RE: Journal of Sociology [S!6] - [Round One: The Pacific Spire]
05-12-2013, 09:13 AM
(This post was last modified: 05-13-2013, 09:14 PM by chimericgenderbeast.)
Five irritatingly long seconds of nothing passed after the executive's introduction. Elise ground her teeth, waiting either for an opening to escape or for Alberich's new employer to continue his overblown spiel. She half-heartedly contemplated acting in an almost-suicidal frenzy, lashing out in an attempt at freedom-- she wouldn't get away as easily as she had earlier, not when they knew she was already capable of getting out. Her hobnailed boot scraped and clacked against the floor in frustration-- a cue Sir Bradley noticed, as he glanced at her briefly and continued to address the necrotic scientist.
"Well. I guess we should see about taking care of your, erm, damage." Bradley awkwardly said, appraising the ambulatory corpse. "Thompson--"
He waved a hand at a nearby employee, who rushed over.
"--see to it that the good doctor's escorted to the medical lab, will you? I'd hate to see the newest member of our team die, er, die again." Sir Bradley finally finished.
Alberich's body gnashed and chomped in response, his lesser half betraying his hunger. Alberich immediately made an attempt at exerting control over the zombie's jaw, clamping it shut in an attempt to obscure the nature of his disloyal counterpart. The rest of his body retorted with the beginnings of a feral, almost-predatory stance, nearly ready to abandon self-preservation in face of the burning hunger. Alberich coughed-- a wet, raw hacking-- as his head shifted towards looking at the executive. "I, urm--" He began, attempting to exert himself enough to gesture at the wounds.
"Oh, yes, of course! Thompson, while you're at it, fetch those interns on the floor beneath us. Can't let the doctor's hunger get in the way of scientific progress, can we?"
Elise scowled underneath her mask, disgusted with the monstrous nature of the scientist. She briefly glanced at Blake, attempting to gauge him-- he appeared bored and nonchalant, as though two dozen armed guards and getting captured again was a severe annoyance in an already-frustrating day. A tetchy cough escaped her mouth, muffled by her beaked respirator, as she looked at Alberich again. This time, she noticed the metal plating visible on his skull where skin gave way, along with the steel surrogate-ligaments and other modifications now made manifest by his damaged state. Although her mask dulled her sense of smell, she could sniff out the vaguest hint of chemical preservatives.
She scowled slightly harder as she put her observations together.
Alberich's head swiveled around, looking at the alchemist. Moments before, she had attempted to kill him-- but he recognized her as a curiosity, and encountering someone who shared his affliction could provide a valuable insight.
The professor began to speak. "Might I suggest that miss, ah, Pestarztyn, was it--"
"Doctor Pestarztyn, if it pleases the corpse-footed bastard." Elise shot back, not bothering to return his gaze-- she had no particular attachment to the title, but interacting with the professor brought out an insistence on minor, spiteful decorum.
"--be responsible for repairing my damage? I believe she may have some expertise in the manner." He finished. The absurd costume, the altogether-fraudulent labeling as an 'alchemist'-- he had every reason to suspect the efficacy of her medical ability, but he needed a chance to examine her. His gaze returned to Sir Bradley.
"I think we can arrange that, sure. What do you want us to do with the other one?" Bradley asked.
"I--"
His mind vividly recalled his neck getting slashed by Blake's boxcutter-- and on the basic, primal level his undead instincts influenced, he wanted to see the man dead. At the same time, he recalled the warning they had been given-- that as soon as one of them died, their location would be replaced. He could not afford to squander this opportunity.
"--it is of vital importance he not be harmed. I'm afraid I cannot fully explain why, but please trust me when I say it is essential to my, erm, employment." He finished.
"Well, alright then. Let's get going-- we've got science to accomplish!" Bradley enthusiastically responded, and the assortment of guards and other employees scattered, returning to their various postings and other assignments.
As a pair of armed guards and a cadre of other technicians escorted her away, alongside the undead professor, Elise could do nothing but clench her fist and watch as seconds of her dwindling lifespan were uselessly whittled away.
