, taking yet another sip of the wine. She was mainly here to listen, only to speak when she was asking for favours; this visit would appear to be pleasure but for her, truly business.

“I think the way forward is that we ought to instil a sense of capital C Civic responsibility,” Umbridge continued. “Just to get the people to CARE again. It doesn’t have to be military. One… two years of mandatory government service out of high school? That might do it.”

“As long as this involves more funding for me. Can we throw the more problematic ones to my care?” Judith asked semi-sarcastically. “We’re building more cells.”

“Ah HA… HA HA HA I like that,” Umbridge replied, grinning and raising her glass. “That’s well-said.”

“I can’t think of ANYTHING though,” Judith said. “Any social ill that can’t be solved without the appropriate application of Pragmatic Justice.”

“Pragmatic Justice eh? Is that like Deterrence?”

“Yes and no,” Judith replied. “The focus of Deterrence is to use punishment to discourage the law-breaking behaviour; it’s limited in its scope and ambition. The focus of Pragmatic Justice well… is to get inside their heads, re-wire and break as necessary, and make sure they’re NEVER… EVER… a problem again. Period. It’s not QUITE the same. A comprehensive approach is ALWAYS superior.”


Umbridge thought to herself: What kind of second-rate college- There’s NO SUCH THING as a distinct category called Pragmatic Justice. You’re making it up. For SHAME.

However, in the present, Umbridge simply offered Kernan a sweet, somewhat plastic smile. Kernan, smiled as well, except it was more like a slight leer.

Umbridge looked at the gilded clock on the wall.

“My my… this Donovan, is she coming at all?” Umbridge asked. “What do you make of that?”

“It’s very commonplace,” Judith said coldly, “We get patients like this all the time. Tardiness can be a sign of many things. Sometimes laziness, sometimes a disrespect for authority.”

“MY GOODNESS I hope not,” Umbridge scoffed. In or out of court, she, Umbridge, was DUE a level of respect.

“BUT,” Judith said, continuing. “In most cases, it’s a simple display of weakness of the banal sort. A single instance of tardiness is within the realm of normalcy, but a REPEATED pattern, if compounded by other factors… that tends to show the workings of a poorly compartmentalized and ill-mechanized mind, a few clogs gone wrong. An inability to organize, prioritize, to take CHARGE of one’s life. Perhaps a crippling anxiety to face the world as it exists.”

Umbridge looked at Kernan; the two women had very mean smiles on their faces now.

A server passed by them to re-fill their wine glasses.

“Well from where I’m standing,” Umbridge said. “It’s a class issue. You and I are from a different crop… but with the urban working class, sometimes they just have BAD values. … Still, I can’t see how she’s made Detective.”


“SHUSH!” Umbridge said, raising a finger to her lip.

Louise Donovan

As Louise entered the apartment, the first thing she noted was that the servants and not the host came to show her inside. As a police officer, she picked up on these things.

She allowed the servants to take away her bag.

“I’ll get it back?” she asked sardonically. No reply.

As Louise walked through the living room, she raised her head and took a few sniffs, as if trying to detect some narcotics or something. Presently there was just the overpowering smell of candles, rosewood, and some perfumes.

The living room… these decorations are just too good. But where did they get these ideas? What a waste of money anyways.

Her mood darkened as her gaze travelled past the decorated living room into the vast glass panel window that showed… an absolutely stunning and spectacular view of Starkweather’s urban landscape… the good side of the city anyways.

My God… she has too much…

“Ma’am, the dining room is this way,” the servant called out.

As soon as they saw her, both women stood up.

“Well MY MY! LOOK AT YOU today you look WONDERFUL! I… I LOVE the dress!” Judith said, clapping, on the surface it appeared like praise but if one looked closely, it was as if she was complimenting a dog on a trick well-executed…

Umbridge looked down, biting her lip. (It IS a class issue… the dress…)

“Thanks,” Donovan replied. “I ran a bit late, had a few things to settle. ‘Pologies.”

“Please take a seat,” Umbridge said with controlled cross-ness. She turned and snapped her fingers at the servers. “Wine for our guest. Come now. SHOOSH SHOOSH!”

As Donovan sat down, she swallowed a touch of envy and said, “This apartment of yours it… it looks as good as ever. I think it’s gotten better yet.”

“Thank you,” the judge replied. “You’re TOO kind. And you look GREAT in the new dress, splendid. Where did you get it from?”

“I forget,” Donovan replied, eager to change the subject.

“No matter,” Umbridge said. “Anyways…you’re in for a MASSIVE TREAT. I’ve told my servers to go all out. By the way, the red you’re enjoying here is a Tuscany red, Tignanello, it’s at least decades in the making. SUPPLE stuff. SUBLIME.”

Donovan took a large swig of it at once, then she grinned.

Knowing a thing or two about the wine tasting, Umbridge brought it to her nose and sniffed; after observing the lingering alcohol patterns on the upper side of the glass, she took a small sip. Then she said professionally: "Hmmm... red fruit... cherry... spice... tobacco... herbs. Earthy with a heavy touch of fruit, the perfect balance."

"Impressive," Judith said, looking down.

The servers showed up with the soup and salads on silver trays, carted in.

As the soups (served in fine westernised porcelain bowls) were moved unto the tables, Umbridge raised her glass and said,

“I think it’s high time and in very good order for us to have a toast, AT THIS VERY MOMENT... to the issue of Emily Marsh and Gladstone… well settled, well handled, thoroughly served.”

For the first time in the evening, all three women smiled for real. Their glasses were raised.

“To Pragmatic Justice?” Judith asked.

“Sure…” Umbridge chuckled.

The three of them toasted each other across their seats… then they all drank.

“My goodness this wine, it’s DIVINE!” Judith said, for the fifth time this evening.

“I told ya,” Umbridge said, grinning.

The three of them were digging into the soups now.

“So this Marsh, she’s with you now?” Louise said, turning to Kernan.

“Yes,” Kernan replied.

“How’s she doing? Farm girl don’t look like she’s holding up so well before. It shouldn’t take much more. You think you’ll be able to shut her down?” Louise asked further.

“WITHOUT a doubt,” Kernan said. “Of course, the details aren’t the most suitable for the dinner table but… let’s just say, that when we’re done with her, she won’t be able to hurt a fly, or so much as sing even a note. I’ve sent my best person on the case. Her entire mind… it will be purified.”

Judith Kernan appeared cool and controlled on the exterior, occasionally switching to an animated form. However, at this moment, her mind retreated into the very darkest of corners… (Kay Appleholm, he now has the finest of materials to play with, to build himself a new creation).

“You know,” Umbridge said. “I have to say, when I received this case… even though I know we have mutual, joint interests with our backers, it just felt NATURAL to run it towards this direction. I mean, the woman, she represents the absolute WORST that society has to offer. These godforsaken farmers, we just… we just give them too much. TOO MUCH. MILLIONS in subsidies every year, I mean… DAMN IT is it inefficient.”

“Yeah sure,” Louise said. “They’re a rotten group. Higher crime rates, just bad genes. It’s almost like the farm animal filth and the muck… it seeped in and changed things ya know?”

“MMMMMM….” Kernan interjected, raising a hand and swallowing some of the chunks in the soup before continuing. “Scuse me I just wanted to say. There’s MORE than a few studies that suggest that could WELL be a thing MMMMM ‘scuse me.”

“No kidding?” Louise said.

“Yup, it’s a theory-in-progress to be fair. But in a few cases it’s an observed phenomenon. I won’t say much more though; it’s quite morbid.”

The servers took away the soups. Then the aperitifs were placed. Hams, salamis, crackers, cheese, asparagus… some entrée seafood delicacies were included too, complete with the shells.

“Hey err judge,” Louise said, trying to get to the business. “I’ve got a list of names I brought. They’re in the bag. I wonder if I should get them and-“

“LATER,” Umbridge said imperiously. “First we enjoy this FINE and WONDERFUL dinner.”

“Kay,” Louise said, then she grinned. “O… KAY.” The detective began to attack the entrees.

“You did deal with Mr. Leung though?” Umbridge asked. “I saw your note but I want to be doubly sure.”

“Yes,” Louise said. “I did him nice and dirty… he’s got the message. He’s DEFINITELY going to drop it now. You won’t see him in court again. He’s GONE. When do I get my share?”

“Hmmmm,” Umbridge said. “Kernan, I think you have to put in a few grands this time? It was my turn the last time.”

“I’m way ahead,” Kernan said. “I’ve wired. The money will come in a few days. The usual accounts. Call me Detective, if it doesn’t come.”


“I wanted to bring up that other fix, the Desrochers, did you manage to get them into Court 8?” Judith inquired.

“It’s done. If the money’s not coming in though I’m coming after you,” Umbridge grinned.

They were in a safe space to discuss the nasty business. After all, the whole place, including all the servants… largely bought and paid for by the League and associated activities.

Together, the three women wielded a great deal of influence over Starkweather: Judge Umbridge with the courts and the politicians, Kernan with the powerful correctional facility and the medical fields, and Donovan with the police. The three of them pooled their resources to create new evils.

At first, all three of them had worked independently for Schaeffer’s group. But as time wore on and they met on numerous occasions, the she-wolves saw the benefits of banding together, meeting from time to time, and running their own little games on the side, being careful not to bite the hand that fed (after all, this was still the League’s territory first and foremost).

Despite their differences, when it came to eliminating rivals, earning the stacks, consolidating gains, and devising new layers of cloak-and-dagger tricks, the three of them greatly bolstered each other’s capabilities; each of them could make powerful moves in different domains of “public service.” Umbridge saw it as a bit of an ideological gathering. If the men were going to run things from above, from time to time, the women needed to add a special touch… it was in the interest of advancing women’s rights for sure.

Later on, they moved on to the rosemary pork chop. It came with escarole, asparagus, and garlic, all of it seasoned with a fine herbal sauce.

It was a good and happy time. And there was much profits to be made.

“So then what’s going to happen to Marsh? You got to say a bit MORE than that,” Louise said, clearly a bit drunk.

“Do you really want to know?” Kernan asked, a hint of a smile.

“YES,” Louise said.

“I could tell you…” Kernan said. “But I shouldn’t. Client-patient confidentiality.”

“Oh is that so?” Louise said.

“Of course. But let’s just say that her entire world will be… destroyed. The best way to imagine things, figuratively speaking, is that her brain will be dried and turned into fetid beans smoking and frying in the sun... her heart turned to stone and shattered into the sand... all of her blood emptied or else turned to salt. Get the idea?”

“You speak figuratively?” Umbridge asked.

“Of course! We’re not HEARTLESS! Haha!”

The three women exchanged further smirks.

Emily Marsh

Emily Marsh was back in Appleholm’s office. Nervously, she passed the notebook to the psychiatrist.

“Doctor,” she said. “I… I hope you read everything.”


“Y-yes K-Kay-“

“I will,” he said, his eyes lighting with apparent kindness from behind his spectacles. “I will read everything as promised. It may take me a while, but every word will be considered. Now I will have every angle.”

He took the notebook and put it away inside a drawer. Then he looked down at his written notes and back up.

“So Emily, how do you feel now? Better? Being able to express yourself in writing, it’s been known to be a highly cathartic and therapeutic experience. It’s not uncommon for patients to say there’s a giant weight lifted.”


“I-I guess you could say that.”

“Good… GOOD.”

There was a pause, then the doctor said:

“So Emily… how have you been these days? … I expect your symptoms must have improved SIGNIFICANTLY right? With the medicines helping your neural functions and what with the notebook exercise providing you with therapeutic value. You are much better… right?”

Emily looked down nervously. “Well the thing is… I… I don’t know.”

If I say things got worse, would he-

“What do you mean?” Appleholm asked, lowering his glasses a bit. “Are you saying… things haven’t gotten better. Have your symptoms worsened?”

Emily didn’t speak immediately; she was about to say something when Appleholm spoke first:

“Emily, what did we say about trust? You must tell me the truth… did you take all of your medicines and take all of them properly?”

“W… what?”

“I’ve heard reports that you’ve been having terrifying nightmares,” he said. “That you’ve been screaming in your sleep. That sort of thing shouldn’t be happening UNLESS you’ve been skimping on your meds. Now tell it true and tell it square… did you skip a few meds?”

“I…I don’t-“ Emily said, thrown off. “Wait you’re watching my cell?”

“I’m your doctor Emily,” he said gently but firmly. “I’m merely following up on reports from the guards and the orderlies. You may be a danger to yourself, and to others.”

“I’m not,” she replied firmly.

“You didn’t answer the question. Did you skip any medications?”

“No I- I wouldn’t.”

Appleholm looked down, and began to write more things down.

What are you writing down?

In that moment, Emily made a rash decision. She decided, if she didn’t say it now, it could make things even worse. She needed this doctor on her side.

“Okay I… I’ll say,” Emily said. “Things HAVE… they HAVE gotten a bit worse. I mean I have the nightmares still, and I… I think they may be getting a bit worse. Do do you think the medicines- they might not be working?”

“Absolutely not,” he said firmly. “The medicines are completely functional. The only other factor that might be at play, is your state of mind and whether or not you’ve remembered to take everything.”


“I don’t-“

Appleholm took off his glasses and looked at her with a somewhat sad expression; it bordered on the fatherly.

“Emily I…I don’t know how to say this. Well… maybe I shouldn’t.”

“W… what no you must tell me!”

“I think you may be hiding something from me… I’m trying to help you, yet I sense that you may have your own objectives, perhaps you seek to destroy not only yourself but others as well.”


Emily stood up in anger and shock, but as if restrained by an invisible force, she just stood there awkwardly.

“BUT of course,” Kay said. “I’ll be in a better position to assess… once I read your COMPLETE side of the story. That’s in part what this notebook exercise was about. Please sit.”

Somewhat confused, Emily sat down.

Appleholm looked at her closely. “It’s very concerning to me that some of your symptons have been getting worse. Now it’s ESSENTIAL you answer my questions. Firstly, have the migraines gotten worse?”


“Have you seen any hallucinations? Strange patterns of lighting, visions?”

“N… no I don’t think so.”

Kay looked at her closely.

“I err…” Emily said. “In my nightmares yes. But outside of that I- I don’t think so.”

“Have there been any instances where you felt like you weren’t in complete control of your motor skills?”

The incident of the strange writing in her notebook came to mind... and other things. But Emily wasn’t sure she wanted to share that.

“I… No no I don’t think so no.”

“Have you been experiencing strange distortions or changes in your perceptions of time? Does the day speed up or slow down? Do you find that sometimes you’re not aware how much time has passed?”

“That may have happened once or twice maybe. Sometimes from my nightmares I can’t tell.”


More scribbling from the doctor on his notes; Emily waited anxiously; she wondered if she made a massive mistake.

“Alright then,” he said. “You should go back now. That will be all. I’ll ask that your medications be doubled. And TAKE THEM PROPERLY this time.”

A rush of panic came over Emily. The horrible white-padded cell again? She had been anxious, desperate even, to get to another part of the asylum that wasn’t the restroom or the desolate yard. In fact, a few more days in there and she may go mad.

“Wait doctor,” Emily cried out shrilly. “Is it… is it possible for me to stay here longer? I can tell you more. I- I just don’t want to return to my cell yet. I- I think the place isn’t good for me.”

“Emily,” he said in a stern voice. “Do you want me to get started reading your notebook?”

“Yes but-“

“Do you want me to believe you?”


“Then I best get started. … You’re dismissed. Go on.”

Without saying a thing further, the bearded psychiatrist took out the notebook, flipped to the first page, and began to read.

Emily opened her mouth partway but decided it wouldn’t be wise. Feeling even more anxious than when she had entered, Emily Marsh turned around and left the office. The guards were waiting outside and were only too eager to return her to her cell.

Did… did he believe me? Will he believe me? Oh God PLEASE-
Last edited by Infected Mushroom on Thu Mar 18, 2021 9:38 am, edited 2 times in total.

