This DCverse is Maddening

(A/N: Warning! Graphic violence is present in this chapter! Please be advised!)

(7/12)(A/N: Hey guys, sorry about how late this chapter got released. I spilled water on my laptop and some of the keys stopped working. I hoped/prayed that maybe it would fix itself and dissembled it before letting it dry overnight. When that didn't work, I had the shop take a look at it and I spent the whole day at work just worrying/hoping for the best. Got the text that day telling me that they didn't have the parts and they couldn't really do anything about it. But I did get an external keyboard for now until the parts come and I can replace the board by myself then. Thank you guys for understanding and your guy's is probably the only reason why a chapter even came out this week instead of me just laying about concerned and anxious! Thank you guys again for everything!)

'Status.'

[Albert Nelson

HP: 20/20

MP: 9/9

SAN: 42/47

LCK: 45/45

IP: 10

Skills:

- Appraise: 26%

- Art/Craft (Photography): 55%

- Disguise: 26%

- Dodge: 23%

- Fire Arms (Handgun): 62%

- Library Use: 60%

- Listen: 34%

- Navigate: 24%

- Occult: 35%

- Persuade: 4%

- Psychology: 54%

- Spot Hidden: 60%

- Stealth: 44%

- Psychometry: 9%

Talents:

- Resourceful

- Lucky

- Psychic Power

Cthulhu Mythos: 0%]

Like always, Albert felt has though his growth was happening at a snails pace. Probably slower than it needed to be but that was due to a few questions he had. The system has always been a somewhat unreliable golden finger when in comparison to other protagonists he'd read about. His system didn't speak to him, wouldn't answer any questions, refused to give him any insane power-ups in his greatest time of need and barely functions as anything more than a way to track his own development.

But in the rare times it did provide him with anything, they were rare commodities to carefully ponder over and test when given the chance. The best way to understand something was to test the waters to see exactly what is actually possible. And for this current test, it had required him to save up a total of ten IP.

Something that would've seemed nearly impossible if it wasn't for these weekly readings. Frankly, he kinda expected this to be a sort of bug in the system. Just being able to farm Improvement Points so easily didn't really feel right given how stingy it had been in the past.

So, before it could catch onto something wrong, he'd decided to test something. In Call of Cthulhu, there's a single number that's nearly integral to everything that is the game. The number ten. Two ten sided die were the basic building blocks of the entire system. HP was calculated by dividing the sum of SZE and CON by ten, at least in the normal game. For Pulp Cthulhu, it was changed to five to better give investigators more of a chance to survive the horrors of the day and night.

Given that, there had been a single question on his mind.

'What happens if I spend more than a single IP?' It had been a thought since the very beginning, before he'd been very hesitant to waste such a valuable resource for a dead end. But that was then, when he wasn't juggling multiple cases at the same time. Now it was time to finally figure out exactly what happened. 'With stingy the system is, it won't be something small like two it's going to have to be five or ten….it's probably safer to use five just in case.'

And he knew exactly the skill he wanted to test this theory on. Psychometry was one of his lowest leveled skills...besides Persuade, but he'd already decided to barely ever touch that ticking time bomb of a skill and Cthulhu Mythos for a very similar reason. The ability to read the memories of an object was too much an advantage to not boost it's growth and frankly, if he didn't have this test in mind he would've been sinking IP into the skill every chance he got. Not only was it his main breadwinner but also, it's utility was obvious. Maybe in the future, he could touch a murder weapon and see exactly how did it. Or watch a crime that happened in the past just by putting his hands on the ground.

Plus, it was better to hit two birds with one stone in this instance. He did need the money to finish paying off his tailored suit, so scheduling another reading was honestly for the best either way.

Except, there was a small hiccup.

"Uh-uh." Albert pushed himself away from the desk, his head shaking from side to side as he gazed upon the object sitting 'innocently' in the middle of a mix of Styrofoam and brown packing paper. "Put it back."