---
"Miss Pestarzt--"
"Doctor Pestarztyn." Elise immediately corrected, not bothering to look up from her work. Her fingers twitched slightly-- the scalpel she held moved in response, widening an incision around the bolt lodged in Alberich's arm. Another set of fingers reached back, re-sorting the collection of surgical implements and alchemical potions.
"--very well, doctor Pestarztyn, your aggression is entirely unwarranted. Contrary to what you may--"
Alberich involuntarily winced as the alchemist stopped cutting, and instead settled for pushing the crossbow bolt out through his forearm.
"--think, I am not your enemy." The undead scientist said. Even as he felt no pain, no response of autonomic nerves, the sight still unnerved him-- even with the experience he had in observing gruesome injuries. His lesser counterpart attempted to squirm, working against the restraints holding him to the surgical table-- that was a point Elise had been extremely specific on, after he had explained how anaesthetics would have little to no effect. His head remained free, however, and was offered the remarkably disconcerting view of surgery being performed on him.
"I don't know what you're talking about." Elise replied, grabbing a handful of reagents and mixing them in a small mortar and pestle.
"I can clearly see you've spent the past five minutes stabbing scalpels into my leg." Alberich plainly stated.
"Oh."
It wasn't his noticing that unnerved her-- she'd been stabbing scalpels reflexively, looking for some outlet for her pent-up aggression. It was that that five minutes had been spent-- five minutes had been meaninglessly frittered away, five minutes that she could have spent doing something had been squandered with the task of treating this monstrosity. She cursed under her breath-- her accent and the respirator muffled the noise to an unintelligible slur. Her mind neatly pushed aside the knowledge that their was nothing else she could do, instead fermenting thoughts of desperate rebellion. Behind her mask, her eyes darted back to the pair of armed guards overseeing her-- they were too far away to dispatch, and she doubted it would be easy to eliminate Alberich.
"Shouldn't you, hrm, rectify that?" Alberich questioned.
Elise wrenched the implements out of his leg, neglecting to respond to his remark. She stopped grinding, satisfied-- the reagents were done, and she poured the soft mass of alchemical ingredients onto a bandage, applying the newly-prepared poultice to some of the more damaged limbs. He attention quickly shifted to the slit across his neck-- the one that Blake had inflicted. Her hands retrieved a needle and thread.
Alberich began again, hoping this time the alchemist would deign to respond. "Listen, I am aware we didn't get off on the right foot, but--"
"But you're a monster." Elise finally snapped back.
Alberich nearly began to respond, until the needle and thread descended on his neck-- forcing him to remain silent.
"You think I didn't notice the metal plate, or the steel in your tendons, or the preservatives or the surgical marks or the countless other telltale signs? You did this to yourself, didn't you. You became that-- thing." Her fingers adroitly worked, sewing flesh as she spoke. She glanced at the adjacent table, where two corpses lay-- the tops of their skulls had been neatly bisected, and a mess of partially-uneaten cerebrum dribbled out. The alchemist vividly recalled how Alberich had torn into their brains and had to stop herself from tearing through the flesh of his neck as she worked angrily.
The professor finally had a minute, as she finished sewing and turned her attention the jumble of organs and viscera leaking from his abdomen. "I have been trying to correct my condit--"
"Correct what, exactly? You're already dead, there's nothing left to fix." Elise retorted. She paused as she examined Alberich's open chest cavity, trying to assess what would be necessary. She grabbed two vials, pouring their magic-infused contents into the wound and watching as they worked to repair and heal the damaged organs.
Alberich ignored the glow of Elise's extracts as they regenerated torn tissue-- the charlatan parlor-tricks she called alchemy would have to wait until later to be disproven. "But you're like me." He wryly answered.
"I am not like yo--"
"My lesser counterpart didn't attempt to devour you. He's only done that with corpses. I think that's proof enough that you're not what you say you are. You're like me-- a ghoul, a zombie, whatever word you want to use."