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Main Nation Ministry
Posts: 13014
Founded: Sep 28, 2016
Psychotic Dictatorship

Postby Main Nation Ministry » Wed Jun 02, 2021 10:54 pm

Interlude: The Ballad of Jacob Fairs

In the middle of Lower East Side of New York in a deli and café that was dishing out sandwiches, though their most popular was pastrami sandwiches, Jacob Fairs was busy carrying some sandwiches to a couple of Middle Eastern women with their baby on a stroller nearby outside on the sidewalk. It has been somewhat of a cold couple of days on the month after New Year's. The women gave him a tip, which he thanked them for it. He was already finishing up his shift, where he managed to round up all of the tips he made, before he left work.

Jacob Fairs was a different man. No longer a butler or a servant to the Colemonts. He left Vermont for good and vowed never to come back. The sight of forests made him agoraphobic of the outdoors. So he went to New York to have a real job and not have a boss who would kill him, if he didn't let them use him against his will. He was making a good wage at a delicatessen near Broadway, where the tourists would flock. He was also trying to work up the ranks of an advertising agency. He was currently an intern, but even if it was white-collar, the pay would be good.

Now, he was napping in his apartment living room, where he had covered his whole face with a jacket, as he was drifting into a light sleep. He did lend his apartment to another former worker of the Colemonts for their stay for a wedding, which Fairs attended as well, though his apartment was a bit disheveled now. As he was sleeping, he felt a cold breeze come through his window. The chill stirred him awake. He didn't recall having the window open? Jacob woke up and looked around the living room of his apartment. He didn't see anyone. The window was somehow open, but Fairs couldn't recall if he let it open or not. Curious, since it was the afternoon, he took a peek to see some of the sights on the sidewalk.

There was a man with a lion costume with a sign of some sort. Possibly advertising for some small company, since the lion outfit was too generic to be a recognizable brand. Some construction workers were doing some stuff on some scaffolding on the building across the street. There was even a shivering woman with a heavy hoodie walking her dog, which had a makeshift jacket on the puppy.

"New York.. Never sleeps." Jacob thought, as he closed the window, where he needed to sleep in his bedroom. Despite being free, he still felt a sense of unease.

He had friends. Old and new ones. Some who moved into New York with him from Vermont. One of them was a family man named Ditko, who had a son in school. Both Jacob and Ditko were on the bleachers of the school's indoor basketball court, as the referee had blown his whistle, as the teams were trying to compete with one another. "Your son Tony knows how to dunk a ball, Ditko." Jacob said, as Ditko's son managed to leap into the air to get the basketball through the hoop. "I'm telling you, I can get my boy a sports scholarship when he's on the team. At least, I don't have him playing football." Ditko said, as the game was wrapping up.

Later, Jacob joined Ditko and his family with a couple of friends at their flat for some dinner. Ditko's wife got her hair done, where Jacob was sitting next to her, where he can smell the hairspray they applied to her hair. He didn't say anything, since Ditko's wife knew how to make a good shepherd's pie. He was served some salad with Italian dressing, as Ditko was discussing his work as a furniture mover. "So I had this armchair I was getting from the moving truck. We wrapped the thing in plastic and all. Then, I see this weird woman. She was putting a pigeon in this plastic bag, like she's collecting animals. The thing was flying around, trying to get free. Then, she just walks off like nothing happens! Like what is she? Nuts?" Ditko said, as Jacob gave a laugh. "This is New York after all." Jacob remarked, as Ditko's wife had a similar story.

"I heard a school friend confess to the priest that we usually go to for Sundays that he was cheating on his taxes. It happened while I was at the supermarket. He just recognized him and he straight up admitted to cheating on his taxes."
"What about you, Jacob? You have a story?" Ditko said to Jacob, as he got his attention.
"Yeah, how's work? You working on posters or you still at the deli?"
"I'm still an intern, but I'm comfortable with my job at the delicatessen. I do have this story back in the winter."
"Do tell."
"I think I was craving some munchies. Not while I was high. I don't even know where to get pot here.."

Ditko and the others let out a laugh. Ditko's kids didn't know Jacob was talking about, but he was glad the kids didn't pick up on what reefer or pot meant. "So I went to the 7-11 after work. I had a hefty tip from some guy who might have been from Wall Street. I brought some buffalo chicken rollers and a large cup of tropical punch. After I get out in the snow, there was this vendor who was selling kazoo whistle that scared the bejesus out of me! Spilled my drink and everything. Wasted my money in several seconds!"

Ditko shared a laugh at Jacob's story, as they continued their dinner. Jacob got his jacket ready, as he left Ditko's place to walk the streets of New York. It was a bit late, though it was cold in the evenings. The worst he had to deal with that night was stepping a dead rat that looked like it got run over by a bike, as he knew he needed to clean his shoes for tomorrow. The street he was on was much stranger. It felt more like a bad alley than an actual street, where he even saw what appeared to be chickens in a cage. A sense of unease was getting to him, as he immediately hailed for a cab home.

The next day, he went to pay a friend a visit after work. His other friend Mitchell worked at a Wal-Mart in one of those soul-sucking retail jobs, but Jacob was planning on helping Mitchell bail his job later that month. "So how's the blue vest job?" Jacob asked him, as Mitchell was with him at the beverage aisle. Jacob made sure to buy a 6-pack of Dr. Pepper, which he grabbed from the fridges. "This is worst than Family Mart. I'm willing to get fired than quit. I don't care what my resume says." Mitchell remarked, as Jacob was getting some other drinks. "I'm going to the Star Wars marathon with Allen and Kimball. You're coming?"
"Of course. I just need to fake a sick leave, though. Or I can get fired. I try the latter."
"Not when I'm around.."

Lots of people who live in New York will tell you that it's normal when bizarre shit happens in the city. You might see a video titled "Only in New York", showing oddities and other unusual activities, but you would usually see some instance of strange stuff from personal point of view. It was the afternoon, as Jacob walked down the streets to get to Allen's flat. The problem was that construction had cut off the sidewalk he needed to go through to get there. "Let me cut through. I need to get to a party." Jacob told a smoking construction worker, as a pillar of steam was erupting from an open hole. "Can't, buddy. It's backed up. You're best off cutting through the alleys." the worker told him.

Jacob didn't really want to become late. There was some alleys nearby, as he saw some people using them to get to the other side of the construction. It was a best bid. He walked down one of the alleys, as he started to notice how quiet it felt. There was something sticking out of a dumpster nearby, which looked like the leg of a corpse with blood. However, when Jacob inspected it, it was just the leg of a mannequin with the stain of what seemed like lipstick. As he was checking out the leg, he heard a loud bark near him. Near the dumpster, there was a large vicious black hound that looked ready to pounce Jacob.

It suddenly stopped in it's track, as Jacob noticed the chained collar around the mutt's neck. "Jesus!" Jacob ended up muttering, as the dog was barking wildly at him. "Damn dogs in this city.." Jacob thought, as he rushed down the alley, trying to avoid any more unnatural surprises he would encounter. Allen's flat was in a weird area in New York, as it was where a lot of costume greeters would show up. Usually they would be promoting the local retail and fast food joints in the district, but for some reason, there was a tendency for a man dressed in an Elmo costume to walk around, yelling anti-Semitic remarks. Luckily, Jacob arrived to Allen's place the day after said Elmo man got arrested for disturbing the peace. Instead, some guy dressed as Ronald McDonald offered him a coupon, which Jacob declined.

"Jacob!" Allen greeted Jacob, as he entered the flat. It wasn't much of an actual party. Simply a gathering with friends. It was already starting from the first movie, but Jacob already watched the films once to know the actual plot. "Hey, Jacob. Want a beer?"
"Sure thing, Allen."

Jacob got his own beer bottle, as he took a sip. "I have some news, if you're interested."
"Hit me."
"I'm going down to New Jersey in a couple of days to rock this party happening. Small party, but I was thinking of going gambling."
"It's by Atlantic City?"
"Yeah. We don't have to worry about those Jersey Shore rejects stinking things up. I know the guy running the party. I can arrange getting you in, free of charge."

Jacob didn't really have much to do in New York, besides his job. He did have a good salary, though he was thinking of trying to save up some money. He needed to get out a little more. There was Coney Island for a beach, but it's already packed with all sorts of tourists. He can see what kind of tips he can get by working hard, plus he didn't have to worry about his intern job, since he was saving all of his effort for next month.

"Hell yeah, man. You think the babes would look nice?"
"Oh please, you already have a girlfriend, Fairs!"
"She's long distance, but it's not like I'm going to be cheating on her." Jacob said, as he sipped his drink.
"Oh come on.. You need a little enjoyment to please yourself!"

Jacob gave a little small laugh, before giving a remark to Allen. "Actually, I think I tell my girlfriend about the news."

Jacob had to take the subway to get to work, since his car engine refused to work. He didn't like to do the subways, since they were too sleazy. Especially when he was alone down there. Someone had made piles and piles of trash bags in one part of the subway, but he avoided the random trash, as he did his shift. He saw someone in an alley throw away an old microwave, setting it against some trash cans. The thought of trash was in his head. It was strange. He didn't feel like trash, but he was compelled to think about.

For work, he managed to get a good tip from some art lovers from the sounds of it. He overheard them talk about seeing a gallery that had Nazi-era art that was saved from France that was recently at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. When he was returning home, he had to use the subway again. However, there was something wrong. After he got off the train, he noticed that the station was deserted. It was completely empty. There wasn't any one there. He walked silently through the station, as his footsteps echoed. He noticed something at the edge of the platform near the train tracks. It was a set of shoes neatly set on the edge of the platform. A spot of blood on the tip of one of them. Then, Jacob heard a growl. He looked at the end of the platform to see a black hound with blood-red eyes and drool from it's mouth. It didn't even like alive. It looked like it's skull was bashed in with....something. It was bloody, as it was staring daggers at Jacob. In a moment of sudden movement, the dog charged at Jacob, where he immediately ran. He found himself in the empty public tunnels of the subway, as he was trying to get upstairs. The dog was following suit. He managed to find a set of stairs, as he heard a loud bark behind him. He didn't have time to look at what was at the top of the landing, as when he got outside, he collided with a pair of tourists with their selfie sticks and GoPros. He fell to the sidewalk, as he caught his breath. "Run, there's a killer dog!"

Jacob heard one of the tourists yell something Korean at him. He didn't hear anything else, as he turned around on the ground. There was nothing at the bottom of the stairs of the subway. There was some people coming up from the subway, but no dog. Some bystanders looked at Jacob confused, while some walked by him. Jacob had to apologize to the Korean tourists, where one of them cursed at him over his breath.

When he did get home, he saw he got a package from a friend in the mail. His friend was a British record store owner who catered to mostly the rebellious punk kids in the area where the Empire State Building was. Jacob unwrapped the package, as he gave a little smile. "Finally, something to calm me down.." It was a vinyl record. The album of London Calling by The Clash. While Jacob was going old school for having a record player, just like the other hipsters, he was still mellowing out with some tunes.

He met with his girlfriend Starr, as they were biking past some random people dressed as vikings, which both of them guessed were a part of some cosplay event. "You seen the tweet by John with his boyfriend?" Starr asked Jacob, as he pedaled on the bike that Starr was letting him borrow, as they were heading to Central Park. "The one where they share that hot dog as part of a dick joke?" Jacob asked, as Starr cracked a smile. "Well, he proposed to Robert. They might get married in Washington D.C for fun." Starr explained, as the both swerved past some random little girl playing with a hula hoop, while her mother was busy chatting on a cell phone. After biking under some scaffolding, they managed to bike across the street, where Jacob made sure to toss some change into a hat on the ground next to some old guy playing the flute.

"You know, Fairs. I know you for a while, but I noticed that you tend to be quiet when I ask about what you do in the past. Some of your closer friends have been quiet on the subject, also." Starr asked him, which was still a difficult question. He knew that what happened in the past remained in the past, however it was hard to explain the answer. The answer of being: "Oh yeah, I used to work as a butler for some mentally psychotic blue haired bitch who killed like half of the staff in her mansion."

"It's due to some troubles in the past." Jacob said, as he was moving the bike at his side with Starr. "You're shy, yes. But I want to know whatever it is that has been getting you quiet. I think I want to take things further.."
"Like a step up?" Jacob said, as he set the bike to the side of a bench, as they sat down. "Yes, a step up."
"Well..." Jacob took a while to explain himself. He was comfortable in doing it in an area where he felt safe, rather than private. It would have been more awkward to do the latter. "The reason is that some people I knew had died."
"I'm so sorry to hear about that."
"No worries. They were friends. Co-workers, but they were people like me back then."
"I didn't mean to bring it up-"
"It's not what happened to them is what I don't like to talk about. It's about how it happened."
"How it happened?"

Jacob straightened up, as he saw some young boy with a scooter at his side, as he was throwing out some bread crumbs to the ground, attracting pigeons for the crowds to look at. "You might think I'm crazy, but I... I was a survivor of a massacre back in the Northeast. At Vermont."
"Oh god.."
"I hadn't even mentioned the worst place of it. It all happened in an accursed town that I left. Blue Hills. I don't hear about it anymore. I think it's a ghost town now, but the FBI was there to find survivors."
"The FBI?"
"I gave my statement, but it didn't really matter. The person who caused the massacre....Ok... Several people who caused the massacre, but it's one person who nearly killed me is what makes me nervous."

"Have you reached to someone who can help you with what happened? Like are you still depressed?"
"I didn't need to see a therapist. The person that would have killed me died on the same day. There wouldn't be a way for them to come back." Jacob said, as Starr looked at him with a concerned and comforting look. Jacob felt a hug from Starr, as he looked forward to see the flocks of pigeons around him. "No need. I get that a lot."

"What the hell is that?" Jacob asked Allen, as he pulled up in a beat-up pickup truck that looked like it could violate any EPA regulation known to man. The raggedy thing looked like it ran on ancient fuel. The exhaust was spewing up black smoke and other nasty fumes. "Where's Mitchell?" Jacob asked him. "He's in a car driving over to Jersey right now! Come on! I drive us over there!" Allen said, as Jacob got in the passenger seat. Mitchell proceeded to drive out of New York and away from the morning traffic, as they were getting out of the city. Even though the trip to Jersey was for a beach party, Jacob noticed something at the side of the road, as they were getting onto the freeway. There was an accident by the side of the road, as a car was overturned onto it's side. There was broken glass on the road, where the airbags were deployed. An ambulance was nearby, but Jacob had the feeling someone died.

"Damn thing is causing traffic!" Allen complained, as he honked his horn. "Well, we're by an accident, Allen."
"We need to get there early, so I can have my friend lend us a motel room. It gets crowded, because of all the shitty tourists."
"Why would anyone visit Jersey?" Jacob immediately said, as both Allen and Jacob immediately glanced at each other.

When the men got there, they ended up in a random run down part of New Jersey near the beach at some 3 star motel. It was good, as Jacob saw another motel at the other end of the street, where some blue tarp was being pinned in place with trash cans, where the tarp itself did nothing to cover the pool. A fire truck sped by, as there was some smoke in the distance. "Gentlemen! Welcome to Atlantic City!" Allen said, as Mitchell exchanges some glances at some locals. For Jacob, it was best he didn't loiter around.

The party itself was a sleaze show. It was mostly full of white rich morons and Jersey Shore rejects, just like Jacob imagined. There was some DJ that spoke with a faulty microphone that gave feedback. Someone inflated a whole bunch of plastic pink flamingos, even though the party itself didn't have a theme. Someone had a Jenga tower set up, where some drunk stumbled and knocked it down. Yet, there was little to complain. The alcohol was cheap here. Even if it was watered down, it was best to join in, as Jacob got himself a can of beer to which he started chugging.