"I know you're magic and all." Willow rolled her eyes hard, nearly enough for him to worry about them rolling out of her head. The normally understanding and pretty patient women he'd known, was nowhere in sight. She'd even seemed a bit huffy before he even stepped into a nondescript office building, her tone clipped and brooking no room for nonsense. Her eyes would drop down to her phone every few moments and grow even more impatient as time went on. "But I didn't think being so superstitious suits you too well. It's just a statue."

'A cursed statue.'

He bit back his immediate reply, his gaze locked onto the barely palm sized carved stone statue that made every one of his inner player instincts scream with every bit of their might. The thing was made in the facility of a women, rotund and endowed. It's surface rough, eroded from the streams of time and mishandling. But it was the eyes, at least where there should've been eyes, there was instead empty sockets glaring a hole right back at him as though he was the one who stole them. Combine that with the 'warm' and 'motherly' smile etched across it's features, the thing was practically screaming out the fact that it was bad news.

"Do you guys have anything..other than this?"

At this point, he'd would rather be anywhere but there. Call him silly, but it looked like the exact sort of object he'd dangle in front of his players before dragging them into a nightmare.

"Dude." The women glared at him sharply, a near growl at edges of her tone. And with her dark mane of hair, she truly looked like a lion ready to split him in tiny little pieces. Painted nails clenching tightly around her phone as she took a steadying breathe and continued with barely contained annoyance. "Look. If you don't want to do the reading, then why are you wasting my time? I'm not at your every beck and call. No matter what deal you signed with Madame Clements, that doesn't mean I don't have a life and things I would rather be doing than being here."

"Give me a moment." Sure, she might've said it in a pretty snappy way but that didn't mean she wasn't right. This hadn't been a planned meeting and she must've dropped everything she was doing just to come here, unwilling she looked to be. And to be fair, she'd been his go to for mostly everything. Maybe she was just annoyed at being bothered at in sporadic times and needed a break? Or maybe she was just pissed at something that happened unrelated to him, just looking at her told him she wasn't really in the mood to spill out her inner worries. All Psychology could tell him was this: whatever had irked her so much, had been transferred onto him subconsciously as a scapegoat. Not a particularly good feelings but he'd have to suck it up. He needed the money from this reading to afford everything and if it meant dealing with unpleasant company to get it, then so be it. But that didn't mean he was going go about this recklessly.

Reaching into his inner pocket, he took out multiple packets of salt. Ripping them open, he proceeded to sprinkle a thin circle around the statue and with a calming breathe he took off one of his gloves. With the other hand, he poured out a small pile into his palm and used his teeth to pull off the glove. Taking extra care not to disturb the injury. And with a completely serious look on his face, the teen began rubbings salt over every inch of his hands as though he was washing his hands.

It might look ridiculous but that little imp of his left shoulder whispered the effectiveness, if this thing was cursed by some malevolent spirit it would have a much harder time clinging onto him.

'But just to make sure, I'm going to visit Marceline after this.' Sometimes, it was nice knowing a Psychopomp. Especially when handling possibly possessed objects. 'Hopefully she's available.'

Gingerly, Albert place all ten fingers on the much too surface of the statue. Like poking a frozen street sign, his skin pulling as though it was fighting to not let him go. If before the exterior had looked rough and heavily eroded, it certainly didn't feel that way. Akin to running his fingers over a smooth pool ball, gliding effortlessly.

He drew his eyes, as to avoid both the judgmental look via Willow and the literal empty eyed stare the sculpture. Breathing in and just before poking that inner part of himself, he pulled up the system one more time. His intent clear, shouting out to the jumbled together nonsense that was called logic.

[IP: 5]

The effects were immediate. Like a plume of potential had been expelled out of him, it's heavy smog weighing heavy on his shoulders and neck. It was near intoxicating, his senses narrowed down to a mere pin prick, mind stilling to that of a still pond, like he could do anything. Could learn anything and master it faster, as though he was a prodigy. Taking but a simple touch, any skill could surge with growth beyond the normally enhanced speed provided by Improvement Points.