The alchemist stopped, losing her focus on treating Alberich's injuries-- she had finished, the gaping wound in his chest had healed itself as a result of the extract she had applied and there was little else left to treat. She pulled off one of her gloves, exposing the hand underneath-- it was sore and calloused, and had the faintest hint of sickly grey hue, but it still showed the vaguest sign of life. She twirled a scalpel, weakly pressing the blade against the ball of her thumb. A few drops of red blood-- a vibrant red, not the dull red of dead fluid Alberich had-- dripped out as she displayed the cut to the professor.
"I still have a pulse, more than I can say about you. I'm still alive-- and I can still fix this."
Alberich saw the two armed guards approaching, aware that the alchemist had completed her work.
"I will kill you, Alberich. Maybe not right now, but I'll make sure you pay for what you've done." She said, a grim finality lacing her words as she was led away.
---
"How do you like your new laboratory, Doctor von Wissenschaft?" Sir Bradley asked.
"It's-- adequate for my purposes, yes." Alberich frankly replied. His old laboratory had been far larger, and much more suited to someone of his caliber; this meager space would have to suffice as a substitute. With any luck, he would be able to make some actual progress on reversing his condition, something no doubt helped by his new employer's amorality.
It was odd to be in a laboratory space again, Alberich realized-- it had been far too long since he had conducted any sort of experimentation, considering how busy he had been with his uncooperative counterpart. John Doe, at least for now, seemed docile and almost complacent-- his attempts at directing him weren't met with the same resistance as before, and Alberich nearly found himself in possession of an inkling of manual dexterity. The professor briefly wondered just what Elise had done, before dismissing offhand the notion that her treatment had any effect past repairing his body's damage.
For a brief moment, the professor reflected on just how far he had descended that employment at a common business was now considered fortunate-- and just as quickly, his thoughts were disrupted as Bradley spoke once more.
"You uh, mentioned earlier that it was important that no harm come to the other two. Would you be willing to explain that?"
The professor paused-- or his head did, as the rest of his body continued to inquisitively grapple with the spread of glassware on one of the laboratory benches.
Part of him felt uncertain about continuing, that explaining how he got here would be a decision he'd regret. He had no confidence in what his situation even was-- it was clearly a ploy of devious minds, alongside all of the others there with him, alchemists and sorceresses and all the other charlatans. But it was undeniable that he had been transported somewhere else, somewhere entirely unfamiliar-- and he did not wish to press his luck and make assumptions, not when an opportunity such as this presented itself.
He would have to accept that this was real, then-- at least, for now.
"I've been pressed into an, ah, experiment, along with eight others. We were told that the death of one would lead to a change in location, and then were--" Alberich interrupted himself with an attempt at a shrug, as best he could with no control over his shoulders; his gesture came out instead as an odd cock of his head. "--teleported here. I'm afraid my, erm, employment is dependent on none of the other participants expiring." Alberich finally answered, hoping his hesitation did not betray him.
Sir Bradley nodded an acknowledgment, as though Alberich's answer made total sense-- and in his mind, thoughts churned with the new information. "Who are the others?"
Alberich strained to remember. "There were eight others-- you have two in captivity already, and there was also myself, of course. There was a pile of clothing, a robot of some fashion, a--" Alberich winced, uttering his next word with a generous slathering of utter disdain "--sorceress, and a few others that I can't quite remember." He finished, unsatisfied with his response but unable to offer more.
"Where might they have come from?"
Alberich attempted his facsimile of a shrug once again. "I wouldn't know. If they are real-- and I should note, this is hardly my specialty-- I'd hazard something along the lines proposed by the Multi-Worlds Hypothesis, but that's a colossal leap in logic, of cours--"
Bradley had heard enough. It wouldn't be enough to monopolize science, not went there was even the faintest possibility of countless other universes that went untapped and unenlightened. His ambition demanded more-- it demanded that he monopolize science across not just this one, insignificant speck of dust, no; not even having all the science in this universe would be enough.
Sir Bradley was going to monopolize science across every universe.
---
Alchemy was often referred to as the magic of precision.