It was a good hour, as Jacob managed to get tippy. As he was trying to dance at the dance floor, someone bumped into him that almost felt like a shove. "Hey, I'm so-" Jacob turned around to apologize, but he saw who it was, as they were turning around.


It was... Jed?!

"Hello, my little butler boy.... Penny wants to know if you could return.." Jed Hackaway still had that fucking fedora on him. He looked down at Jacob, as the latter let out a gasp. He fell to the ground, as Jed pulled out a revolver. "NO! GET THE FUCK BACK! SOMEONE HE-" Jacob was in complete fear, until he blinked to see some tanned buzzcut man with a white shirt look down at him in drunken confusion. "Huh?" the man said, as Jacob immediately got up. Some people were looking at him. "What the... Why am I seeing things?" Jacob said, as he felt a cold wind blow on him. Mitchell was nearby, as he saw how troubled Jacob looked. "Fairs! What's the matter, man? You look like you seen a ghost." Mitchell asked him, as Jacob felt the need to get somewhere without any crowds.

"I need some privacy.." Jacob immediately said, as Mitchell followed him. Jacob was moving away from the party, as he was approaching the boardwalk near the beach. "You're heading off to gamble?"
"No, I.. I think I'm too drunk."
"You can walk straight, so you're not too drunk."
"I'm seeing shit, Mitchell!" Jacob blurted out, as Mitchell looked at him confused. "What do you see?" Mitchell asked him.

"I think I'm seeing...visions? They aren't flashbacks." Jacob said, as Mitchell immediately thought he lost it. "Oh great. Is this like Final Destination?"
"No, it's not like Final Destination! I saw..." Jacob didn't want to finish his sentence, as Mitchell thought that Jacob might have had a hit of coke. Both of them were at the boardwalk, as some people passed by. It was only until Jacob was away from the party was when he managed to get a breather. "Ok.. I think I'm good." Jacob said, as Mitchell rolled his eyes. "Since you dragged me to the casino over here, I might as well gamble." Mitchell said, as Jacob saw that there were indeed near a casino. "You're going for the slots?"
"Yeah, you wanna join? I know a trick with blackjack."
"I'm good. The casinos here are shit." Jacob told him, as Mitchell rolled his eyes again. "Don't get yourself killed. If you see blood or something, you know it's not real. I don't want you to go psycho in New Jersey." Mitchell said, as Jacob was left alone.

The wind blew again, as Jacob felt cold. There has to be a reason for these visions? There has to be! It wasn't until someone shoved a pamphlet into his hand, as they walked by. "Hey, I don't need this." Jacob said, as he looked at the man who had the pamphlets in his hands. For some reason, even though the man was a good distance from Jacob, he heard Jacob like he was a telepathic. "I think you should head over to the Museum of Terror, Jacob." the man said, as he turned his head, as Jacob immediately held his breath. The man looked like someone took a golf club to his head multiple times. Almost like someone tried to crack the skull open like an egg. He looked like he just crawled out of a morgue. "You want answers desperately, don't you?" the man turned back around, as he tossed the pamphlets into the air, like confetti.

Jacob immediately looked at the pamphlet in his hands, as it was an advertisement. "The Museum of Terror. Real Unusual and Horrific Crimes! Open at certain hours!" It looked someone used Comic Sans for the pamphlet, but Jacob realized the address was at this exact boardwalk. "...Fuck it." Jacob said, as he decided to look for the museum. There was definitely someone...or rather something trying to tell him something important. He didn't know if it was a trap or if his mind had finally snapped or if he was coming across something. As Jacob walked down the boardwalk, he immediately recognized where he needed to be. It was a small building that had the sign "Museum of Terror" in blood red lettering. There was some posters on the wall, but what really got his attention was-


The words "Worst than Al Pacino" was written in circus font, as it showed a chilling image of her, which might have been a past photo. Just by looking at her, Jacob felt some intense anxiety. He looked back down at the pamphlet and immediately realized something. Either he had lost it or it was something supernatural, but the pamphlet had changed into a random old newspaper ad that showed a fake-looking beach. "Shit.. Alright, you brought me here.. What do you want me to see?" Jacob thought, as he examined around the building. He tried to enter it, but the doors were locked. A small "Closed" sign was visible at one of the doors.

"You're lost?" he heard a voice behind him, as there was a man with a cup of coffee who looked like he worked at the place.

"What exactly is this place?" Jacob asked the man, who was outside of the museum entrance. "I like to call it a criminology museum. Way different that your usual suspects that the media share." the man explained, as Jacob observed him. He was of dark skin, wearing a dark red wool jacket with a white t-shirt that happily displayed the words "Shock and Suspense!" in an old-fashioned 50's pulp horror comic font. Aside from wearing some simple jeans and worn-out sneakers, the man wore a large skull shaped badge that read "Tour Guide".

"So could you explain to me why you have that woman on the poster?"
"What woman?"
"The blue-haired woman."
The man studied Jacob, as he could tell that he knew her. Almost like Jacob was treating it as a bad and painful memory. "What's your name, son?" the man asked Jacob, as he hesitated a bit. "I'm... I'm from New York, but I was from Vermont." Jacob admitted, as the man understood what Jacob meant.

"You know of the story of Penny Colemont, don't you?" the man asked Jacob. "I lived it.."

There was a wave of silence, as the man eased up on Jacob, as he introduced himself. "I think I understand your pain, son. My name is Clay Parker. This here is the Museum of Terror. What I do is I display the worst parts of humanity found in America. In here are reminders of the worst that people have within them." Clay explained to Jacob, as he was still uneasy with the beer still swelling in his stomach. "Do you even know what happened to Penny Colemont?" Jacob asked him. "Penny is just a latest addition. However, I believe you're a man looking for some closure. Am I right? In here, all of everyone's pain stays here, but it can't hurt you until it left scars."
"...I worked for her. A butler. Me and the other staff were glad she was dead." Jacob explained to Clay, as he nodded. "You don't have to worry about here. Only just what was left behind. What gave you the idea of being here, however?"

"There were these...nightmares.. I think they are trying to tell me something. It's like someone is trying to explain to me something urgent. Name is Jacob Fairs, by the way." Jacob told Clay, as he listened to what Jacob said. "I think I know what can help." Clay smiled at Jacob, as he got out a key to unlock one of the doors to the museum. "Now, this place is only open to the public at night, but since you're trying to cope with trauma, I'm letting you explore for free."
"Do you let people like me get in here for free?"
"They rarely appear. This is only one museum. No word of mouth or airplane ride is going to bring them here. You just stumbled here by chance."
"No, it's because I think I'm having these visions. They brought me to this place. I only decided to come here, since my friends wanted to get drunk in New Jersey."
"No reason to gamble?"
"Casinos here suck."
"Good point." Carl joked, as he had Jacob follow him in.

There was a dark hallway, which served as an entryway to the main exhibit area of the museum, which Carl had Jacob enter. There was a flick of a light switch, as slowly but surely, the lights in the room flashed on, as they revealed many "mementos" of horrors that Jacob wasn't aware of. Most of them were within glass cases and had a plague at the bottom to detail what horrors were related. Some images were displayed on the wall. Images of horrible things and horrible looking people. Most of these images looked drawn, almost like a witness description. A man with crabs bursting out from his stomach. A rat nibbling on a severed eyeball. A skull with nails hammered into it. A woman with flesh that looked like it was melting from her, as strange colors were filled in, making it look like she was made out of candy.

Jacob could only look away, as he looked closely at what was behind some of the glass cases. There was a white prosthetic hand that looked like it has been through a fire. A simple empty shoebox. A toy airplane that looked like it belonged to a child. Another item from a child, a small colorful shoe next to a teddy bear, both were bloody. A bowling ball covered in dried blood, almost it has been in constant use once. There was even a tiara for a prom queen.

"My god.." Jacob tried to maintain a good distance from these horrible images and items scattered about. "What you see is here for a reason. This isn't even my favorite room. So many deaths. So many murders. Senseless. Violent. Abnormal. In tragic and horrific scenarios, not for the faint of heart. I can tell you the story behind every one of them." Carl explained to Jacob. Jacob noticed a fedora in one of the glass cases, where he immediately remembered who it belonged to. "That bastard.." Jacob said, his attention drawn to the fedora of the late Jed Hackaway. "You recognize that?"
"Hackaway. He was Penny's enforcer. I'm glad that psychopath is dead."
"They found his fedora in where the cemetery blew up back at Blue Hills. I heard Blue Hills was a ghost town. They are going to turn it into condos like usual."
"I'm not interested in real estate, but I doubt anyone would want to live in Blue Hills, since many people died."

Carl knew what Jacob meant. He was right. Seeing how Blue Hills was only filled with bad memories, the only people who would probably want to live in Blue Hills would be the naïve. "You know how people can be. I wouldn't be surprised if some people started living there. This isn't the only thing I have from Blue Hills. Come. You might be interested in this room." Carl had Jacob follow him past a set of death masks, as both of them entered a much larger room. It was full of what appeared to be dioramas. However, each diorama showed a disturbing scene. There was one that used a pepper's ghost effect inside of a warehouse. Another of a headless woman inside of a bus. A man being ripped apart in a swamp by alligators, while his guts were torn open. A bloody high school gym. There was even-

"It's her." Jacob saw the diorama and recognized the blue-haired woman being pinned down with a sword. Jake Wilson wasn't in the diorama, but he guessed that it was how the police found her. "Who made these?" Jacob asked Carl. "I don't make them. I usually reach out to people by commissions. Some of them are anonymous, so they don't tell me much about them. Not for the sake of client-artist privacy, but it's due to the fact that a lot of people I reach out to are sketchy. Some might be using fake names." Carl explains, as Jacob looked at the toothpick-like sword jabbed into Penny. It wasn't until Jacob noticed something with a diorama that showed a white padded cell scrawled with blood, where got his attention. "What could you tell me about this one right here?" Jacob asked Carl.

"It was made by another anonymous source. It was meant to be a gift to me after I've done another commission. While I don't get the names of those who do commissions, this person was responsible for making an unique part of art that was meant to reflect the Wendigo killings."

The what?

"The Wendigo killings?"
"You hadn't heard of the Wendigo, Jacob?"
"Should I be concerned?"
"You should. He's still among us. He's still killing. He is called many names besides Wendigo. Some locals like to call him the Coyote. There are people who claim that he's the Helio Slasher. Other say he's the Lord of the Flies, while some say he's either from some place similar to Hell. Perhaps Hell itself. He's his own legend." Carl explained, as he showed Jacob another diorama. It was a desert setting, where there was a toy car in the middle of a fake sand and plastic shrubbery set. Jacob couldn't see what was in the car, but there were two figurines lying on the ground near the car.

"What's the story with this Wendigo?"
"Him. Well.. He's a popular urban legend for immigrants crossing the border from Mexico. Other times, he's a story to scare the immigrants off. There's sides of the story, but I still have the full story."
"Why do I have the feeling that this story is gory?"
"It is. A friend of mine named Keith told me the story in full detail."

In an uncomfortable moment of storytelling, Carl Parker would explain the story of the Wendigo. It was a disturbing story of a family with their dog driving on an empty stretch of road in the middle of the West within the summer heat. Some wild animal comes out of nowhere on the road, which the family run over by accident. There was blood splashed all over the windshield, which the car is forced to the side of the road. The father, who was driving, leave the car to try to clean up the mess. However, the dog suddenly starts acting up and runs out from the car into some shrubbery. The father is forced to chase the dog, as the mother tries to clean off the mess made, while the kid is still locked in the back of the car.

Suddenly, the dog limps back to the car. It looked like it got mauled. Then, the kid starts to scream at the top of his lungs. The father was walking towards them. But something was horrifically wrong, which both the mother and the child saw. His skull and brains were exposed, as an eyeball hung from his socket. He collapsed to the ground, where the Wendigo appeared. He rips open the woman's guts with his razor-sharp teeth and claws, where he rips the dog's head off. Then, the Wendigo grabs the keys from the mother, as he approaches the car. The child is crying and screaming, as the Wendigo opens the door..

"Then what happened?" Jacob said, being on edge from the story. "Well. The worst part is that the kid dies. But it was said that he had to be identified by dental records. He was kept alive for hours and hours by the Wendigo, even as the boy wasn't recognizable. It wasn't until he was left to die was when he truly did so."

"I don't understand? Who exactly is the Wendigo?"
"Whoever he is... He's a byproduct of the worst of people and society. He's definitely a human being, but there is something wrong with him. My guess is that he's a psychopath or a bad seed that was given some sort of push immediately that slowly burned, until there was blood soaked on the floors. He might be killing people as a hobby, but there are too many serial killers who do the same thing."
"Should I be worried?"
"He doesn't kill you now, if you just think the name. You would have to be in the wrong place at the right time to encounter him, which is an 1/100 chance." Carl explained.

"What should I do if I run into the Wendigo? How would I know if it's him?" Jacob asked Carl. "I have a feeling you would just know.." Carl said with a bit of a warning. Jacob looked at both the diorama of the white padded cell and the desert diorama. He looked at both of them for a connection. "How does it have to do with Wilson..?" Jacob wondered, observing them. He took another look at the Colemont diorama, as he noticed that the head of Colemont on the doll was staring right at him. It didn't move from it's original position, but it was just now that Jacob noticed the detail.

Allen and Jacob were driving back to New York, as Jacob recognized the site of where the accident was. "I was just curious, do you know what happened with that accident the day we went to New Jersey?" Jacob asked Allen, where he didn't care. "How should I know? They might be dead for all I know. Drunk drivers are common in this stretch of road." Allen said, not being bothered with the minor details that Jacob seemed to be focusing on. Allen fiddled with the car radio, as a news broadcast was playing.

"For Maryland, the city of Starkweather has reached levels of crime and violence that many has declared to be unheard of. The fight of crime by some citizens has been deemed 'a lost cause', however many police and government officials have refused questioning on the state of the city. Many jobs in Starkweather are expected to be lost, due to the catastrophic economic downturn occurring in the city's economy. Many economical advisors from all across the country had referred to the meltdown as a ticking time bomb."

The radio contained blaring, "It was also where many parasites were being created. However, philanthropist Dolan Schaeffer, who is said to be trying to help the city and it's people has declined to give a full statement on the matter."

"Did you hear something?" Jacob asked him, as he thought he heard the radio news host saw something that went over his head. "No. The windows are up. If you think it's the muffler, it always does that."
"...Nevermind." Jacob said, as he noticed how the evening was upon them, as the twilight was visible overheard with the full moon. For Jacob, he felt a sense of pity for Jake Wilson. Yet, he felt like something bad was going to happen.

He didn't where. But he knew that he was being taunted on not being able to prevent it. Unless it was best not to infer, if he wanted to be in a hell of his own making.

Chapter 4: Henry Lynch


It was almost a whole year. Stuck in a padded cell. Losing track of time, as the days become weeks. Weeks into months. Months into years. Years into decades. Waiting for what? To feel empty. Hopeless. Cursed. Forced to think all day and night on what was lost. Family. A husband. A job. Even hope. Left to rot, as the human brain become mush. Is there anything to ease this pain? Does anyone even understand her? Forgive her? Where is the salvation and redemption that was needed to make her alive again? The nightmares didn't help. There were times where she didn't know if she was dreaming or not. Her screams echo down the hall in both light and darkness.

Feeling alone.

Outside of Emily's cell, two orderlies were mentioning a recent surge in crime that had happened in Starkweather.

"How many lunatics are we getting in this place? We can't just throw them in the psych ward." one of the orderlies complains. "You suggesting we have a whole bunch of psychotics with the drunks and drug dealers? You're a dumbass. They will try to tear everyone's throats out."
"We been getting a lot of addicts recently. Along with some violent vagrants."
"I forgot. Was it due to the market crash is why unemployment went through the roof?"
"I heard something is rotting people's brains. Maybe meth? Who knows."
"How long has this chick been in here?"
"Ignore her. She's just like the rest of them. Killed her whole family."

