User blog:Rapnoize/Project Legacy New (Probably Holiday) Data Dump/DATA-DUMP S00.S02

Polzuchaya Tvar

I no longer consider myself a crusader for change, but I must find the splinter of the artifact. First, however, I need to learn more about it.

Memory Details

Subject: Nikolai Andreievich Orelov; Location: Russian Empire; Time Period: 1917

Siberian Winter

Siberian Winter.

The road to Krasnoyarsk is a lonely one. The sky is dark, moonless. Snow creaks underneath my horse's hooves. I shiver, but not because of the cold.

• l have been here— or near here— before, not so long ago. No doubt the people of Krasnoyarsk have felt the tremors of the explosion.
• l was younger then, dedicated, but arrogant, angry. Yet I followed the Mentor's plans to the letter, convinced that victory of the Brotherhood was all that mattered.
• Krasnoyarsk is quiet. My arrival, in the middle of the night, will remain unnoticed. My business here will soon be over— provided I find the one I seek.
• l pass by Krasnoyarsk's Svyato-Troitsky Cathedral, but cannot help thinking about that fateful night, when the Royal Staff shattered. I need to concentrate.
• Here at last! The walls enclosing the asylum are easy to climb. The guards are few; most of them inebriated. I slip inside and, quietly, reach my goal.
• She sits alone in her cell. Her face, horribly disfigured, has a hole where a nose should be. The "monster" I was looking for— more repulsive than Baba Yaga!

The Asylum

The Asylum.

She runs cracked fingers upon her bald head, staring at me. Her eyes, kindly despite a seemingly inhuman face, are mesmerizing. I cannot look away. "Khioniya Kuzminichna Guseva," I say, somewhat harshly. "You have attempted to murder the monk Grigori Rasputin." She nods; a barely perceptible gesture.

• The rather pitiful excuse of a lock provides no challenge. I open the door and Guseva takes several steps back. "I am not here to pass judgment. I seek only answers."
• "l know nothing!" Guseva's voice is strong, confident, but somehow devoid of emotion. Three years in this madhouse, yet she seems quite sane.
• "You may know more than you think." I truly hope she does. "I offer you freedom. All I ask in return is that you answer a few questions."
• "Only through death can one be truly free." Guseva's voice is like a knife's edge. She smiles— a dreadful grimace. "You will get me out of this misery!"
• l order Guseva to follow me. She hesitates, so I take her hand— the hand which held the knife that disemboweled the Mad Monk— and guide her outside.

The Holy Devil

The Holy Devil.

A handful of kopeks is more than enough to bribe the priest. We sit in a darkened corner of the Svyato-Troitsky Cathedral. Here, we can talk privately.

• A black scarf hides Guseva's monstrous face, but her eyes shine brightly in the candlelight. "Tell me what happened," I whisper.
• "l was a disciple of Father Grigori, the Holy Devil." This is not the voice of a madwoman. "We had traveled to Pokrovskoe, his hometown."
• "lt was midsummer." Guseva lowers the scarf, revealing her ravaged face. "A day, perhaps two, after the feast of the nativity of St. John the Forerunner."
• "l was waiting for Father Grigori outside of church, as he had ordered. When I saw him, I... I charged, stabbed him deeply, in the belly."
• "l raised the knife up to his navel, to make sure he would die!" Guseva's voice trembles. "His insides... they... fell out! He... He clutched at them... And SMILED at me!"
• "l screamed, 'I have killed the Antichrist!', but I was wrong. What kind of man can survive this?" One who carries a splinter of the Royal Staff, no doubt.

Omnious Prophecy

Ominous Prophecy.

In the gloom, Guseva remains silent, as though waiting for me to pass judgment. I do not move. I do not speak. She takes my hand, squeezes it.

• "You have to understand!" Guseva says at last. "The Holy Devil had a POWER over people... Over me! His eyes were blue. Sinful eyes!"
• "The scars!" Guseva caresses her ruined face. "My nose!" She points to the hole where her nose should be. "He made me do it! The Holy Devil made me do it!"
• "You did this to yourself?" My voice cracks. Suddenly, tears stream down Guseva's scarred face. Of course, Rasputin had the means to control her.
• "He used to say 'Death is near me. She is crawling towards me like a whore.' That day, he expected me to try to kill him. And fall."
• "Rasputin prophesized the attempt on his life," I say. "He knew he would not die." The splinter from the Staff! Could it be this powerful?
• Guseva takes my hand into hers. "End my sufferings! Now!" She does not utter a sound when my hidden blade runs through her heart. She only smiles.