It was not like other schools of thaumaturgy, which relied on the variable skill that the practitioner had. It was closer to the new schools of magical engineering, built around precision and repetition, rather than the old and powerful magic that could scour cities and lay host to dominance over reality. It was still a magic-- it drew from the unknown wellspring of power that resided within every magic-user, that font of arcane energy-- but it used ingredients and reagents and extracts as catalysts for its desired effect, not crystals and gems and the tools of medieval wizards. But alchemy was controlled, almost mundane in his applications; it was a magic that prided itself in repeatable infusions and known extracts. It was a magic taught in textbooks, not in tomes.
Elise silently lamented that she was incompetent in those traditional magics.
She was crouched down, squatting over a small, improvised set-up. Her shaky hands adjusted the small handful of reagents she had smuggled with her in a miniscule vial. Being able to summon a fireball and crash through the door trapping her would be useful-- more so than trying to extract a spark of her preferred effect out of the ingredients she now had. She fidgeted, adding a microscopic portion to the concoction, praying it would work. Her thoughts drifted to anger again-- anger at Alberich, at Nemo, at the pompous suited man whose thugs had ushered her into a locked cell. She thought about how she'd make sure they paid for what they had done.
Elise cursed at the thought-- out loud, not the silent cursing her mind was now so fond of. She remembered the promise she had made, the promise that she wouldn't play along with the Sociologist's experiment. In spite of that promise to spite her captor, to refuse to be a participant in her game, here she was now-- single-mindedly fixated on killing two of the other captives. The dissonance between vigilantism and her own desire to assail her true captor infuriated her, gnawed at her tauntingly.
She looked down at the vial-- it had changed to an acrid-fumed green liquid, exactly what the alchemist had hoped for. There was something else she had to take care, first, before she made her escape. Her free hand reached back, undoing some of the straps attaching her respirator. She nearly saw herself in the room's mirror, but caught herself-- she didn't need to see what was under her mask, that was unimportant. It was a distraction. She could still fix this.
In a single motion she swallowed a gulp of smuggled medicine. The mask was back on-- bleached-white beak over her face, tubing connected to filters, goggles in place. Elise stood up, and poured the green liquid onto the door-- watching as the acid she made burned and melted through the lock, rendering it no longer an obstacle.
Bradley, Alberich, Nemo, Sociologist-- they would all pay, and that's all she needed to know as she escaped once again.
---
"Attention, employees of the Pacific Spire."
Sir Bradley's voice was carried across every loudspeaker in the Pacific Spire, from the lowest basement floors to the roof, countless feet above the ground and tickling the clouds, steel and plates of glass slicing through water vapor. Hundreds of floors heard his broadcast, and thousands of employees who lived and worked and died in the Spire now listened attentively.
"Or uh, just the Heisenberg Science Company now, seeing as we own this entire place. You've heard me correctly, you're all part of the Heisenberg family now." Bradley continued, his jovial voice echoing through crowded cubicle mazes and abandoned maintenance hallways alike. "Some of you might ask if this is illegal, and let me assure you-- I've talked to the boys in legal, and they say this is totally permissible. We've got dominant market share in all your companies, that means we set the rules."
Not every level of the skyscraper listened-- some had been necessary conquests to establish Bradley's new hegemony.
One floor was silent, their occupants nothing more than burnt, flash-fried silhouettes against the walls, their stances frozen with arms raised in a final, hopeless gesture of surrender. Wind blew freely through broken windows on another-- a maddening broadcast had been focused there, and its occupants had chosen to throw themselves out of the building in a futile attempt to end the mind-destroying noise. A third floor had its employees as nothing but frozen statues-- their flesh ossified from exposure to an alien chemical. Innumerable atrocities had been committed, enabled by the distortion of physics in an elevator shaft and the unreal revelations it had brought with it.
"Now then, before you start to fret, you can rest easy. You're part of the company now, and we take care of our own. We're all in this together-- for science." The executive continued.
In the middle of the building, the intersection of ley-lines went completely unnoticed, save for the four present within it-- their presence was overshadowed by the other magical anomaly that went exploited.