Their voices were just echoes now, but for Marsh, she felt something that probably lingered with her nearly forever from now on.

Last edited by Main Nation Ministry on Thu Jun 17, 2021 9:57 am, edited 1 time in total.
Local 22 year old Diet Coke Addict College Student Ruins Everything


RPs I do
- How do you do fellow kids? You want to see something violent? - Artemis: Deimos Trafficking League (Horror/Mature)
- Descend into the forgotten tourist traps of Florida on this transgressive RP! - The Community (Mature/Black Comedy/Slice-of-Life)

My overall account that I use for P2TM and even for international roleplaying! MNM is a mysterious and extremely dangerous dictatorship filled with supernatural oddities, demons, militarized soldiers everywhere, and a misanthropic nihilistic dictator who doesn't give a damn. It's basically if the SCP Foundation got mixed with 1984.

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Infected Mushroom
Post Czar
Posts: 38812
Founded: Apr 15, 2014
Corrupt Dictatorship

Postby Infected Mushroom » Sat Jun 19, 2021 11:33 pm

Kay Appleholm

It was several hours past midnight. Kay Appleholm was still in.

The office of the psychiatrist was completely pitch black… except for the lighting provided by the screen of a large laptop on the desk. As he sat there, his pale face was lit up grotesquely; the lighting enhanced that expression which was a half-way point between a vicious leer and a sadistic grin. The lighting reflected off against his glasses and gave him a demonic look. The wrinkly texture on his white doctor’s coat were massively enhanced.

Kay literally hasn’t moved for the past fifteen minutes or more; his eyes were glued to the screen and his mind was spinning and turning with unholy thoughts…

The mahogany clock on the wall ticked very loudly; however, Kay tuned it out, along with everything else.

Across the screen of the laptop, there was a full screened app showing live security footages of a brown-haired woman inside a white, padded cell. She was convulsing and twitching in her sleep; her hands moved erratically to scratch at different parts of her white uniform and the marshmallow-like walls.

Somehow, the live security footage had been wired directly into Kay Appleholm’s computer…

A specimen transplanted into a new habitat… Yes, this is a world of boundless possibilities…

Emily Marsh

Emily was at Gladstone Elementary School again. The class was covering the Greek myths. Today’s story was a particularly morbid one (especially for a grade 5 class): Acteon the hunter incurred a divine wrath when he starred at the goddess Artemis bathing. Artemis turned him into a deer and Acteon was devoured by his own hounds.

“So what do we think of this ending? Acteon being turned into a deer? Was it fair?” Emily asked. “Yes? Patrick?”

“Well I don’t think so, I mean, it’s not like he actually did any real harm, he was only LOOKING,” Patrick said.

“He was looking at a NAKED GIRL!” Veronica cut across.

“Hands, hands,” Emily said, smiling. “Yes, Jules?”

“Well he still shouldn’t look. It’s really rude to stare. Also, we don’t know what he WOULD have done if not turned. I mean, a normal person just wouldn’t stare unless they were some kind of a creep-“

“But he never DID anything else-“ Patrick began.

“Exactly. He was stopped and he should be,” Jules said. “He was stopped before he went full on perv-“

“But the story never said he actually did any-“

“Wouldn’t it depend on HOW LONG he stared?” Max interrupted.

All the kids stopped and turned to look at Max; he seemed to have gotten something. But then another kid raised a hand.

“Marston?” Emily asked, seeing a new hand.

Wait. Wasn’t Marston dead?

“It’s not really about what’s fair,” Marson said, his expression uncharacteristically hollow; it was like he was looking at something far away. “Artemis was a goddess and Acteon was but a mortal. The gods are right that’s why they’re gods, otherwise they’d be demons. Artemis was always going to be right because the gods are always right; if Artemis felt she was right, she was right, end of story-“

Emily wanted to say more to her son but then the scenery rapidly morphed…

Her family was getting gunned down by men in kevlar vests, the air was thick with the sounds of screams and the smell of blood and gunpowder, that dreadful display of corpses at the outdoor party table-

She was standing outside the school. The sky was a dreadful orange and purple; the flesh balloons rose high into the air all around her.

Emily Marsh was submerged under the water… a strange, single bubble bigger than her entire person surrounded her and seemed to separate her from her environment. The water was unnaturally bright, it was a bright, living, blue.

A grotesque scene surrounded her.

Hundreds, no, THOUSANDS of jellyfish surrounded her bubble. They overlapped against each other, they varied in size. Some of them were normal-sized but the biggest ones, were larger than entire buildings.

Emily froze in shock, she didn’t like jellyfish. And their grossly icky, flabby, oscillating white textures… interspersed with tentacles of green and yellow sickened her. They were like grotesque, living balloons that flopped about and Emily was now scared that they wound touch and pop her bubble. There were SO MANY… OH SO MANY!

Emily’s bubble traversed gracefully through the endless waves of jellyfish, and somehow, she couldn’t close her eyes. All the while she dreaded that the bubble would be popped.

It made no sense. How could some of these jellyfish be so big? Were they aliens?

Where was the bubble going? She wanted it to end… because now there were so many of these monsters that soon there would be nowhere for the bubble to-

She found herself standing in a forest of coniferous trees. There were many large, multicolored mushrooms spread out across the muddy dirt that characterised the ground. The sky was gray, the air was misty, thick with fog… there was a river just in front of the somewhat muddy ground she was standing on. The water flowing was red; at first, she thought it was a river of blood but then she saw that it was a mixture…

“Emily,” a voice called.

She turned as her heart skipped. She saw him. It was Glenn Marsh. He wasn’t bloody, he looked just fine, though his skin was unnaturally pale and he seemed to glow just slightly, somehow standing out from the rest of the foggy environment… he was wearing the exact clothes he wore on the day of the party just before the massacre, an open jacket, a checkered shirt with buttons, blue jeans and sneakers…

“GLENN!” Emily cried out. There was relief in her voice.

He wasn’t wounded! He looked FINE!

She wanted to move but she found that her feet were rooted to the ground, she looked down briefly and saw that somehow her feet were part of the muddy earth, as if she was connected and trapped to a greater whole. She looked back up and for the first time since Glenn’s death, she saw that he had heard her because he was looking at her. There was a smile, though a bit of a saddened one on her young husband’s face.

Emily realized that somehow, this time it was different. She had seen her husband many many times in these dream sequences but never before had she been able to speak to him and interact with him and he usually appeared as a deformed corpse or a flesh balloon. Furthermore, this resembled lucid dreaming now and she was completely aware of the dream state.

“Emily,” he said, turning to face her. “How have you been?”

“It’s… it’s been TERRIBLE,” she said, her voice cracking with emotion and her face on the verge of tears. “They-they… it’s all a mess, I- I tried to tell them the truth but they- they threw me into-“

She didn’t know how to put it into words-

“I know,” he replied.

Emily was surprised, he knew? She had so many questions, but before she could speak again.

“Listen Emily,” he said. “There’s something I have to tell you and unfortunately, we don’t have a lot of time.”

It really WAS him, the way his face moved, the way he spoke-

“There’s a giant plan, not just against you, but against the whole of Gladstone,” Glenn continued. “Now from this side, there’s nothing I can do, you’re the only one who can do something.”

Emily didn’t like the sound of that. “But… but I’m locked up. And- Wait. Annie and Marston… are they? Are they also-“

“Yes,” he said, nodding and his eyes showing a degree of warmth. “They’re with me.”

For the first time in a long time, Emily smiled. She raised her hands together and clasped them above her bosom, thanking the heavens.

“But look,” Glenn said. “You’re not in a good place. You’re not in a safe place. And people are about to move against you. You have enemies. Everywhere.”


“Him and many others,” Glenn said. “Everything you’ve been told is a lie. You have to fight back… with everything you have.”

“I- I don’t know what to do, they- they won’t believe me, I can sense that they’re not believing me. I speak the truth and yet-“

“They don’t believe you, because in America, only Strength matters,” Glenn said.

Emily was surprised, was this something he would normally say?

“See past the illusion,” he continued. “See past the lies, the deception, the unholiness. Only then will you find the truth. … There is no justice in the world, not unless we create it for ourselves.”

She felt a jolt. What did he mean?

“We will try to help you,” Glenn said. “But you Emily… you must do the work. Avenge us Emily. Avenge us. Avenge us… avenge us… avenge us… avenge us…”

And as he spoke more and more voices joined him. Marston and Annie appeared as well just in front of Glenn. The trio of Marshs were pale as white-sheeted ghosts and they stared straight at Emily. Instead of feeling fear, Emily felt warmth, empowerment, a sense of direction…

“Avenge us… avenge us… avenge us… avenge us…”

All around Glenn, more and more Marshs, Greenes and relatives were appearing. Chet Marsh, Horace Greene, Christian Highsmith, Erin Stamper… They were all there, and they all beckoned to her. The chorus grew louder and louder.

But Emily didn’t feel fear; instead, she was so happy that she hadn’t been left behind… a few tears appeared in her eyes as her smile widened.

Judith Kernan

Judith Kernan and Kay Appleholm sat in a conference room. Case files and photos were on the table. They’ve been going through a number of files, then they got to her: Emily Greene Marsh.

“I was discussing this file with a number of interested parties the other day, how is it going?” Judith asked.

“Well,” Kay replied. “It’s going along well. Soon, she’ll have no awareness of her surroundings whatsoever. We’re getting there.”

“It’s been almost a whole year now,” Judith said. “Surely there are speedier ways to get things done. More… efficient ways. I mean, you seem a bit restrained… I just don’t see where it’s all going.”

“You promised me free reign over this project,” Kay replied, betraying some unease. “You said you wouldn’t intervene with my designs. I do have a book to write, remember? I have to create some interesting things, plots take time.”

“Yes I know about that,” Judith replied. “Still, you’ve had a few months to dig stuff out of her. Even a cat doesn’t play with its food this long.”

Judith looked at Kay, he was a very useful person to her, willing to cross many lines to further her objectives but at times he can be… just a little too peculiar, a little too obstinate in his strange side quests. It was time to re-assert who was in control in this arrangement.

“Kay, let me level with you…” Judith said, her eyes narrowing. “I think you have a lot of promise and a lot of potential, but sometimes you squander it all on meaningless pursuits. The people upstairs are getting impatient, and they want results. I don’t think you fully realize how much there is at stake here. Emily Marsh NEEDS to be broken, sooner rather than later.”

“I understand that-“

“DO YOU?” Judith said, her voice suddenly turning cold as a knife’s edge.

Kay blinked.

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten what you did with the Analise Smith file,” Judith said, her lips sneering. “If you’re thinking of messing around with this one, it’s not the way to go. Don’t think I’m not fully aware of some of your less than savoury psychiatric theories… does the phrase Perfect Woman mean anything to you?”

Kay said nothing, but he seemed to grow more pale still.

“I run this facility,” Judith said. “Which is why it’s my job to know all the dirty secrets of all my employees, it helps the facility run like clockwork. I like Order. Your personal and political leanings, I couldn’t care less, I think we more or less have an aligned interest. You do whatever you want, but let me be quite clear on this matter… I’m going to a conference in Palo Alto, when I come back in a week or so… I expect this matter to be concluded. So right now? You have a few days left to do… WHATEVER IT IS you want to try with the patient in the name of science, your book, or whatever mumbo jumbo. But when I get back… I want to see the matter… CONCLUDED. Are we clear?”

“Yes,” Kay replied resentfully. “You’re… you’re perfectly clear.”

“Remember Kay, I am the only one you can trust,” Judith said. “After Tranquility Bay, you were damaged goods; in a way… YOU STILL ARE. In some ways you’ve improved, but in other ways, I still see the same spineless, worthless, individual.”

As Judith paused, there was a look on the woman’s face that resembled a vicious hound. It was almost like she was daring Kay to contradict, retort, or interrupt. Kay didn’t, he simply opened his mouth in shock.

Judith pressed on, making sure to emphasize each and every word to maximize effect:
“Remember what it was like? No one wanted to go near you, NO ONE would give you a chance. But ME… I trusted you, and plucked you out of the filth. I respected your intellect, and your willingness to push the boundaries. That’s why I picked you. Without me… you are NOTHING. Without my intervention… you wouldn’t HAVE a job, let alone a career. I made you Kay… which means… I can UNMAKE you.”

And with that said, Judith moved to pack up her files. She was so efficient at it, it took her less than five seconds. Without saying anything further, she turned and strolled out of the room, her head held high… leaving Appleholm to stew by himself.

Kay Appleholm

Later that day, Kay Appleholm stepped into the parking of Starkweather Facility. He was still in his doctor’s coat and he carried with him a brown briefcase.

At this hour, there was no one else at the parking, though a couple of cars were left. Kay always stayed late, though he wasn’t always working. Lately, he had other fixations.

After opening the door to his humble Volvo, he stepped into the driver’s seat. As soon the door was shut, his façade of calmness fell apart and the man that emerged was one few ever saw-

“Remember what it was like?” he said, suddenly imitating Judith’s higher-pitched voice, it was eerily similar. “No one wanted to go near you, NO ONE would give you a chance. Without me… you’re NOTHING.”

Suddenly letting out a feral roar, Kay began to lean forward and pound into his car’s steering wheel, setting off a series of loud honks that echoed throughout the empty parking. Eventually, he turned and started to beat up other parts of his own driver’s area.

“FUCK YOU JUDITH!” he roared, a speck of drool flew out of his mouth. “FUCK YOU YOU FUCKING BITCH!”

Every single woman in his life, EVERY single one, it didn’t matter in what capacity, starting with his own mother… they were all insufferable, over-controlling, over-aggressive bitches. It was a stain on the recent century.

And they think it’s all about sex… as if I could want something SO CRUDE.

“In some ways,” he continued, imitating Judith’s higher pitched voice. “I still see the same spineless, worthless, individual. I can unmake you… FUCK YOU! FUCK YOU JUDITH!”

His mind began to soak with anger and hatred… it was as if the insides of his brain were suddenly filled with so much thick, dark blood that some of it threatened to pour out of his eyes.

I will… I will find the way. The… the PERFECT WOMAN. And then I will make you see. I WILL MAKE YOU SEE!

The car was started and the vehicle screeched out of the parking lot. Throughout the entire ride home, he continued to quote and imitate what Judith said earlier… it was interspersed with shouted obscenities and high-pitched laughter…

Emily Marsh

The next morning, Emily awoke. She rubbed her head, it hurt and she felt a bit dizzy. Still, there was hope now. She had spoken to Glenn, maybe she would get to see him again. Better days were coming, they were long overdue.

There was a loud buzz as the cell entrance opened.

Two large, burly orderlies. Emily blinked. What was this?

“The doctor would like to see you now.”

“K…Kay?” Emily asked, her heart racing.

It had been such a long time, days… months perhaps… since their last meeting. Did he believe her? Why did he keep her waiting like this?

“Who else?” the guard replied roughly. “Come. Let’s go.”

Kay Appleholm

While it was tempting to trade belief in her story in exchange for favors, it wouldn’t create the desired outcome of absolute and total control and pacification.

The Perfect Woman cannot be created if she has control of the narrative. However, dangling the possibility creates a sense of dependance. Though from where he stood, that game had gone on long enough now…

Emily Marsh seemed hopeful; there was a bit of a smile on the brunette’s face.

“Emily,” Kay said from across his desk. “I’ve had the opportunity to read through the entire notebook, and I have reached a conclusion… you’re NOT a pathological liar.”

Emily looked a bit confused. “So… so then you believe me?”

“I believe that you’re telling me what you see and believe to be the truth. It is indeed what you remember, but your recollection is flawed. It’s not objectively the truth. Difficult as it may be for you to understand, you committed a crime so horrendous, so hideously warped, that you made a conscious decision then and there to lie to yourself. And this decision to deny the truth, to create a wall, was so fundamentally transformative, that it forever altered your conception of the truth from that point forth.”

