Cthulhu in Anchorage Alaska 

Agent Samantha’s Journal:
Down the Rabbit Hole, only the Bottle said “Shoot Me” instead of “Drink Me”

I hope you’re reading this, because if you are, then it means that we were at least somewhat successful. I knew that the Georgia trip was a trap.  That I didn’t want to do it was an understatement.  At the same time, however, I knew that we had to, since it was the only clue that we had.

(Administrator: You always have a choice… It just that you have to live with the consequences…)

We picked up the priest, and headed out of town.  I still think that he was a plant, but that doesn’t matter now.  What matters is that I was headed out of town in car that I knew was tracked, with an informant.  Fortunately, DocM found his incessant chatter just as annoying as I did, and sedated him before I was forced to shoot him with a tranquilizer dart.  Boom-Boom Girl needed a dose as well.  I don’t know what was up with her, but she kept singing annoying toddler rhymes.  I never did get a chance to get that sorted out.

I arranged for the priest to be collected.  Guilty or innocent, the less he knew the better.  We changed cars. I rented a wreck (decrepit van), and we left the station wagon in a bad part of town with the keys in the ignition, and the radio playing.  If I thought it would work, then I would have put a sign on the thing that said steal me.  I figure that if it was stolen, then the thieves were in for a very big, very unpleasant surprise.

(Administrator: the priest was being blackmailed. Not that it matters. Once he was let in on their little secret, he cracked… He will be in a facility for a while.)

We had a message to call our “insurance company” contact.  He “was” a regional director that worked for the insurance company that we were representing in Bowersville.  If you’re supposed to be reading this, then you’ll know what I mean.  Anyway, when we got to the Atlanta, we called the guy, arranged a meet and waited.  I picked a park.  I wanted to be in a place where I could keep an eye on the van (didn’t want anyone driving off with Boom-Boom girl) and also in a place where I could keep an eye on the surroundings.  Whatever.  It worked. The guy invited us to dinner; a really expensive dinner in a nice place.  Again, I figured trap, but I wouldn’t have gotten into this line of work if I wasn’t willing to take chances.  So, I called Mrs. Williams, and asked her to book us rooms at a hotel near the restaurant.  Also, because of the circumstances in which we left Bowersville, I asked her to make sure that the hotel had facilities that we could use to purchase appropriate clothing, etc.  FattyB and I dropped DocM and Boom-Boom Girl off at the hotel, and ditched the van.

(Administrator: Note to self, be sure to inform Ms. White that Cell Q is a Priority 1 mission at this time. Get them what they need first, sort it out later.)

We went to the meeting. Midway through the meal (actually before desert), someone dressed as a waiter killed our host (two in the chest, one to the head).  I shot the assassin, once, and chased him out the back of the restaurant where he got into a waiting car.  FattyB and DocM managed to secure our host’s wallet, cell phone and car keys.

I really didn’t want to go back to the restaurant and answer questions about what had happened.  Eventually, we all made our way back to the hotel and I made some calls.  The briefcase that we got from Bowersville contained contact information about a guy named Zane.  We called that to find out if there was more information related to Eckloff on that front.  The only thing that we got from that call was that Timothy was going to be at a club the following night.

We also called the contact number for the guy that was killed.  Nothing really came of that discussion, though we were told that there was more information in a desert someplace.  No specifics of course.  The most useful part of the evening was getting the guy’s car keys.  At least we had wheels in which to drive to check out the club where tomorrow’s meeting was.

The car was not difficult to find.  It was a white van that smelled bad.  More to the point, it smelled like incense lying on top of something unhealthy.  Further investigation (FattyB was driving) revealed two boxes in the back, large and small, and diagrams drawn in what could only be blood on the roof and sides.  It explained the unhealthy smell, at any rate.  I took pictures (forwarded).  The diagrams were unknown to me, but prior experiences with stuff like this indicated that nothing good would come of this car ride.  We began looking for a place to pull over and ditch the van.  The smaller box contained what can only be described as a bone saw, and a few other surgical cutting tools.  The larger box was locked, and when I tapped on it, there came a rapping from inside.   I didn’t really want to open it, but…well, DocM couldn’t’ be dissuaded. We pulled off the road into an empty parking lot.  I unlocked the box, and covered DocM while she opened it.  I’ve seen a lot of strange and unpleasant things in my career, but I can truthfully say that nothing, nothing at all was as ever as vile as what was waiting for us in that container.  It contained the body, or rather, what was left of the body of a man who was systematically having surgical amputation performed upon him (sorry for sending that picture, but it could be relevant).  Worse, he was still alive, and conscious. He couldn’t speak because his entire lower jaw was missing. It did explain the blood.  I called it in, of course, but there was little to do.  I shot the poor victim, and after taking and sending pictures, Boom-Boom Girl torched the van.  It seemed like the “disinterested neutral 3^rd party” that was contacting us periodically was not so neutral after all.