"However, there is something I need to address, and that's our uninvited guests. The nine of you-- you know you are-- aren't welcome here, and I'm afraid we're going to have to ask you to surrender yourselves. For science, of course. If you don't, well, I can't promise you that the involuntary testing you'll be subject to will be as pleasant as it could be. That's all for now, we're done here." Bradley finished.
And with the end of his message, the search for the remainder of the Sociologist's subjects began.
"Well. I guess we should see about taking care of your, erm, damage." Bradley awkwardly said, appraising the ambulatory corpse. "Thompson--"
He waved a hand at a nearby employee, who rushed over.
"--see to it that the good doctor's escorted to the medical lab, will you? I'd hate to see the newest member of our team die, er, die again." Sir Bradley finally finished.
Alberich's body gnashed and chomped in response, his lesser half betraying his hunger. Alberich immediately made an attempt at exerting control over the zombie's jaw, clamping it shut in an attempt to obscure the nature of his disloyal counterpart. The rest of his body retorted with the beginnings of a feral, almost-predatory stance, nearly ready to abandon self-preservation in face of the burning hunger. Alberich coughed-- a wet, raw hacking-- as his head shifted towards looking at the executive. "I, urm--" He began, attempting to exert himself enough to gesture at the wounds.
"Oh, yes, of course! Thompson, while you're at it, fetch those interns on the floor beneath us. Can't let the doctor's hunger get in the way of scientific progress, can we?"
Elise scowled underneath her mask, disgusted with the monstrous nature of the scientist. She briefly glanced at Blake, attempting to gauge him-- he appeared bored and nonchalant, as though two dozen armed guards and getting captured again was a severe annoyance in an already-frustrating day. A tetchy cough escaped her mouth, muffled by her beaked respirator, as she looked at Alberich again. This time, she noticed the metal plating visible on his skull where skin gave way, along with the steel surrogate-ligaments and other modifications now made manifest by his damaged state. Although her mask dulled her sense of smell, she could sniff out the vaguest hint of chemical preservatives.
She scowled slightly harder as she put her observations together.
Alberich's head swiveled around, looking at the alchemist. Moments before, she had attempted to kill him-- but he recognized her as a curiosity, and encountering someone who shared his affliction could provide a valuable insight.
The professor began to speak. "Might I suggest that miss, ah, Pestarztyn, was it--"
"Doctor Pestarztyn, if it pleases the corpse-footed bastard." Elise shot back, not bothering to return his gaze-- she had no particular attachment to the title, but interacting with the professor brought out an insistence on minor, spiteful decorum.
"--be responsible for repairing my damage? I believe she may have some expertise in the manner." He finished. The absurd costume, the altogether-fraudulent labeling as an 'alchemist'-- he had every reason to suspect the efficacy of her medical ability, but he needed a chance to examine her. His gaze returned to Sir Bradley.
"I think we can arrange that, sure. What do you want us to do with the other one?" Bradley asked.
"I--"
His mind vividly recalled his neck getting slashed by Blake's boxcutter-- and on the basic, primal level his undead instincts influenced, he wanted to see the man dead. At the same time, he recalled the warning they had been given-- that as soon as one of them died, their location would be replaced. He could not afford to squander this opportunity.
"--it is of vital importance he not be harmed. I'm afraid I cannot fully explain why, but please trust me when I say it is essential to my, erm, employment." He finished.
"Well, alright then. Let's get going-- we've got science to accomplish!" Bradley enthusiastically responded, and the assortment of guards and other employees scattered, returning to their various postings and other assignments.
As a pair of armed guards and a cadre of other technicians escorted her away, alongside the undead professor, Elise could do nothing but clench her fist and watch as seconds of her dwindling lifespan were uselessly whittled away.
---
"Miss Pestarzt--"
"Doctor Pestarztyn." Elise immediately corrected, not bothering to look up from her work. Her fingers twitched slightly-- the scalpel she held moved in response, widening an incision around the bolt lodged in Alberich's arm. Another set of fingers reached back, re-sorting the collection of surgical implements and alchemical potions.