He looked at her with a great deal of sadness. “Your initial decision caused your mind to create a narrative and it has permanently warped your perceptions, it is a construct, a coping mechanism that emerged to deal with the trauma and the after-shock of the horrors of the massacre.”

“But you gave me the medicine,” Emily protested. “It… it’s cured me right? And yet my story hasn’t changed, so surely-“

“The medicines prevent the damage from spreading… but they cannot undo the damage that’s already been done to your mind. A malevolent alternation like that, may take DECADES of therapy to fix.”

Emily blinked. Kay watched her closely, while not betraying any expression… he savored the little details. The woman’s world seemed to crash down and he could see the thoughts of panic and dependance spreading inside her. It was like a sweet nectar-

“I-I… You said you would BELIEVE ME!” she cried out.

“Now now now Emily,” Kay said, correcting her and raising a finger. “I said I would give all of the facts complete consideration and read both stories. However, it simply stands to reason that the state’s version of events is far more… compelling as things stand. There are a number of problems with your stories which I don’t think would be productive to delve into because it would only reinforce your denial.”

He withdrew a gold pen from inside an upper pocket on his doctor's coat and began to write down some notes on her file.

“You can still leave eventually, it’s just that… we have a long battle ahead. I’m afraid, much longer than originally anticipated.”

This was not what Emily wanted to hear.

“But you don’t BELIEVE ME! I- I thought you would BELIEVE ME! You… you must see that I’m telling the truth!”

There was a sharp tap on the door, which made Emily jump up a little.

“That’s the guard outside,” Kay said grimly. “He’s worried about your raised voice. If you keep at it I could give a signal, and he may have to enter and calm you down. You have a lot of privilege in these sessions, I wouldn’t want them to go away.”

Emily blinked.

“Uh huh,” Kay continued. “Now, here’s what happens from this point on. I promise to help you leave, but you have to promise to try again.”

He opened up his drawer and took out a new notebook. Emily picked it up, opened it, and saw to her horror that it was completely empty.

“Round two so to speak,” Kay said, allowing himself a smile. “I’m hoping you can do better this time around.”

“But- but this ISN’T FAIR! It’s- It’s NOT FAIR! I’ve already written down-”

“SHHHHHHHH!” Kay said, raising a finger to his lips. “Do you hear that? It’s the sound of the rules speaking out. It’s a whisper but if you focus enough, you can hear them calling out, metaphorically speaking.”

He turned ironically towards the wall. Emily’s gaze followed. It was that poster again:

The Rules

1. Listen to the Doctor

2. Never interrupt the Doctor

3. Accept and follow the Treatment

Emily looked at him, her expression distraught and confused.

“Emily,” Kay said. “I’m on your side, but you have to give me something we can work with. You have to… apply yourself more. Only then can you access the REAL NARRATIVE of what happened. I’m here to help you. But you shouldn’t oppose me, if you oppose me, you’re only opposing yourself… and your own path to recovery.”

“So then how long-“

“It depends.”

“But I NEED TO GET OUT. I really REALLY need to get out and I’m telling you…” she said, on the verge of tears. “I’m telling you the truth. I- I can’t have made it up-“

“SHHHHHHHHHHHH….” he said again. “Relax. Take it easy. Take a few deep breaths. We’ll speak again.”

Emily blinked.

“This session is over. Take your notebook, sit on it, don’t force yourself to write anything. Just try to consider the possibility that your perception is unreliable. That is step number one. Now go.”

When Emily didn’t move, Kay said more forcefully, “Go. This session is over.”

Choking back some tears, Emily picked up the notebook, turned and left the office.

Now it’s time for step two…

As the guards escorted Emily back towards the direction of her dreaded cell, past the clean offices, past the corridors filled with the screaming nutters, and the filthy run-down hallways, she looked dazed, zoned-out, trance-like… her eyes wide as marbles.

She seemed very distracted and it was all too easy for the guards to give her a very sudden shove into a room to the side.


Emily tumbled forward and nearly bumped her head unto the floor. She turned around and she saw the door slam shut. But it wasn’t her cell. She stood up and turned. She was in a new room now, it was large, the walls were green and there were many exposed pipes of dysfunctional plumbing around the floor; the floor was made of red, marble tiles and many were cracked. She had never been here before. What was going on?

“Hey this… this isn’t my cell?!” she cried out in panic. Desperately, she turned around and tried the door, but somehow it was locked. “HEY there’s BEEN A MISTAKE!”

There were loud, approaching footsteps. Emily turned and peered ahead, she could make out some doors far, far ahead. The lighting was rather dim and a few fans were turning in the ceilings.

“Who’s there?” she cried out, betraying a note of fear.

They stepped out of the shadow, like the monsters from the dark. Four orderlies, they wore the standard orderly uniforms but they were very large individuals (so much larger than the guards who ran her cell block; she was sure she’d never seen them before).

Their faces were hidden behind large, plastic, painted masks of animals: there was a grinning zebra, what appeared to be a horned stag, a frog, and a leering tiger. The artwork was ugly, grotesque, and disturbing; the faces were completely hidden.

“WHAT DO YOU WANT?!” Emily cried out, her blood turning to ice. They surrounded her like a vicious mob.

Before she could react, two pairs of hands grabbed her and threw her further into the room. She tumbled forward and crashed against a part of the wall with a sickening crack. A very firm kick to the knee caused her to fall unto the ground. Then without saying anything, the four masked attackers began to stomp on her and kick against her with relentless brutality. Her screams echoed across the corridors as she struggled to get up but she was over-wracked with paralyzing pain… the shoes stepped against her stomach, kicked against the side of her raised arms and legs… it was a relentless beatdown. One of the kicks to her side was so strong that she was lifted off the floor and turned. Then they continued to stampede on her. One of the assailants leaned down and pulled viciously against her brown hair.

After a few minutes of sustained beating and kicking, her world turned to darkness and she was out.

When Emily awoke, she was by herself, handcuffed to a hospital bed in some infirmary wing. Everything here was white… the walls, the floors, the sheets, curtains, equipment, bed…

Her entire body still ached from the dreadful beating, it wasn’t a nightmare.

“Hello?” she called out. “Hello is anyone there?”

For a moment she felt a rising fear. The attackers, did they take her here? Were they going to come back?

There was the sound of footsteps but when the person showed, it was only Kay Appleholm.

Kay Appleholm

Okay. It’s time.

“Emily… you look DREADFUL,” he said, wincing and rushing up to her, at once taking a seat by a stool but peering over to observe her bruises on her exposed arms, his face set alight with “concern.” “My… my GOODNESS this is… I… I thought I could protect you but this… this clearly shows…”

“What… what do you mean protect me?” Emily managed weakly; she couldn’t even get up.

Kay looked down, hesitating. Then he looked at her, his eyes filled with emotion, he looked tired. “I… I didn’t want to involve you in the politics. But things here at Starkweather well… they’re… they’re complicated. There have always been… many… many factions.”

“F… factions?”

“Yes. Trust me, the madness that goes on inside these walls with the patients… is comparable to the politics and the factionalism in the upper echelons. You see, there’s a group of doctors and orderlies under the influence of the warden, Judith Kernan… they do whatever they want. Wherever they want. And they… they play their sick games on the patients. I’ve been trying to stamp it out for many years.”

Emily looked at him, her eyes wide and seemingly trying to process all of this. “The… the warden herself?”

“Yes,” Kay said. “There’s a power struggle between her and various other… more responsible doctors for control of the facility. I’m trying to do good here, but sometimes I fail to protect the patients. What I’m trying to say is… I’m very sorry this happened to you.”

“Why not go to the police?” Emily asked, her face showing a great deal of shock.

“It’s of no use,” Kay continued. “Kernan has many friends in high places. She’s ruthless. At present, the safest tact is to play it out politically. I’m managing a coalition to take her down but the vote won’t be for a while.”

“Why me?” Emily asked. “Why did they attack me? What did I do?”

“They don’t like you,” Kay said bluntly. “They think you represent white woman privilege. It’s some sort of reverse pseudo-liberalism. Don’t even get me started on the craziness. Look the point is…”

He looked at her and his eyes lit up with conviction. “I won’t let it happen again. I… I WON’T. I promise you. This… this was my oversight. It’s ENTIRELY my fault and I… I should have known. I should have known they’d come gunning.”

“But… but they attacked me…” she spluttered, her eyes wide with fear. “They might try again and I… I can’t protect myself- I don’t know I mean what do I-“

“It won’t happen again,” Kay said firmly, he was a good actor and he could suppress the urge to smile right now. “It won’t. Never again. Not if you’re under my protection.”

“You’ll p… protect me? But… but I thought you didn’t believe me? Why… why would you?”

“Because I want to help you,” he said. “I’m here to help you recover, and that can’t happen if you’re killed.”

“But WHY? Why do you care? I don’t understand why you would want to help me-“

“Because deep down,” he said. “I feel and understand that you’re a good person. Broken, but fundamentally good. And I refuse to let go of that.”

He watched her closely.

Yes… it’s working. The pills have done a good job clouding her better judgement. This time, we can definitely get further… very much further… Finally, months of work is adding up.

“I… but what if they attack me again? It…it really hurts,” she said. “Please p… protect me.”

“I will,” Kay said. “I will. Now you just wait here. It’s going to take you a few days to fully recover. While that’s going on, I’m going to assign two of my most trusted guards right outside. NO ONE will be able to get to you. I promise you.”

“Wait don’t LEAVE!”

“I’m sorry Emily, but for now I have to go. There’s an important vote coming up. But I’ll be back I promise.”

And we’re in…

He was almost at the door, then he turned and added. “Don’t worry, the guards will be here soon.”

“O… okay,” she mumbled weakly and looking down.

It took the better part of a few more days before the nurse cleared her for a return to her cell. Her stay in the infirmary was unpleasant (somehow there were no other patients here); the nurse seemed to administer too much medicine, morphine and painkillers and never said much to her. Emily sensed that to the nurse, she was represented a nuisance; something disgusting that she had to take care of. There was no love or care for the patient, just a robotic and overzealous application of medicine.

“You’re done, it’s time to go,” she said suddenly.

“I… I can leave?” Emily said.

“Try to get up. Now GO ON,” she said, raising her voice unnecessarily. “You did it yesterday, you should be able to manage now too right?”

Emily was able to get off the bed, though she still felt a bit weak and dazed.

“Alright,” the nurse said coldly. She snapped her fingers at the door. “Well come on now! Let’s get her out. There’s only so many beds here.”

She wasn’t offered any shoes so she had to walk barefooted to the door; she was a bit nervous when she saw the two orderlies but there was at least one familiar face, it was one of the guards she had seen around Kay’s office area.

“Hi Emily,” the orderly said. “You’re in good hands. We’re in with Dr. Appleholm. He’s already filed a complaint against those bastards who attacked you.”

“Damn straight,” the other orderly chimed in.

“Th… thanks,” she managed.

“Now follow us please. Let’s get back to your room.”

“Wait do I have to go back there?”

“Yes, unfortunately for now. It’s the safest place. Dr. Appleholm says it’s important you stay in a familiar environment.”

“O… okay.”

Emily was back in the corridors. The orderlies were on either side and they looked highly alert. The woman sensed that something was off… it was simply… too quiet.

There was a flurry of footsteps. Emily turned and saw them.

The four attackers, they were back. Same tall guys, same masks, she could tell. This time, the one wearing the zebra-mask and his frog-mask-wearing comrade, they were carrying large, sharp kitchen knives. The blades gleamed.

“Not again!” Emily cried out.

“Hey what the hell!” one orderly on the side of Emily cried out. The two guards moved just slightly ahead of Emily to provide protection. “Hey listen you guys… there are lines you DO NOT CROSS. Knives? This is a line of no return. Are you sure you’re willing to go there? Are you really REALLY sure?”

The four masked men didn’t say a word. Instead, they began to approach slowly but surely… the knives gleamed.

“Step back,” the orderly said over Emily’s rising whimpers. “STAY THE FUCK BACK I’M NOT-“


There was a loud zapping sound and all seven individuals on both sides of the battle lines turned to face the source.

A figure stood by an open door two meters out. Half of him was covered in shadows and his glasses gleamed briefly; his face was looking downward at an intimidating angle and a mop of fair hair obscured a part of his face. It was Kay Appleholm and on a single hand he held some out kind of an experimental battle/control stick to the side of his doctor’s coat. The thing was over two meters long. His hands gripped a safe, rubber control area with buttons. However, most of the stick was cackling with controlled currents of blue voltage…

“This game ends right now,” Kay said as he stepped forward a few paces. Without raising his head, he reached out and pointed the thing in the direction of the attackers, as if issuing an ultimatum. The stick cackled ferociously and it was clearly far longer than the knives they held, giving Kay quite the reach advantage if it came to actual battle.

“If you proceed with this game,” Kay emphasized. “You play at your own cost. I’m warning you, don’t test my limits. Now decide.”

The masked men looked at each other. Then without saying a word, they turned and ran off in the opposite direction, leaving Emily and the friendly orderlies alone.

Kay Appleholm

“Are they… are they gone?” Emily asked, looking at the direction the attackers had left.

Kay de-activated his battle stick; the cackling stopped. He walked up to her.

“Yes,” He said. “They are gone. They’ll be back, but we’ll be ready.”

Emily turned back to face him, she looked dazed and trance-like. “Are… are you sure they’re really gone?”

“Yes,” Kay said. “As I said, you’re under my protection now.”

“Th…thank you-“

He turned imperiously to the orderlies. “I’ll take it from here. The two of you, go and notify Section B immediately. Go to Dr. Barkley. STRAIGHT to Dr. Barkley and no one else is that clear?”

“Yes sir.” The orderlies turned and rushed off into another direction, leaving Emily alone with the psychiatrist.

“Come Emily, I need to show you something,” he said. “It will help your treatment.”

They walked side by side. Kay continued.

“Listen Emily, I know that it is difficult, but you have to accept the fact that your recollection of the past is flawed. I mean… do you REALLY think the world hates you that much that an entire government would conspire against you? The police, the judiciary, the community, the people? Which is more likely? That your mind re-constituted the fabric of the truth, or that all of those people were in on some giant conspiracy?”

“I… I don’t know anymore,” Emily admitted. “It… it all just seems so real but now… now I’m really really confused I don’t-“

“I want to help you access your real memories,” Kay said as they turned and walked down another corridor. “And I have a solid treatment plan. If you do what I say, you’ll see progress I promise. Right now, the important thing is to keep an open mind. Look, we’re there.”

They entered a room; Emily was greeted with a disgusting pungent odor even before entering the door. Once inside, she saw the following:

There was a vast room the size of a gymnasium (in fact, that’s probably what it was originally but it had been reworked). The wooden floor was filled with endless rows of desks and chairs, like those belonging to students at her school in Gladstone. There was even a teacher’s desk up at the very front… and a large chalkboard on the wall. However, everything, the floors… the desks… the chairs… they were all covered and filled with a disgusting, wet, brown mud. The stench was beyond putrefying and in some parts of the slightly stilted floor, the muddy water was even a bit high.

Emily covered her nose. “What… what is this?”

“Kinetic treatment plan,” Kay announced, the smell didn’t bother him. “Emily, it’s been shown scientifically that hard work gets the body’s neural and sensory motors flowing, allowing one to access hidden and deeply repressed memories. I need you to give this a try. It’s for your own good.”

“W…what do I do?”

“Under the largest table at the very end of the room… there is a large tray filled with large buckets of bleach-filled water, many large sponges, mops, scrubbing equipment, and other things. I need you to go there and get started. Please clean the entirety of the room. Leave your notebook by the side. Let's go.”

He looked at her closely.

She looked at him, shocked. But suddenly, it was like something clicked into place and her expression softened. “Is… is this to help me be cured?”