We walked the rest of the way to the club.  It wasn’t that far, and quite honestly, a little fresh air was welcome.  The club is what FattyB’s internet search led us to expect: loud, crowded and popular. We paid the cover and went inside to check it out. Boom-Boom Girl spotted a few place to plant some “distractions” in case they were needed for the next evening.  It didn’t take long, and eventually we left and called a taxi to take us back to town.

The driver wasn’t thrilled with our destination, which was the worst part of town, and a disreputable pool place/bar there, however, cash is a great motivator.  A little more cash convinced him to come back and pick us up when we called.  I don’t think he expected us to call for some reason.  In any event, no one molested us, either on the street or inside.  It’s funny how that works.  It never happens when you invite it.

Anyway, Zane was there, and after a little persuading, told us that Timothy Eckloff was recruiting mercenaries for a mission that he apparently didn’t expect to survive.  They were meeting at that club tomorrow evening, and if I wanted to talk to him, it was the only way.  The translation was that I didn’t learn much, but…I knew it was a trap.  If it was really secret, there was no way that I would have found out so much.  I think that Zane was paid off, and told us where to go because whoever paid him wanted to catch whoever knew about Timmy.  That wasn’t really news to me, but it did tell me that we needed a better plan.  I might have been wrong about Zane, but somehow, I didn’t think so.

(Administrator: We found an ad in “Mercs” magazine with Zane’s contact information. Apparently, he is a facilitator. Additionally, he did some work for the CIA back in the ‘70’s in Vietnam.)

Ultimately we decided that FattyB and the DocM would wait out in the car, hopefully to be able to follow my trail after I was kidnapped—if it happened.  Ok, I was pretty sure that it was going to happen.  Boom-Boom Girl was inside, to set off alarms and stuff when things went south.  I was the lucky one who got to go play mercenary.  Yeah, it would have looked better if it had been FattyB, but really, he’s a computer nerd, and didn’t have any sort of training.  Besides, when it happened, I’d rather have him tracking me than the other way around.  I looked around for a little bit, and noticed a few “merc” types going through the employees only door.  I followed.  Eventually I made my way to the room that was filled with “merc” types….and Timothy Eckloff.

Funny, I think he was actually surprised to see me, after he’d gone to all the trouble to tell me not to try to figure out what was going on (see the end of the Hito case).  I told him I couldn’t bear to miss the trap springing closed.  He denied that this was a trap.

Note to self:  I hate it when people don’t listen to me….

Briefly he mentioned the asteroid that was coming to earth (Hito case—retrieved hard drive from the observatory), and that there was an underground city or something in Tibet that was directing it here (his notes, found in some miscellaneous Temco files).  His goal, he said was to stop it.  My goal, I said, was to assist in that noble endeavor.  He started talking to the group, and some of the group pulled weapons and started shooting.  It was a classic cluster fuck, from the school of cluster fucks.  Timmy went down right away, and the only way out was the door I’d come through.  I shot people…lots of people, I think. The ones shooting at Timothy and me were using tranquillizer darts.  I think I killed the two at the door, because the last thing that I remember was going through the emergency exit to fresh air.    Obviously, the bad guys had a better plan.

The next thing I remember was waking up in a dirty metal room with one bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling, a dirty hole in the floor kind of toilet, and bars on the door, hungry and thirsty.  And rats.  Lots of rats and rat droppings.  I thought that DocM was going to totally lose it right there.  The creaky metal sounds and swaying light led me to believe ship.  FattyB, DocM and Boom-Boom Girl were there, along with some bottled water. Timothy Eckloff was not there.  We compared notes, and realized that few days had passed.  We searched diligently, but there was nothing in the cell that would help with escape.  Of course everything that we’d had was gone—even my hidden picks.  Fatty had a wire that they'd missed.  It was iffy, but I figured that it might be enough.