"--very well, doctor Pestarztyn, your aggression is entirely unwarranted. Contrary to what you may--"
Alberich involuntarily winced as the alchemist stopped cutting, and instead settled for pushing the crossbow bolt out through his forearm.
"--think, I am not your enemy." The undead scientist said. Even as he felt no pain, no response of autonomic nerves, the sight still unnerved him-- even with the experience he had in observing gruesome injuries. His lesser counterpart attempted to squirm, working against the restraints holding him to the surgical table-- that was a point Elise had been extremely specific on, after he had explained how anaesthetics would have little to no effect. His head remained free, however, and was offered the remarkably disconcerting view of surgery being performed on him.
"I don't know what you're talking about." Elise replied, grabbing a handful of reagents and mixing them in a small mortar and pestle.
"I can clearly see you've spent the past five minutes stabbing scalpels into my leg." Alberich plainly stated.
"Oh."
It wasn't his noticing that unnerved her-- she'd been stabbing scalpels reflexively, looking for some outlet for her pent-up aggression. It was that that five minutes had been spent-- five minutes had been meaninglessly frittered away, five minutes that she could have spent doing something had been squandered with the task of treating this monstrosity. She cursed under her breath-- her accent and the respirator muffled the noise to an unintelligible slur. Her mind neatly pushed aside the knowledge that their was nothing else she could do, instead fermenting thoughts of desperate rebellion. Behind her mask, her eyes darted back to the pair of armed guards overseeing her-- they were too far away to dispatch, and she doubted it would be easy to eliminate Alberich.
"Shouldn't you, hrm, rectify that?" Alberich questioned.
Elise wrenched the implements out of his leg, neglecting to respond to his remark. She stopped grinding, satisfied-- the reagents were done, and she poured the soft mass of alchemical ingredients onto a bandage, applying the newly-prepared poultice to some of the more damaged limbs. He attention quickly shifted to the slit across his neck-- the one that Blake had inflicted. Her hands retrieved a needle and thread.
Alberich began again, hoping this time the alchemist would deign to respond. "Listen, I am aware we didn't get off on the right foot, but--"
"But you're a monster." Elise finally snapped back.
Alberich nearly began to respond, until the needle and thread descended on his neck-- forcing him to remain silent.
"You think I didn't notice the metal plate, or the steel in your tendons, or the preservatives or the surgical marks or the countless other telltale signs? You did this to yourself, didn't you. You became that-- thing." Her fingers adroitly worked, sewing flesh as she spoke. She glanced at the adjacent table, where two corpses lay-- the tops of their skulls had been neatly bisected, and a mess of partially-uneaten cerebrum dribbled out. The alchemist vividly recalled how Alberich had torn into their brains and had to stop herself from tearing through the flesh of his neck as she worked angrily.
The professor finally had a minute, as she finished sewing and turned her attention the jumble of organs and viscera leaking from his abdomen. "I have been trying to correct my condit--"
"Correct what, exactly? You're already dead, there's nothing left to fix." Elise retorted. She paused as she examined Alberich's open chest cavity, trying to assess what would be necessary. She grabbed two vials, pouring their magic-infused contents into the wound and watching as they worked to repair and heal the damaged organs.
Alberich ignored the glow of Elise's extracts as they regenerated torn tissue-- the charlatan parlor-tricks she called alchemy would have to wait until later to be disproven. "But you're like me." He wryly answered.
"I am not like yo--"
"My lesser counterpart didn't attempt to devour you. He's only done that with corpses. I think that's proof enough that you're not what you say you are. You're like me-- a ghoul, a zombie, whatever word you want to use."
The alchemist stopped, losing her focus on treating Alberich's injuries-- she had finished, the gaping wound in his chest had healed itself as a result of the extract she had applied and there was little else left to treat. She pulled off one of her gloves, exposing the hand underneath-- it was sore and calloused, and had the faintest hint of sickly grey hue, but it still showed the vaguest sign of life. She twirled a scalpel, weakly pressing the blade against the ball of her thumb. A few drops of red blood-- a vibrant red, not the dull red of dead fluid Alberich had-- dripped out as she displayed the cut to the professor.