“Yes Emily, this will help you access hidden memories over the long term. Trust me. And don’t worry about the assailants. They’re being dealt with this very second by my guys.”

“It’s… it’s really gross… I… I think I’m going to need some shoes and gloves and-“

“I’m afraid that’s not practical,” Kay replied simply. “Please get started. This could take hours. Remember, the harder you work, the faster you can be cured.”

Emily nodded. “O… okay.”

He watched with boundless excitement as the woman set the notebook down and walked over the entire length of the gymnasium. At first slowly, but then with increasing speed. The ground was so filthy that even as she walked, the undersides of her white trousers were already getting mud-stained. However, she seemed to steel herself, wincing all the way but continuing to walk until she reached the end.

“Do you see the cleaning equipment?” Kay shouted out.

“Yes I see it!” Emily shouted back. “I’ll… I’ll start now!”

And she did.

Kay Appleholm stood there from the doorway, safe from the mud as he watched, an unbelievable scene took place. Emily Marsh actually started to clean the place, without further complaints, without further comments.


“Keep going you’re doing REALLY REALLY WELL EMILY!” Kay shouted out, throwing in some more positive reinforcement. “I’m really amazed at your determination! This is the sort of thing that defines COURAGE!”

There was no expression on Emily’s face as she began to mop the floor, moving a rollable bucket filled with bleached water throughout.

“Am I doing really well?” Emily asked, after twenty minutes of continuous cleaning.

“Y-yes… y-yes,” Kay said, then recovering, he shouted again. “Yes you’re AMAZING! Keep up the good work!”

Emily knelt down and continued to scrub the filthy, muddy desks one by one. Somehow, all of the mud in the room had been chemically tempered so that somehow none of it was drying… it was all really really disgusting and messy and by now her entire person except for her face and shoulders were caked with the brown…

Two more orderlies had shown up behind Kay to check on the situation. If they had any thoughts about what they were witnessing they didn’t show anything on their faces (just a regular day in Starkweather?). They stood in the background but within the vision range of all parties.

At any rate, they didn’t dare disturb Kay in his unholy thoughts.

Kay looked down at his watch, it was almost a full hour. He looked up and saw that Emily was still hard at work, scrubbing at all the desks and chairs. She wasn’t a very good cleaner; either that or the bleach she was given wasn’t the best, the place still looked incredibly filthy as a whole. However, that didn’t bother Kay.

“Hey Emily!” he shouted out. “That’s good enough! I think you need a break.”

“I… I don’t know!” Emily shouted back, fixated on a chair. “I… I think this is actually working for me. I don’t know if I should stop. No, I… I want to keep going!”


“I think it’s important to get some rest as well-“

“But… but I’m starting to REMEMBER!”

Okay then.

“Alright, v-very well… let’s go for ten more minutes but it’s getting late and we need to move on for now.”

After a few more minutes of cleaning, Kay noticed a change. Emily was now leaning over the mud, seemingly not moving.

“Emily are you okay? Kay shouted out.

No response.


He set down the de-activated electric stick by the side of a wall. In the wet mud, it would be too dangerous. Leaving the thing behind, he began to wade across the filth of the “classroom” itself.

“Sir I don’t think-“ one of the orderlies began but Kay had no ears for him.

He strode across the disgusting mud, his immaculate shoes, socks, and grey pants rapidly getting stained by the rising splashes but he didn’t care. Soon, he had walked up to where Emily was kneeling by the legs of a chair.

“Emily,” he said in gentle, paternal voice as he extended out a hand towards her, imagining himself to be in the position of a savior. “Emily… everything is going to be okay.”

Emily turned on her knees and looked at him, her eyes trance-like and zoned out. “I… I saw some thing. I saw myself… I saw myself… k… k… KILLING THEM!”

There was a splash as the mop was dropped to the floor and the mud-stained Emily began to cry and scream out. She reached forward… Kay caught a glimpse of her tears before she grabbed his legs and buried her face into them… crying, yelling, and sobbing endlessly.

“SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH…” Kay said gently. “It’s okay Emily. It’s okay… it’s going to be okay. SHHHHHHHHHHHHH….”

A single hand reached down and began to pat Emily’s brown hair in a symbolic gesture of comfort but also, one of ownership over the woman.

Emily continued to cry and wail against his legs, now a completely broken mess.

From the other end of the corridors, a growing group of orderlies looked at each other and then back at the strange scene playing out in the muddy classroom. They couldn’t hide their shock and surprise anymore. What the hell were they witnessing?

“Emily, tell me what you see… tell me what you see…” Kay said, increasingly breathless.

On her knees, she looked up, her face now caked with the mud from Kay’s trousers as well; she met his gaze. “I see… I see… myself… holding a… holding a- NO! NOOOOO! It… it can’t WAAAAAAA!”

She exploded into tears again as she hugged at his legs again and buried her face into them.

“You see yourself holding what? A- a gun? A GUN YES?! You’re holding THE GUN!”

“Y—yes! I’m holding a gun. A machinegun. I’m- I’m KILLING THEM OH NO!”

“You’re killing… you’re killing your own children?” Kay continued, once again placing a hand over her head, involuntarily, he found that his fingers were starting to grip just a bit into her skull.

“Y-YES oh PLEASE make it STOP! This is so bad! (sobs*) K-Kay I can’t! I can’t live with this IT HURTS OHHHHHHHH!”

As Emily wailed and cried endlessly into his legs, Kay stood there, savoring every moment of this great transformative victory. When she finally seemed to calm down a little and while she was still face-forward, Kay said in a powerful, magnificent voice:

“Emily. We cannot run away from what we’ve done. We have to live with it, for the rest of our lives. But we can try to understand it. And we can… we can rise above it all. We can… and we will rebuild your life. Let me help you.”

Rather firmly, he yanked himself back from her and stepped back a few calculated paces. To his satisfaction, he saw the broken woman land facedown into the mud with a cry of surprise, making a further great splash. She looked up, surprised, every bit of her now soaked with filth.

Standing perfectly still, Kay reached a hand downward.

“Take my hand Emily,” he said. “And stand up. I promise you, you will be made whole again.”

She reached forward and took it, Kay’s clean hands were made filthy with the mud but he didn’t care; he was in literal heaven. She was looking at him, her mouth hanging open and her eyes wide open.

Kay reached down with his other hand, clasped it around her wrist and now with his full strength, lifted her up from the mud, as if bestowing a symbolic salvation.

“Dr. Appleholm?!” one of the orderlies called out from across the room.

Kay turned briefly and shouted maniacally: “SHUT THE HELL UP AND FUCK OFF TO YOUR STATION!”

He was annoyed that the orderlies were watching this. How DARE they interrupt this holy, priceless moment.

He turned around and saw her standing there, half-crouched and uncertain. Emily looked up and said to him…

“K… Kay… I… I really need you to h-help me. I can’t do it without you.”

“I will.”

"I see n... now... Kay... you're the only one who will help me. I.. I... it matters to me so much."

And then there was a transformation. Emily looked at him and smiled; it was a perfect combination of beauty, hesitant happiness, and vulnerability.

Suddenly, she reached forward, grabbed him, and planted a firm, decisive kiss over his mouth. The wet mud was disgusting but that wasn’t what Kay was thinking about. Involuntarily, Kay reached forward and grabbed her waist as he reciprocated-


Shocked, Kay suddenly experienced a massive pain down below as he released her and she pulled back suddenly. A sharp, pain engulfed his groin area; she KNEED HIM?! The blow was so hard that he felt his balls may have been busted. There was no time to process this because a millisecond later, Emily reached forward and surgicaly pulled the gold pen out from his upper lab coat pocket. She grabbed him and jammed the sharp end of the pen with surprising force against the psychiatrist's exposed throat-


The orderlies let out a howl of outrage as they witnessed a gruesome murder take place. Having jammed the pen in and created a mess, Emily Marsh leapt forward and tackled the screaming doctor into the mud.

There was a spectacular splash of watery and red-infused brown as the two of them landed. There was a sickening crack as the side of Kay’s now brown-hair crashed against the sharp edge of a desk.

Emily didn’t say anything. She simply stood up and without any further hesitation, pulled the pen out of the throat and began to stomp down on the battered and dazed doctor repeatedly across his upper half. There was series of sickening, crunching sounds because many of the kicks had landed across the throat. Great splashes of mud rose outwards like shockwaves as Emily continued to step and step and step...

The orderlies were so shocked that they did nothing for a few complete seconds. Then they began to stride forward. There were five of them now and they rushed at full speed towards the scene, in the process making huge splashes in the mud like hippos; however, the “classroom” was too large and they knew it was too late-


But it was too late. Emily Marsh stood back up. It was done.

The orderlies were going to reach her but they froze because she looked up at them and faced them; there was a smile across her features. It was a simple, peaceful, smile and there was no hint of fear whatsoever.

Within one meter of her, the orderlies found themselves freezing up, unsettled by the woman's face. In that moment they understood they were facing a complete psychopath, or at least, the one left standing in the aftermath of a strange, surreal mind game. Two of the orderlies were the same ones that had stood guard over the infirmary and escorted the seemingly dazed, weak, and confused woman out of the infirmary. They were at a loss of words... was this this same person? Had it all been an act?

There seemed to be no hurry to grab her. Instead, the orderlies began to spread out in some kind of a battle formation, their arms were outstretched as if anticipating an attack from a wild animal.

Emily Marsh

As Emily stood there, she knew she had started something and there would no turning back from this point. However, it had to be done she was sure of it.

Her mind briefly travelled back to the day she was first attacked by the masked assailants…

In the time between her removal to the infirmary wing, she had another fateful conversation with Glenn in the dream world, another instance of lucid dreaming.

“Kay Appleholm is behind it,” Glenn told her. “You must see that by now. He sent those goons to assault you.”

“I… but then why, why would he?”

“Emily, you’re a kind, loving, compassionate person… this is in part why I fell for you,” Glenn said, offering her a smile. “But sometimes… you can be too TRUSTING. Let me be the eyes and ears for you.”

“You’re telling me Kay is part of it?” she said, her eyes wide open.

“Look inside of you Emily,” Glenn said. “And start thinking about what’s happened so far. Have your nightmares gotten ANY BETTER ever since he gave you those medicines?”

“N… no… no… now that you say it that way-“

“Have they gotten WORSE?”

“Yes actually.”

“So what’s he been giving you?”

“I err…”

“And if he ACTUALLY believed you, why would he leave you in your cell for months after you’ve given him the notebook? Does that sound like someone trying to help you?”

“He doesn’t believe me,” Emily said finally.

“He doesn’t believe you,” Glenn said. “And I know this part is going to be hard. But you have to move against him before he moves against you or it will be too late. You have to strike first.”

“I… I don’t know if he’s really in on it,” Emily protested. “I don’t really know-“

“YOU KNOW,” Glenn said to her firmly. “YOU KNOW. Search inside of you. He doesn’t believe you, isn’t that more than enough?”

Emily looked at Glenn.

Glenn was now looking at her imploringly. “Remember Emily…”

“There is no justice in the world,” she repeated, her eyes wide. “Not unless we create it for ourselves.”


“But how do I do anything?” Emily asked. “He’s got all these orderlies. He’s a doctor and I’m just a patient. Even if I were to do something, I’d never get out. I can’t do this… I’m… I’m not strong enough… I’m just… I’m just an elementary school teacher.”

“You’re more than that,” Glenn insisted, his eyes flashing with conviction. “You’re the strongest woman I know. You’ve always wanted to help people. You stood up for your community. The world heaps problems on you, makes a victim of you but throughout it all you stay true to yourself.”

Emily felt better now.

“Emily,” Glenn said. “YOU ARE STRONG. You’ve always been strong. And if you’re not strong enough, use your weakness as strength. I cannot tell you how, but I’m sure you’ll find the way. If you can handle a classroom full of little brats you can take on anything, perhaps the whole world.”

Emily smiled at her husband. The way forward was clear.

The mushroom-covered earth began to shake slightly. The fog seemed to clear somewhat. The river of red seemed to stream on with greater intensity. A great, light seemed to rise out from behind Glenn. Emily could make out the forms of the rest of her family, once more appearing one by one in their ghostly states around Glenn.

“Avenge us… avenge us… avenge us… avenge us… avenge us… avenge us…”

Emily looked down at her own hands. “Yes,” she said. “It must be done.”

Back to the present...

You should have believed me Kay.

The orderlies finally rushed forth across the mud.

Emily rushed forward and aimed a punch.


There was a loud crack as one of the orderlies was immediately struck across his jaw and he fell down to the side.

However, two more orderlies moved in and pushed her down into the mud, making another great splash. Emily decided she was done for now and stopped struggling. There was a peaceful smile on her face as she felt a tranquilizer needle enter her neck and her world rapidly turned to darkness once more…

I have taken the first step Glenn… there will be many more steps… many many more steps…
Last edited by Infected Mushroom on Sun Jun 20, 2021 3:31 am, edited 5 times in total.

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Main Nation Ministry
Posts: 13014
Founded: Sep 28, 2016
Psychotic Dictatorship

Postby Main Nation Ministry » Sat Jun 26, 2021 12:04 am

Dolan Schaeffer

"Ms. Umbridge? Is it true that you were the original creator of the hashtag #DownWithFuller?" a reporter was interviewing her, as Umbridge looked unphased by the actual interview. "Why, of course. Mitchell Fuller needed to be deplatformed from his position! It's the right means of justice."
"Ms. Umbridge. Mitchell Fuller was a 15-year old."
"That's the problem with the youth nowadays! Their parents refuse to educate their own children on the importance of decency! To show such a harmless message onto our society deserves such a punishment."
"May I also mention the recent news? Mitchell Fuller passed away yesterday from suicide, Umbridge."

Dolan was watching the news, as he looked at his Twitter on his phone. On the right side, the hashtag of #EvilWoman was trending at number 1 with the subject being Umbridge. "The fuck is this shit.." Dolan muttered, as he was in his office, where he knew that the current situation with Umbridge was going to be a pain. Timothy Harrelson entered the room, as he gave Schaeffer the latest of the drug reports that were conducted with both Pabari's and Pearson's help. "I got the inventory on the latest shipments, sir." Timothy said, though he gave less enthusiasm as usual. Unlike his homeless brother, who had grown more notably psychotic over the months.

"Timothy! There you are. Look at this shit." Dolan pointed to his phone, as he saw what it was. "It's our city judge Umbridge, sir." Harrelson said. "Right. So, what's the problem?" Dolan waited for a proper answer from him. "Boss. Our judge is a bitch."
"YES!" Dolan stood up from his desk, as he had Timothy look at the screen of the phone. "Umbridge has no sense of brains and decided to become the most hated person on the internet! This is going to be bad, since they might try to get her removed. There is so little that the mayor of this city can do." Schaeffer said, as Timothy listened in.

"Boss. We already bribed the mayor and police."
"Yes, but we need to keep people oblivious. Umbridge might fib that I'm no better. Me! A philanthropist!"
"You're a human and drug trafficker, Dolan."
"Of course! That's why I need you to keep an eye on her. Have Pearson help you. Or maybe Zheng, that Chinese bastard... Oh, right! The inventory. How much do we have on that special miracle drug NXK?" Dolan said, taking the reports.

"We only have been making shipments for the city, but you insist that we should prep for a full-scale operation after we obtained that church property." Timothy explained, as Dolan was reading the report. "This looks like enough. I want the operation commenced for next month. From that rate, we might create a monopoly from all of the other druggies on the market." Dolan said, but Timothy was aware of something else regarding NXK. "Boss, what about the side effects? Both Pearson and Pabari say that NXE causes violent tendencies."

"Violent tendencies? Just because we're increasing some numbers on statistics doesn't mean it will hurt our sales! Now, please.. Make yourself useful and make sure Umbridge doesn't try to dox a toddler. I have so much other bullshit to focus on." Dolan said, as Timothy left the office.