After a bit of yelling for food (FattyB was ravenous at this point), a guard brought several Costco sized boxes of cornflakes. No milk, just cornflakes which FattyB instantly grabbed saying, “MINE! MINE!”

Eventually I did pick the lock with FattyB’s wire.  There was a guard or something around a corner that I couldn’t see, who ordered me to stop.  There was nothing to do at that point except either stop, or continue the escape attempt.  I’d hoped that the rest of the group would follow me, but I’d decided to continue forward.  If they’d wanted us dead, they would have finished the job at the club, and after seeing the guy in the box, I didn’t want to find out what was in our future if we remained captives.  So, and I admit that it probably wasn’t the smartest thing I’ve ever done, I charged around the corner, and promptly got darted again for my efforts.  I managed to close with the guy, but he escaped my grasp, and I got darted again for all of my troubles….

The next thing that I remember was waking up in that dirty metal room…Yeah; it was deja vu all over again.   I found out that while I was out, a guy had snuck down to this level of the ship (yeah, that was confirmed) and killed and cut up one of the guards, quite professionally.  He then tossed the pieces out a port hole, and cleaned up his mess. He was discovered at some point, and escorted out….

A guard came looking for someone.  Unbelievably, they asked the rest of the group if they’d seen anyone or anything strange.  Obviously, they were not the sharpest tools in the shed.

Time passed, and I’m not sure how much.  Eventually, however, we were escorted topside.  We were anchored alongside an offshore drilling platform.  The captain of ship made us an offer that we couldn’t refuse.  Apparently there was a problem aboard the platform.  He had a couple of weepy crewmen crying big sobby tears who told tales of destruction and dismemberment aboard.  They’d fled, they said.  It appeared that our options were to go aboard and find out what happened (the carrot being that we would be freed if we found the director of the platform—he owed the captain money, he said.) or be shot on the deck.  Basically we were going to be eventually shot, or worse, even if we accomplished the goal.  However, going aboard was going to postpone the shooting/torture, and hopefully give us some time to figure out how to screw over the men on the boat. So we went.

The crewmen were right.  Judging from the number of body parts and destruction, it pretty much looked like the entire crew of the platform had been dismembered, literally ripped limb from limb.  I rifled through pockets and coveralls.  I was looking for keys, cash (in the event that we did manage to get off the platform in once piece) and firearms (to insist on getting off the platform in one piece).  We toured the platform, and here’s what we found:

1. Lots of body bits and fluids—mainly blood, lots and lots of blood.
2. The entire platform had pretty much been torn apart—the only equipment currently communicating with the outside world is an elderly fax machine.
3. Fishy Scales…I suspect Deep Ones were what was tearing the platform up.  The big cargo bays, locked from the outside were not breached during the attack seemed to be the focus of the attacks.
4. 10 Krugerrands
5. A memo regarding us: we were to be turned over to some badass that was flying to the platform in the near future, and the fact that Eckloff lived, escaped, and was last seen in Siberia somewhere.
6. A memo noting that the cargo (remember that the captain was delivering something to the platform, and the director owed him money–probably the Krugerrands) was to be moved to the larger Cargo Bay B.
7. That the old director had been recently replaced, after communicating with a member of the board of directors his concerns regarding the cargo.
8. A semi-automatic pistol with 2 full clips! Looks like the new director wasn’t fast enough.
9. Cargo Bay B has many liquid filled glass containers that contained pickled people.
10. It is possible to get people out of the jars…DocM managed to do it with help from FattyB.  It is, however, it was very time consuming and risky.  The pickled pod people had taken the psychological screening exam that we’d determined was being administered by TEMCO agents. They were then kidnapped.
11. Someone in crew quarters was banging out a “help me” signal on the pipes.  I wanted to deal with that last.

After everything else was searched, investigated and otherwise inspected, it was nearly evening, so we locked the elevator so that people from the ship couldn’t come up, locked up cargo bays, because I thought that is what the deep ones were after, and found the crew quarters.  There were 17 guys in there, which meant that there were bits of 60+ people spread out on the decks (FattyB managed to hack into the rig’s servers…there were almost 80 people on board).  I told them that the captain of the Resolution (I think that’s the name of the ship we were on) sent us to find out what had happened.  We locked ourselves into the crew quarters with them, and listened to the sounds of destructive frustration that were emanating from all over the platform.  I didn’t sleep that night.

More to follow... If I live that long.