"I still have a pulse, more than I can say about you. I'm still alive-- and I can still fix this."
Alberich saw the two armed guards approaching, aware that the alchemist had completed her work.
"I will kill you, Alberich. Maybe not right now, but I'll make sure you pay for what you've done." She said, a grim finality lacing her words as she was led away.
---
"How do you like your new laboratory, Doctor von Wissenschaft?" Sir Bradley asked.
"It's-- adequate for my purposes, yes." Alberich frankly replied. His old laboratory had been far larger, and much more suited to someone of his caliber; this meager space would have to suffice as a substitute. With any luck, he would be able to make some actual progress on reversing his condition, something no doubt helped by his new employer's amorality.
It was odd to be in a laboratory space again, Alberich realized-- it had been far too long since he had conducted any sort of experimentation, considering how busy he had been with his uncooperative counterpart. John Doe, at least for now, seemed docile and almost complacent-- his attempts at directing him weren't met with the same resistance as before, and Alberich nearly found himself in possession of an inkling of manual dexterity. The professor briefly wondered just what Elise had done, before dismissing offhand the notion that her treatment had any effect past repairing his body's damage.
For a brief moment, the professor reflected on just how far he had descended that employment at a common business was now considered fortunate-- and just as quickly, his thoughts were disrupted as Bradley spoke once more.
"You uh, mentioned earlier that it was important that no harm come to the other two. Would you be willing to explain that?"
The professor paused-- or his head did, as the rest of his body continued to inquisitively grapple with the spread of glassware on one of the laboratory benches.
Part of him felt uncertain about continuing, that explaining how he got here would be a decision he'd regret. He had no confidence in what his situation even was-- it was clearly a ploy of devious minds, alongside all of the others there with him, alchemists and sorceresses and all the other charlatans. But it was undeniable that he had been transported somewhere else, somewhere entirely unfamiliar-- and he did not wish to press his luck and make assumptions, not when an opportunity such as this presented itself.
He would have to accept that this was real, then-- at least, for now.
"I've been pressed into an, ah, experiment, along with eight others. We were told that the death of one would lead to a change in location, and then were--" Alberich interrupted himself with an attempt at a shrug, as best he could with no control over his shoulders; his gesture came out instead as an odd cock of his head. "--teleported here. I'm afraid my, erm, employment is dependent on none of the other participants expiring." Alberich finally answered, hoping his hesitation did not betray him.
Sir Bradley nodded an acknowledgment, as though Alberich's answer made total sense-- and in his mind, thoughts churned with the new information. "Who are the others?"
Alberich strained to remember. "There were eight others-- you have two in captivity already, and there was also myself, of course. There was a pile of clothing, a robot of some fashion, a--" Alberich winced, uttering his next word with a generous slathering of utter disdain "--sorceress, and a few others that I can't quite remember." He finished, unsatisfied with his response but unable to offer more.
"Where might they have come from?"
Alberich attempted his facsimile of a shrug once again. "I wouldn't know. If they are real-- and I should note, this is hardly my specialty-- I'd hazard something along the lines proposed by the Multi-Worlds Hypothesis, but that's a colossal leap in logic, of cours--"
Bradley had heard enough. It wouldn't be enough to monopolize science, not went there was even the faintest possibility of countless other universes that went untapped and unenlightened. His ambition demanded more-- it demanded that he monopolize science across not just this one, insignificant speck of dust, no; not even having all the science in this universe would be enough.
Sir Bradley was going to monopolize science across every universe.
---
Alchemy was often referred to as the magic of precision.
It was not like other schools of thaumaturgy, which relied on the variable skill that the practitioner had. It was closer to the new schools of magical engineering, built around precision and repetition, rather than the old and powerful magic that could scour cities and lay host to dominance over reality. It was still a magic-- it drew from the unknown wellspring of power that resided within every magic-user, that font of arcane energy-- but it used ingredients and reagents and extracts as catalysts for its desired effect, not crystals and gems and the tools of medieval wizards. But alchemy was controlled, almost mundane in his applications; it was a magic that prided itself in repeatable infusions and known extracts. It was a magic taught in textbooks, not in tomes.