Misfire

The FBI suspects that Jack Parsons sold state secrets to the Commies, but I know he didn't commit treason. The man is much more dangerous than that.

Memory Details

Subject: Thomas Sean Morgan; Location: Pasadena, California; Time Period: June 17, 1952

A Dangerous Man

A Dangerous Man.

On any other day, I would enjoy driving my '51 Studebaker through the streets of Pasadena. Not today, though. Today, Dr. von Karman will not be pleased.

• l pull out my Omega and check the time. It's early, but the Doctor is already sipping tea at the Terrace, waiting for my report on Parsons.
• l turn left on Hillcrest, take out my handkerchief, and wipe the sweat off my face. I then pull the Studebaker in front of the Langham Hotel.
• l grasp the files and pictures I studied earlier and put them in the open briefcase on the passenger side of the seat. On top of the pile is a photograph of Parsons.
• The man's gaze is so intense, so diabolical, that I quickly close the briefcase— to avoid looking at his picture. I wipe my forehead and step out of the car.
• The valet gives me a look as I hand him the keys. Ordinarily, I would've smacked his face, but today's his lucky day. I have pressing business to attend.
• "Careful!" I warn the valet as I adjust my tie. The boy's too dense to feel threatened; he thinks I worry about the car.

Waning Genius

Waning Genius.

l sit in front of Dr. von Karman at the Terrace. Despite his age, he looks spiffy in his pinstriped suit. "Mr. Morgan. What have you found out?"

• "Mr. Parsons seems to have cut all ties with the outside world." I clear my throat and take a sip of water. I'd prefer beer, or something stronger.
• "He's seen no one of consequence since he lost his security clearance at Caltech, in January." I place the briefcase on the table. Where is that waiter?
• Dr. von Karman raises a hand and a waiter appears. "Scotch for my friend. Make it a double." I know I'm not his friend, but I'm proud to work for this man.
• l wait for the waiter to leave. 'The FBI investigation is going nowhere, but..." I open the briefcase, rummage through it, and pull out a couple of files.
• "Mr. Parsons made travel arrangements to Mexico." I hand the latest photographs to von Karman. "He'll be leaving in a few days. "On the 25th."
• "What?" von Karman jumps to his feet, dropping the photographs. I had a feeling he'd be upset. "It is worse than I feared! Much, much worse!"

Rocket Man

Rocket Man.

l knew von Karman wouldn't be pleased to learn Parsons was planning to skip the country, but I didnt think he'd react so strongly.

• The waiter finally arrives with my drink. Dr. von Karman snatches it and gulps it down. "Glenfiddich," he mutters. The good stuff. "Now leave us!"
• The waiter hesitates a moment, then scrams. Part of me regrets not having the guts to order another glass. God knows I need one!
• "Are you certain Jack is leaving on the 25th?" I'm surprised to hear von Karman use Parsons given name, but I know better than to question him.
• "Positive." I hand him a copy of the arrangements Parsons' wife made with the airline. The Doctor peruses the papers, mumbling in Hungarian.
• "He discovered how to work Crowley's FORMULA!" von Karman shouts. "He will show them... on St. John's Day, of all days! The results could be worse than Philadelphia in '43!"
• ln the lobby. Dr. von Karman tries to reach Parsons on the phone. "Busy!" He turns to me. "You must stop him! Go to his lab! Tell Jack he needs to stop! NOW!"

Millionaire's Row

Millionaire's Row.

l never drove so fast in my life! My hands feel numb and my knuckles are white. I loosen my hold on the steering wheel and cut the accelerator some slack.

• l turn on South Orange Grove, glad to be in one piece. Two black '49 Fords block the road, four men in equally black suits behind them. G-Men!
• The familiar weight of the Walther in my pocket suddenly feels very comforting. I cut the engine and check the time: 5:06.1 get out of the car, ready to bust some chops.
• A dame with gams up to her neck steps out of one of the Fords, a chrome-dome twice my size behind her. She wears a ritzy dress, and I can tell by the way she moves she's no dumb Dora.
• "Please come with us, Mr. Morgan." She knows my name! Chrome-Dome puts a hand on my shoulder. My elbow's about to pay a visit to his stomach, but I freeze!
• The dame wears a small pin on her dress: Three crooked rectangles forming a triangle! My heart sinks. Now I know the meaning of the word FEAR!
• l'm blinded by an unearthly flash— a brightness stronger than the sun! I barely hear the explosion, but feel its tremors. Parsons' lab! What have they done?