'If this is only five,' Greed and awe gnawed at the edges. 'Then what'll happen at ten? Is this how I can brute force my way through to Master tier?'

Such thoughts would have to be put aside for later, he didn't believe this altered state would last forever and gaining nothing from it would be a really tragedy. And so with an effort of will, he reached out to that inner part of himself. Like a switch or button he could activate at anytime.

[MP: 4]

Just like all the other times, stemming from the base of his skull, a frigid cold unspooled itself down and out. Crawling down his neck, sending almost painful shivers down his spine and near tearing at his minute muscles. Colder than anything physical reality could ever offer, streams of otherness touched at his mind. Chilling the world into it's simplest components. His heart slowed and breathe stilled. Things had never appeared so..easy. Simple.

In his minds eye, he 'watched' as the frosty river coursed down immaterial channels overlapping his physical body sending bone deep, bitter cold that even made that all too familiar pain to flare back to life. In fact, he could even feel his shoulder begin to ache all over again. It's throbbing pain hammering ineffectually against the barrier that was his mind.

Like a flower in bloom, innumerable thin threads of energy flowed out of his fingertips. Licking across the surface of object that even felt a bit warm to the touch in comparison. Ever nook and cranny was analyzed, explored to completion. And after having it's fill, they dug deeper. Pushing past the surface and touching upon something other, intangible to their reality. Now was usually the time there would be an influx of emotion tinged memories being slammed into him, but instead something tried 'pushing' against his threads. It was a light touch, far too weak to sway him in the slightest.

It should've been an easily seen sign that something had gone horribly wrong.

And with a mere subconscious snarl, that barrier fell away under those cruel tendrils. With it, his consciousness felt as though it was being sucked away. A flood of negative emotions flooding him. Grief slamming into him with the force of a tidal wave, despair so great that he could even taste copper at the back of his tongue, anger that pumped pure fire through his veins, a near blinding joy that beat against the soul and...bitter acceptance. So much that it was like he'd swallowed an entire bottle of vanilla extract. It was all too much, that stillness he'd so arrogantly thought was a good thing came back to bite him as all those emotions completed wore away at that sense of self. His awareness ripped away into some forgotten fragment of the past, thoughts spiraling he could do nothing but think a single thing before his already dark world grew darker still but not before the system decided to twist the knife on last time.

[SAN: 37/47]

'That's not good.'

***

The moon had turned it's glowing gaze fully to the Earth, darkness stretching out endlessly through the gloomy forest. A heavy fog laid it's claim on this frigid night. Not even the gentle sound of crickets or any other nocturnal creature dared to let out a peep. Only a small circle of orange light fought back the endless black, it's glow not comforting in the slightest.

In a small clearing, people stood. Garbed in nothing, naked to the world with not a hint of shame or worry. Unknowable symbols etched into their very skin, scars acting as paint. Their hair were long and braided, adorned in gold and jade. Each looking handcrafted and polished to rigid perfection. Standing tall and proud, faces blurring together into an uncanny mess. They stayed as still as a statue, their focus entirely on their leader standing atop a stone dais.

The man, looked wretched. A figure so malnourished, that it was like skin had been stretched across brittle bones. A shock of long, near white hair rolled down his frail shoulders. Golden wire woven intertwined in that wild mess, jade shaped like raindrops dripped off the structures. Flesh unmarred by even a single symbol, glowing ominously in the combined fire and moon light. Across his scrawny neck, a heavily jewel encrusted golden necklace hung limply. Rising and falling with each labored breathe. A simple old man, while weird looking, wouldn't even draw any interest. But it was those eyes, those eyes, that didn't blur in the slightest. They were a simple brown but looked as though they could pierce through even the most well manned wall of stone. Like, with just a simple look, they could unravel innumerable secrets..even the ones that were best felt buried.