"John Doe"

There was a strange man that was brought to the Starkweather Correctional Facility. In an entrance that one might say was of spectacles, he was escorted at gunpoint by several SWAT officers. The man's suit stained with blood from an "incident" that went south.

"Get a move on!" a SWAT officer pointed a large shotgun at the head of the man, as he walked in handcuffs. At the lobby of the prison, there would be usually be a man behind the desk to check in new prisoners. Usually, the people that were starting to come in were complete psychotics or some vandals. However, the man behind the desk saw a different story. He hadn't seen something like this, since that Gladstone shooting. The man in question with the handcuffs looked like a young lad. He looked like some Buddy Holly wannabe, where he had short brown hair and glasses with a cracked right lens. He had a blood-stained suit of a beige or tan vest with a white suit and black tie. The colors mixing together on his chest with the primary color being red. Part of the outfit included some beige pants and fancy black shoes. There were black bloodstained gloves that were restrained together due to the handcuffs, as the man was brought to the desk. Several cops were filing in some paperwork, as a prison official had came to replace the handcuffs. However, several of the SWAT officers refused.

"Don't fucking touch him!" one of the SWAT officers demanded from the guard, as they were forced away. "He's a fucking psycho. He might pull something.."
"How about we put two handcuffs on him?"
"Or.." the SWAT officer put the shotgun directly pressed against the man's skull, as he made sure the gun was loaded. "You pull one joke, and I blow your fucking brains out to kingdom come. You hear me, you c###?"

The man simply nodded with a smirk, as he was forced to the metal detector, after the handcuffs were replaced. Had they not did a strip search on him after the metal detector went off, there was a chance that a lot of people would end up dying from a trick that the man would have pulled. The metal detector picked up some hidden blades. One of them even being in his shoe, hidden within the heel. They took the glasses from the man, his black gloves, a tiny plastic bag of cocaine, along with what appeared to be car keys and a couple of wedding rings. The man had a wallet, but one of the prison guards noticed something. There were multiple IDs in the wallet. They had the man's face, but under different names. All of this was put in a tray, as the man gave a more forced grin. Almost like a sneer.

At the next step of the process, the officer asked for the man's name. "Name?" the officer asked him, but the man kept silent. "Name!" again there was silence. "We know you're not deaf. Give us a name or we will beat one out of you." the officer said, as he got a truncheon. However, it looked the man already gotten a bit of a beating before he ended up here, but he muttered something to the officer.

"John.. John Doe.."

There was a tone of annoyance from the man, as he said a name. The officers knew it wasn't his real name, but he seemed aware on how to give an alias. "Right. John Doe." the officer writing down his name for identification gave a mocking passive-aggressive tone at John Doe. "We know you're hiding something, you bastard." John Doe didn't react at this statement by the prison guard, as his hands were forced to be dipped in ink, then onto the grid of paper to show fingerprints. That led to another mystery. The official checking the fingerprints immediately saw an issue, to which it was immediately addressed. "Hang on. These prints look off."

A new paper was laid out, where the fingerprinting process was done again. However, it was the same. "What's wrong?" one of the SWAT officers said, as he was shown the prints on the paper. "These prints are altered. He.. He must have done something to his own fingers."
"Are you suggesting that he burned off his fingerprints in acid?"

John Doe immediately let out a sickening laugh, as his smile crept across his face while doing so. "What's so funny, punk!?" one of the officers said, as he got his gun ready. "You still rely on finger prints? Please.."
"SHUT UP! Get his measurements now!" the officer forced John Doe to let the other prison guards take his height and weight, which were much simpler. A DNA swab of saliva was put in a vial, but that was the only important thing that was taken. John Doe was given his placard of his prison identification, as he did the strangest thing. He immediately smiled, as he lined up against the wall in front of the camera.

The prison guards and the SWAT officers didn't know what the hell he was doing. There was a bright flash, as John Doe turned to the side for his other mugshot. The smile he had for the second mugshot immediately faded from his face, as it was a rested happy grin. "We'll take it from here. You know why this creep is here? Looking at him is making me uneasy.." one of the prison guards said to the SWAT officers, as he whispered something at him. "Keep all of your eyes on him. He was more crazy and pissed off when we caught him. He needs to be thrown in maximum security or he will probably go on a killing spree.."

"You think that?"
"I've been in the force to see all sorts of shit. This guy is like a demon. There's something wrong with him.."

Before John Doe was directed to his cell, he was forced into a changing room with some guards waiting his move. An orange prison uniform on the bench in front of him, as some male guards were watching him. "May I change in private?" John Doe asked in a polite manner, but there was the sound of the safety of a pistol going off. "You say that again and we going to have a problem.." one of the guards said, as his hand was at the holster of where his gun was. The two of them can hear an uncomfortable groan from John Doe. One of the guards gave a smirk, as John Doe was undressing himself. "Well, come on! You can do it faster than that! You want us to rip the clothes off of you?" the guard demanded, as the vest and shirt fell to the floor.

There were several scars that were on John Doe's back. When they asked him to turn around, there was more scars on his chest, as well. "Get those shoes and pants off. Come on!" John Doe did as he requested, though he was starting to smile again. Yet, it looked more forced. That expression was that way, until he was allowed to change into his prison uniform.

A while later, the man was thrown into his own cell. Due to the situation concerning his arrest, he was temporarily put in maximum security, until his court case would appear. When the lights went off, the man didn't try to go to sleep. Rather, he laid on his bed with his eyes open, as several thoughts were going through his mind. Unnatural thoughts. Thoughts on trying to piece together how things didn't go as planned.

It wasn't be long until two guards were sent to interrogate him on the "incident" that got him sent to Starkweather Correctional Facility. Two guards were sent to escort John Doe to the interrogation room to give a transcript on the event. As requested, they got equipped with some heavy-duty guns to make sure he didn't try anything reckless. They got the steel door three heavy knocks to which one of them peered through the small slit that was opened up.

"Stand against the wall. Turn around. Put your hands over your head and don't move. You try anything and we blow your brains out." the guard said, as he noticed that John Doe was already standing up in his cell with a smile on his face. He did as he was told, but there was already something off-putting about him. Nevertheless, they forced him back into his handcuffs and shoved him out of the cell. "A little easy on the touching, gentlemen.." John Doe said, as he was marched to the interrogation room.

The Interrogation

There was a camera filming from the corner of the room, as John Doe was handcuffed and shackled to the chair across the table. It was overkill for imprisonment, but seeing the damage done, it was better than nothing. There were guards outside of the room, but they kept a close eye on things through the one-way window. Because of his crazed state, the prisoner was given someone with enough experience and dirty laundry to get things out of the man's mouth. He sat silently across from John Doe, as he cleared his throat.

"I'm Detective Thomas Maine. I have been sent here to consult your case regarding your little free for all at the Red Light District.. Tell me. Why did you kill those people?"
"I'm asking a question here. Why did you kill them?"
"It wasn't my doing."
"I was set up. They were already dead when I found them."
"If you didn't kill-"

"I want my camera.."

"You're not getting your camera. It's already going to be evidence, so I doubt you will be getting it back any time soon. Now, tell me. You said the victims were already dead when you showed up at the bordello?"
"They were already dead. I didn't use my knife. I would have been more neat. I could have grabbed some duct tape and put it over that woman's eyes and mouth. Or maybe some glue to keep them open, so she doesn't blink. If she has beautiful eyes that is. Or maybe a blindfold. A melon baller would do some improvements.."
"Going on topic! Do you always have these thoughts about killing women?"
"Why not?"
"Do you have any hatred towards women?"

John Doe didn't even hesitate with the question, where he bluntly said, "Yes." "So you like to kill women, but the people who died weren't your victims?"
"I told you, Detective Maine. I was set up. How else would the owner be able to call the cops, the moment I arrived?"
"And the baggie?"
"You expect me to be carrying around a baggie of coke? I kill people, not do drugs. I know for a fact that one of the cops on the scene planted it on me. That bitch with the taser.. The cops are obviously corrupt."
"Do you have any proof for that?"
"I don't know, Detective Maine. Do you?"

"Changing the subject of the topic.. Explain the reason for your camera. Are you a hitman?"
"Nonsense! I'm trying to be an artist. There are parts of me who likes to indulge into different stages, but all I wanted to do was take some pictures."
"These pictures. Are most of them stored onto your camera?"
"It's homemade, but it isn't digital. There isn't anything wrong with being a little old school. A physical copy of a photo is like a painting. A photo gets all of the details right. A video does the same. A camcorder is much cheaper. Locations are important. There was a nice nest of rats in a drainpipe. Oh, the joy of the screams of a naked couple covered in artificial cheese spray to be fed.."
"I'm changing the topic-"
"Art is to be shared, detective! I tried to share them at my youth, but they want something more fake."

"Who have you been sending pictures to?"
"Commissions. Anonymously and from anonymous contracts. Sometimes, some woman wants me to take a picture of a cheery sunset, before I strangle her with a belt. Along with post-mortem evisceration, so I can feed on her organs by pan-frying them. I wish I had a little snack before I was arrested, but knowing your enforced diets.."
"I doubt you're a cannibal. I think you're playing us."
"Am I, detective?"
"Yes. I think you're lying. I need a name. Who hired you?"
"I wasn't hired by anyone. I was only a bystander."
"You were at the scene and you managed to kill two officers!"
"They got in the way, due to that fat pig."

Maine slammed the table to coax a reaction out of John Doe, which none was visible. "Ok. If you're not an assassin, explain how you managed to rip the gun out of that cop's hands. Which you used to shoot in the stomach to bleed out."
"Is he dead?"
"That's not the point! What matters is that you have full knowledge of killing, to which you seem to know how to handle those victims at the bordello. We can analyze the knots to restrain the victims to tie to your so-called handiwork."
"You forgotten that I was set-up, Maine! Or are you in on it?"

"Yeah.. Who's playing who? You want me to explain what I was doing up until that point? I was at the theater. There was a performance by this elegant theorbo player, so I snag myself a ticket. Then, I met a woman and her daughter, which we shared some interests. I saw how she was a woman on a business trip, bringing the sweet child along. She was single, so she offered me to head back to her hotel room. It was fancy. Perhaps a 4 to 5 star hotel. It wasn't until I noticed the wedding ring on her finger was when I saw that she wanted to cheat on a spouse. Then, she was in the bathroom, as her daughter was watching TV. That daughter of her was staring off into her own escapism, where she could have done the same at a motel room I was staying in. I could have told her about the magical creatures behind the screen, but it was the mother I was more focused on. She was bathing herself with bath salts and foam. I was by her side, as she looked at me all seductively... Until I forced her head underwater. That child was so nosy. Her innocent face peeking through the door, as I gave the mother a kiss on the neck. She looked at me silently and asked me, 'Are you playing with Mommy?'."

John Doe imitated a child's voice for the last part, as he gave a mocking laugh at Thomas Maine, who was uneasy. "Don't worry. All I did was snap the girl's neck. Is that all you want, Detective? What knowledge I have? Traditional knowledge." John Doe gave a lick with his tongue, as Detective Thomas Maine stood up from the table. "So you confess to a murder, but not the murder we're investigating. You're fucking sick."

"You think I'm crazy? I must wonder if you and I are the same? You might be crazy someday. Doing the same thing. Going crazy. Having the fears of losing your job over corruption charges. You don't seem married. You don't have a wedding ring. I don't need one. They are only trophies! Maybe you take pleasure at reviling yourself with images. The print and digital ones. I think you're going to use me as a scapegoat, regardless. Maybe I know why I'm being set up. I was near some dockyards. Browsing for places to hide things. You're hiding something there? Was that why my truck was stolen? Am I correct, gospel?" John Doe said, as Maine readied his gun.

"You're a psychopath who likes to charm people to kill them. That's all you are." Maine bluntly said, as John Doe gave a widening smile. "You want to convict me for a bunch of shopgirl-looking whores? What I want is to be rebirth. You will be one of the gospels to witness it from Arimathea. So many others can. You brought me into the spotlight without me being presentable."

"Guards! Get him out of there!" Main yelled for the prison security to come him to get John Doe unshackled and escorted away. "I'm eternal! I will be reborn anew! I will have my revenge!" John yelled, as he started to laugh like a complete lunatic. Detective Maine was left speechless, as he was dragged back to his cell.

"You want me to privately do this case?" Judge Umbridge asked Detective Thomas Maine, as he showed him the psychiatric report of John Doe. They still hadn't been aware to get him to crack on his real name. "This man will not confess to the bordello killings. The press is going to get more questions, since they heard that two officers were killed trying to arrest this guy."
"What do you want me to do about it? Let me give him a life sentence. Just looking at his mugshot of that white male smile shows that he's obviously a menace to society." Umbridge said, hypocritically speaking to Maine who is both white and male. "He's mentally unfit for trial. He might scare up the media."
"You are investigating those supposed confirmed killings he said, are you?"
"He doesn't give a name. We did a sweep of some hotels he mentioned for that wife and daughter, but we found some conflicting evidence on one possible lead." Thomas explained, as Umbridge was reading the transcript from the interrogation. Some of it had been altered and tweaked to remove any references to police corruption.

"I myself can't be in the public currently for this type of affairs. Or any recent affairs, regardless. There are too many people of the far-right who are trying to cancel me, since they keep saying that thug of a boy was innocent." Umbridge said coldly, with Maine now knowing why 3/4th of the police force now hates Umbridge. "Where's Judith Kernan? I thought she was in charge of running the prison?"
"She's on a business trip to Palo Alto. At a conference on privatizing. Nothing wrong with promoting our privately-owned institution to help criminals!" Umbridge said.

"Can you give this guy a private sentence, though? He might spew out a whole bunch of bullshit, such as claiming to be the Zodiac Killer or saying he had sex with Bigfoot. He's unfit for trial."
"The man who started a pile up with a van, because he thought he was Santa Claus who ruled the moon was unfit for trial, also."
"That's because they found his notebook after they scrapped his body from the river."
"Enough talk, Detective! I will settle this matter, as you wish. However, I request to examine the psychiatric report more thoroughly. Surely, security doesn't have to worry about an animal like this man."

"You're aren't considering taking this guy out of maximum security, right? Right?"

Unfortunately for Thomas Maine and the other officials at Starkweather Correctional Facility, Umbridge managed to fuck that one up hard. Even though, she did it under fake good intentions, seeing how she was getting some flack over severely punishing people. Luckily, the staff at the psych ward were allowed to do whatever they wanted with John Doe. So they came up with a plan.

John Doe wasn't brought to a padded cell. He ended up in a storage room with his straightjacket. "This is a mistake? Is this my cell?" John asked, as he noticed the 4 beefy orderlies who seem to have some batons and clubs ready. For some reason, they were wearing animal masks, most likely to not be identified by patients. "We heard you like to give yourself some attention. Well, you got our attention." one of the orderlies said, getting the baton ready. "I do know a good initiation when I see one, but I prefer not to be in your little fight club." John Doe joked, as he tried to leave, but the door was already locked.

"You're not leaving until we give you some therapy." the orderly said, as the others started to surround him. "You like killing people, huh?"
"He looks like a queer! Let's mess up his hair some more. Isn't that right, pretty boy!"
"Wipe that fucking smile off your face!"
"Come here!"

John Doe was struck in the chest with a baton, as he kneeled to the floor. There was a grunt of pain, as he still smiled. "A little less rough, please.." John Doe said, as he was trying to keep his smile on. However, the orderlies kept beating him with the batons and clubs. "You're making a big mistake..."" John Doe was given a brief moment to speak until he got smacked in the face hard. "We fix you up good!" one of the orderlies yelled, before John Doe saw black.