Elise silently lamented that she was incompetent in those traditional magics.
She was crouched down, squatting over a small, improvised set-up. Her shaky hands adjusted the small handful of reagents she had smuggled with her in a miniscule vial. Being able to summon a fireball and crash through the door trapping her would be useful-- more so than trying to extract a spark of her preferred effect out of the ingredients she now had. She fidgeted, adding a microscopic portion to the concoction, praying it would work. Her thoughts drifted to anger again-- anger at Alberich, at Nemo, at the pompous suited man whose thugs had ushered her into a locked cell. She thought about how she'd make sure they paid for what they had done.
Elise cursed at the thought-- out loud, not the silent cursing her mind was now so fond of. She remembered the promise she had made, the promise that she wouldn't play along with the Sociologist's experiment. In spite of that promise to spite her captor, to refuse to be a participant in her game, here she was now-- single-mindedly fixated on killing two of the other captives. The dissonance between vigilantism and her own desire to assail her true captor infuriated her, gnawed at her tauntingly.
She looked down at the vial-- it had changed to an acrid-fumed green liquid, exactly what the alchemist had hoped for. There was something else she had to take care, first, before she made her escape. Her free hand reached back, undoing some of the straps attaching her respirator. She nearly saw herself in the room's mirror, but caught herself-- she didn't need to see what was under her mask, that was unimportant. It was a distraction. She could still fix this.
In a single motion she swallowed a gulp of smuggled medicine. The mask was back on-- bleached-white beak over her face, tubing connected to filters, goggles in place. Elise stood up, and poured the green liquid onto the door-- watching as the acid she made burned and melted through the lock, rendering it no longer an obstacle.
Bradley, Alberich, Nemo, Sociologist-- they would all pay, and that's all she needed to know as she escaped once again.
---
"Attention, employees of the Pacific Spire."
Sir Bradley's voice was carried across every loudspeaker in the Pacific Spire, from the lowest basement floors to the roof, countless feet above the ground and tickling the clouds, steel and plates of glass slicing through water vapor. Hundreds of floors heard his broadcast, and thousands of employees who lived and worked and died in the Spire now listened attentively.
"Or uh, just the Heisenberg Science Company now, seeing as we own this entire place. You've heard me correctly, you're all part of the Heisenberg family now." Bradley continued, his jovial voice echoing through crowded cubicle mazes and abandoned maintenance hallways alike. "Some of you might ask if this is illegal, and let me assure you-- I've talked to the boys in legal, and they say this is totally permissible. We've got dominant market share in all your companies, that means we set the rules."
Not every level of the skyscraper listened-- some had been necessary conquests to establish Bradley's new hegemony.
One floor was silent, their occupants nothing more than burnt, flash-fried silhouettes against the walls, their stances frozen with arms raised in a final, hopeless gesture of surrender. Wind blew freely through broken windows on another-- a maddening broadcast had been focused there, and its occupants had chosen to throw themselves out of the building in a futile attempt to end the mind-destroying noise. A third floor had its employees as nothing but frozen statues-- their flesh ossified from exposure to an alien chemical. Innumerable atrocities had been committed, enabled by the distortion of physics in an elevator shaft and the unreal revelations it had brought with it.
"Now then, before you start to fret, you can rest easy. You're part of the company now, and we take care of our own. We're all in this together-- for science." The executive continued.
In the middle of the building, the intersection of ley-lines went completely unnoticed, save for the four present within it-- their presence was overshadowed by the other magical anomaly that went exploited.
"However, there is something I need to address, and that's our uninvited guests. The nine of you-- you know you are-- aren't welcome here, and I'm afraid we're going to have to ask you to surrender yourselves. For science, of course. If you don't, well, I can't promise you that the involuntary testing you'll be subject to will be as pleasant as it could be. That's all for now, we're done here." Bradley finished.
And with the end of his message, the search for the remainder of the Sociologist's subjects began.