John Doe ended up in the infirmary wing, as he opened up his eyes. His face and smile was twitching, as he was trying to process what has happened. He saw a doctor shining a flashlight in his eyes, as Doe saw that he was still restrained. He overheard one of the doctors speaking to a nurse and orderly about him. "Patient is to be sedated at all times. Ketamine and some other tranquilizers should do the trick. Constant sedation should numb the mind and prevent the patient from engaging in violent thoughts or lashing out." the doctor said, as John tried to move his arms and legs. He couldn't. They must already had sedated him. His whole body was numb.

He would end up lying on the bed, until he felt motor function that could get him to walk. The orderlies were really breathing down his neck, as John Doe was finally given a white padded cell after they found that he was charged to be checked out of the infirmary. John Doe felt his body, as he was alone in his cell. His bones weren't broken, but his body was battered and bruised. He would just need to wait. He needed to think. He needed to escape.

He wanted revenge.

Timothy Harrelson

"Timothy?" Dolan said, as he was getting his fancy suit and tie ready for a business gala at Starkweather at night. "Yes, Boss?" Tim said, as he was watching Dolan get ready. "Could you stay here at the penthouse to join the security shift here? I'm off to discuss business affairs in the state, so I need to keep a high profile." Dolan said, as he was in black with grey. "Do I have to check that workshop of yours?" Timothy said.

"Come on, Timothy. My dioramas can't possibly still unnerve you. It's like being scared of a cockroach." Dolan said, as Timothy was forced to agree. Timothy waited until Dolan left, as he explored the large penthouse with some other minor goons from the League with him. When Timothy was alone, he had more time to think. Things hadn't been looking up for him after several months. He still had his wife, but he didn't know if he could be able to get a kid in soon. He had a sad sick secret of his own. He had been seeing a doctor, where the latest check-up revealed something bad.

Skin cancer. A rare type at that. Timothy wasn't on the verge of dying, though he has been secretly taking some surgery and heavy painkillers. He didn't know if he would be able to get himself cured. It wasn't like he had a month to live. As long as he got it treated, he could still keep himself in keep for years and years. It was strange, as Timothy had a deep thought. He had been in the Deimos Trafficking League for who knows how long. It was a miracle he hadn't died, yet.

He ended up in the workshop, as he making sure that everything didn't look out of place. There was something on the table that was next to a new diorama that Dolan was working on. Timothy took a look at it to see that it was a small miniature of what appeared to be a shot up kid. There was detailed bullet holes and fake blood on the wounds, as some dark memories were coming back. Was Dolan making a diorama on the Gladstone massacre.


He can't think about it.

It was just a job. Pearson was right.

Timothy went to the door that led out of the workshop, as he turned off the light. Before he left, he noticed that mannequin again. The mannequin of Penny Colemont. It looked like Dolan did some modifications to her. Her eyes were now completely black, where she was smiling at him with a grin stretched all the way across her face. Her mannequin was in the shadows in the corner of the workshop, as Timothy turned on the light wh-

She was gone.

"What?" Timothy blinked twice, as the mannequin was no longer there. Timothy looked around the room, as the workshop didn't have it. The mannequin wasn't even there at all. Or was it? Timothy noticed the diorama that Dolan was working on. He recognized the farmhouse that belonged to the Marsh family. A sense of disgust and guilt came back to him. "No. It was just a job!" Timothy thought, as he quickly walked over to the diorama. The extra details of the bodies lying around the farmhouse and barn were an extra sick detail by Dolan. Timothy immediately turned the diorama around, before he immediately left the workshop and turned off the light.

Emily Marsh

The day after Timothy's shift, things back at Starkweather Correctional Facility were a bit tense. The incident with Appleholm's death was somewhat unexpected. For all of the other doctors and orderlies, they had assumed that Emily officially snapped. They didn't have any other options. Judith Kernan would have to be needed to discuss what new psychiatrist would be appropriate for Emily, now that Kay Appleholm's face was stomped in. Maybe the pen in the throat was what killed the bad doctor however. Whatever the case, Emily Marsh was given the same type of treatment, as the other most dangerous person in the psych ward. A similar cocktail of ketamine and tranquilizers to numb the senses and mind. A straightjacket was added to make sure Emily didn't try to kill any other orderlies or doctors, however she was currently far gone and unpredictable. Whatever the case, it was better than having to clean mud. That type of kinetic therapy wasn't working for Marsh's taste.

When she was able to still think in her drugged mind, all she could think about was Glenn and avenging her family. Even with the drugs in her system, she felt like she was able to think clearly. If "clearly" was the proper word to explain it. There was a knock at the door of her cell, as the orderlies had her left her cell. It was that time to visit the desolate yard within the prison. The yard itself wasn't the official main prison yard, where all of the other inmates would be at. The loonies had their own yard to themselves, but it was much smaller than the usual yard that all of the inmates can run around and engage their usual tribalism of prison gangs. In the desolate yard, Emily may or may not have noticed, but there were a steady amount of delusional people standing around in a daze in white. It used to make her uncomfortable, but now, she grew too used to it.

There was this one man standing around that she tends to see. He was about 6 and half feet tall, where he appeared to be of Native American descent, even though her skin was still pale. He didn't grow any facial hair, but he had long black hair and looked ragged. All of the other orderlies would call him the "Shaman", but Emily doesn't know what got him into the psych ward. The orderlies knew. The reason was due to arson, where the guy was stockpiling enough flammables to burn down hundreds of forest acres. Usually, he would ramble about certain topics, such as God, conspiracy theories, and sometimes he would acknowledge Emily herself. He tend to refer to her as a "lost one", but Emily doesn't follow up a lot on his conversations. Most of them were only pure gibberish. There was one talk that amused Emily about a wicker man at the sunset, but things would descent into word salad afterwards. However, today was different. As Emily was alone, the Shaman wandered near her.

"They had sinned upon this earth." he said in a deep voice. "They had brought a devil here unknowingly. It has no soul. No emotion. Only a mask. I see it in my sleep. It's right here in the yard. There is a reason to be scared. So we must be so together." the Shaman said, as Emily heard him. Emily didn't really know what the hell he was talking about. She wanted to find a way out of this retched place.

It wasn't until she saw him. He was standing alone, staring off into space. John Doe's appearance had changed slightly, though it was for the worse. He still had the straightjacket on him, but it was tighter than usual always. His face still showed a smile, but his eyes were tired and lifeless. His neat brown hair was a mess, where his teeth were starting to yellow. There was a heavy vibe from him. He felt eldritch and abnormal. Like that of a sleep paralysis demon.

For some reason, Emily had an interest in him. It was almost hypnotizing. Strange even. It wasn't of an obsession, but there was a weird sense of fate. Naturally, Emily would later end up meeting the man before they were forced back to their separate cells. However, the man did introduce himself to her. It was a name that didn't seem like an alias, but it wasn't a name she heard before.

His name was Henry Lynch.
Local 22 year old Diet Coke Addict College Student Ruins Everything


RPs I do
- How do you do fellow kids? You want to see something violent? - Artemis: Deimos Trafficking League (Horror/Mature)
- Descend into the forgotten tourist traps of Florida on this transgressive RP! - The Community (Mature/Black Comedy/Slice-of-Life)

My overall account that I use for P2TM and even for international roleplaying! MNM is a mysterious and extremely dangerous dictatorship filled with supernatural oddities, demons, militarized soldiers everywhere, and a misanthropic nihilistic dictator who doesn't give a damn. It's basically if the SCP Foundation got mixed with 1984.

User avatar
Infected Mushroom
Post Czar
Posts: 38812
Founded: Apr 15, 2014
Corrupt Dictatorship

Postby Infected Mushroom » Sun Jun 27, 2021 12:12 am

Emily Marsh

Emily was now a different person; and in her mind she saw things more clearly than she had ever seen. A new purpose had awakened in her, and though the orderlies moved her to a darker place and administered heavy dosages of ketamine and painkillers to numb her mind, she found solace in her new inner world. Her visits with Glenn Marsh in the Dream World became more and more of a regular occurrence and she grew to look forward to them. For an entire year she had no purpose and had been a complete victim of circumstances but now she realized, she could try and make a difference.

Yes, her husband, her children, and the rest of her family were dead… but they weren’t truly gone. They continued to exist and empower her; she WASN’T alone.

The nightmares became less and less pronounced, instead, they became increasingly replaced with visits to the Dream World, fantasies of violence against those who had wronged her, and flashbacks to a more peaceful epoque of her previous life. Somehow the murder of Kay Appleholm had a stabilizing effect on the former elementary school teacher, almost a sort of empowering effect…

Many a times a day, when she was trapped in solitude, she would run over the name and faces of those who had wronged her… the list was so very long: Dolan Schaeffer, the murder crew of six (she had no names but she remembered faces… the slightly white-haired one that beat Glenn to death in front of her with a golf club, the two “guards” from the Gladstone town union meeting that had again showed to shoot her family down, the Chinese mercenary, the one that grabbed her and smelled of garbage, and there was one more… he had dark hair and he carried a tenderizer)… Detective Donovan, Judge Umbridge, Ace Ondowski (she had deliberated about this one because he seemed a bit too incompetent to be in on it but then she remembered that he sold her case out)… and for now, she had to assume that this entire facility, or at least a huge part of it, was against her. It was a LOT.

Despite a renewed purpose, things looked bleak and as conditions stood, there was absolutely no way to get out of here. Getting rid of Appleholm had been cathartic but it also meant that her hand had been partly revealed, and now the staff were on to her and she had lost all privileges. Emily and Glenn had been discussing options, but they were on the short end of things and it was hard. Still, it was a sort of project and it kept her mind occupied, and it was something Emily really needed… ever since her old life as a teacher had been ripped away from her.

The yard was a nice change of scenery and she rather liked it. The Shaman was an interesting character, though he didn’t make much sense; the other crazies had seemed a threat at first but since everyone was in straightjackets, there had been no incident. Emily mostly kept to herself, being somewhat shy, and preferring instead to quietly observe her surroundings. She had been growing increasingly paranoid and there was a sense that anything she said could come back to bite her… For all she knew, many of them were seeing the doctors and it was clear the doctors couldn’t be trusted.

However, the straitjacket was a huge annoyance. She was really starting to miss the free use of her arms. That thing was really starting to hurt…

It wasn't until she saw him. He was standing alone, staring off into space. John Doe's appearance had changed slightly, though it was for the worse. He still had the straightjacket on him, but it was tighter than usual always. His face still showed a smile, but his eyes were tired and lifeless. His neat brown hair was a mess, where his teeth were starting to yellow. There was a heavy vibe from him. He felt eldritch and abnormal. Like that of a sleep paralysis demon.

For some reason, Emily had an interest in him. It was almost hypnotizing. Strange even. It wasn't of an obsession, but there was a weird sense of fate. Naturally, Emily would later end up meeting the man before they were forced back to their separate cells. However, the man did introduce himself to her. It was a name that didn't seem like an alias, but it wasn't a name she heard before.

His name was Henry Lynch.

“Oh hmmm…” she said, finding herself a little bit nervous somehow. “My name is Emily… You can call me Emily. Emily Marsh. How… how long have you been here? I’ve… I’ve lost of track of time myself.”

This feeling... I can't explain it. Why do I get the sense that this meeting is going to matter. Who... who is this person?

She was surprised at how her own voice sounded. It was a long way gone from the energetic voice she had used before in the classroom and it seemed a bit pale and feeble. The time in this facility had really warped her.
Last edited by Infected Mushroom on Sun Jun 27, 2021 12:14 am, edited 1 time in total.

User avatar
Main Nation Ministry
Posts: 13014
Founded: Sep 28, 2016
Psychotic Dictatorship

Postby Main Nation Ministry » Sun Jun 27, 2021 10:37 am

Henry Lynch

He heard Emily Marsh approach and speak to him, as he turned around to face her. He looked energetically drained, since he was drugged like many of the others. He saw how she was as drugged as her. The man noticed Emily, but there seemed to be a different reaction from him. Emily didn't know if it was similar to her own, but he seemed to get the same level of interest.

"How long..?" he spoke with a voice that seemed cheery and seductive, but Emily could tell that he was drugged out of his mind from how it sounded. "I don't seem to have a calendar. Or a clock for that matter."

He tilted his head to the side a bit, as he observed her. "I might be dreaming... but I know a fallen angel when I see one.. Tell me, Emily. What brings you here?" he said, looking at Marsh. He sounds delusional, but he seems interested in Emily.
Local 22 year old Diet Coke Addict College Student Ruins Everything


RPs I do
- How do you do fellow kids? You want to see something violent? - Artemis: Deimos Trafficking League (Horror/Mature)
- Descend into the forgotten tourist traps of Florida on this transgressive RP! - The Community (Mature/Black Comedy/Slice-of-Life)

My overall account that I use for P2TM and even for international roleplaying! MNM is a mysterious and extremely dangerous dictatorship filled with supernatural oddities, demons, militarized soldiers everywhere, and a misanthropic nihilistic dictator who doesn't give a damn. It's basically if the SCP Foundation got mixed with 1984.

User avatar
Infected Mushroom
Post Czar
Posts: 38812
Founded: Apr 15, 2014
Corrupt Dictatorship

Postby Infected Mushroom » Sun Jun 27, 2021 2:32 pm

Emily Marsh

Fallen angel? It seemed apt.

It… it is what I have become…

Emily considered being defensive and careful but then she found that a bit of emotion was coming to her. She hadn’t said anything true to anyone it’s been so long… all… all of this pretending-

But no… my Glenn.. he’s still with me. He must be.

“They say I killed and massacred my entire family, that I shot them all,” she found herself saying, her voice was strangely emotional. “But… but that is not the truth. I… I never did that. I was set up. I trusted that the… the police and the court would believe me but they… they all betrayed me.”

And in that moment she realized just how much it hurt.

In the Dream World, somehow, when speaking to Glenn and the others, the events of the past seemed removed, and the entire thing seemed almost like a game and a project. But this was a moment where it all came back. She had a life… and it was taken and it was never going back.

“Have I… have I seen you before?” she added, slightly wide-eyed. “I don’t know. You look familiar but it can’t…”
Last edited by Infected Mushroom on Sun Jun 27, 2021 2:38 pm, edited 2 times in total.

User avatar
Main Nation Ministry
Posts: 13014
Founded: Sep 28, 2016
Psychotic Dictatorship

Postby Main Nation Ministry » Sun Jun 27, 2021 4:20 pm

Henry Lynch

The man listened to Emily's story of how she was framed and felt betrayed by those around her. He seemed to understand what she meant, though he was starting to hear the emotion from her voice. He was silent for a moment, until he explained his side of the story. "That's ironic. I seem to be in the same situation under different circumstances.." the man said.

"My name is Henry Lynch. Strange name, I know. I'm not a part of this city. I was travelling, until I ended up becoming a victim of a... what I believe to be a set-up. Someone called the cops the moment my attention was drawn elsewhere. To make matters worse, I believe whoever tried to frame me was trying to get me sentenced to life. They even found a baggie of sugar that some cop shoved into my pockets. The nerve.." Lynch explained, where Marsh mentioned the deja vu feeling with Lynch. "I never seen your face before, Emily. Though, I'm having the same feeling. It's an uncommon occurrence for me."

Emily didn't know what to make of Lynch. He seemed mysterious, but there was this... feeling with him. It wasn't love, but there was this attraction. Was Lynch causing this?
Local 22 year old Diet Coke Addict College Student Ruins Everything


RPs I do
- How do you do fellow kids? You want to see something violent? - Artemis: Deimos Trafficking League (Horror/Mature)
- Descend into the forgotten tourist traps of Florida on this transgressive RP! - The Community (Mature/Black Comedy/Slice-of-Life)

My overall account that I use for P2TM and even for international roleplaying! MNM is a mysterious and extremely dangerous dictatorship filled with supernatural oddities, demons, militarized soldiers everywhere, and a misanthropic nihilistic dictator who doesn't give a damn. It's basically if the SCP Foundation got mixed with 1984.



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