He slammed his gnarled staff thrice, lips peeling back to reveal small jewels embedded into each tooth. A display of wealth so great that it would tempt even the holiest of men. The crowd, fell to their one knee in supplication. Nodding once, more pleased, he began to speak. It's language lost to time, coming out garbled and clipped. But whatever was said, only further energized the congregation. It could be seen, each of them near shaking. Large smiles across their blurred faces.

Waving his arms around fervently, only further fueled the energy growing among them. A fanatic surge that grew to an over arching crescendo, something that would be heard from miles in this silent forest. With one more final slam, a single gnarled, black painted finger pointed shakily up at the sky. Their heads craned up in unison, and jaws nearly dropped.

There, the once pale white countenance of the moon now had a visibly growing shadow across it's surface. Like an angry god was trying to consume it whole. Shock slammed into the herd, fear filling their bodies as they looked up at the end of the world. The start of the end.

A single, sharp word slammed against them. It's force like that of a whip tearing flesh. And they looked back down to their leader, who had a glare so harsh that even the largest among them shrunk their necks back in shame. More garbled and harsh words were roared out to the darkening sky. Skinny arms flailing about, staff slamming repeatedly into the ground to unheard beat.

Sweat dripped down his face after that fervent speech, just like that, the energy was back. More so. Near overflowing in fact. Tears even running down the faces of some as they were swept up in the hysteria. And the man, took this time to lean against his staff. Harshly pushing away a smaller figure that came up besides him to help and instead, after a few moments he waved that staff forward.

Out from the forest, two absolutely humongous men came stalking into the clearing. More than tall enough to be forced to duck beneath a few lower hanging branches. Their foot steps silent like a cat in complete opposition to their size. Bodies completely covered in vibrant ink, symbols representing stories of myths actualized and battles fought. Wearing nothing but a simple harness in which long, bronze tipped spears pointed down at the ground below.

One and all, a flood of awed and envious looks were sent their way. Like they were walking demigods among them, like they were what each of them aspired to be or be with. The pinnacle of humanity made manifest. From their impressive height, bulging muscles, intricate tattoos and even those milky white eyes that stared off only in the direction of the leader.

In their massive grip, they held a wriggling figure. A man that looked completely out of place amongst the people their. His skin not bronzed, hair a ratty and dulled red. Possessing features that might've considered him noble or fine back home wasn't helping him in the slightest. Wearing a strange tunic and heavily worn leather pants. The crowd pointed and looked on in wonder. Like they'd seen a particularly interest animal.

His voice came out hoarse and pleading, the language equally as garbled and clipped. But from the unresponsive looks, there was a clear language barrier between them. If anything, that made him struggle futilely against his captors.

Dragging him forward like they were carrying a misbehaving babe, the pair walked through the parted crowd. The red head growing more frantic as he looked at the man composed of nothing but skin and bones.

The leader took a step back, not in fear but to use his staff to point at the round dais. Ignoring the near rabid movement, the pair obeyed the silent command. Placing the man firmly but gentle on the surface, one held him down as the other began to tie his flailing limbs to the four protrusions around the circular structure. Tears were now openly flowing down his cheeks as he begged and bargained to death ears. After making sure each limb was secure, the pair took a few steps back and stood behind their leader like silent bodyguards. The old man stepped forward, placing the butt of his staff against the man's chest as he leaned down just within a foot of his face.

A new string of garbled language came out, but this time it matched the red head's. Whose green eyes, widen in recognition and stupefaction. That snarl then turned into a grin so filled with vile intentions, it was almost palpable. Oil like as it dripped, making his already creepy appearance break out into a whole new level.

If before the victim was struggling, now it wasn't even close. He thrashed with everything his body could muster, wrists straining against the restrains, back arching as though to get better leverage and ankles writhed. Those once tearful cries were now fueled by nothing but anger, throat growing more hoarse with each passing moment.

Taking a step back with a very satisfied expression, that piercing gaze turned back up to the sky as the pale light of the moon was being devoured by IT Who Hungers before glancing back down to his loyal flock of followers and barking out a series of commands. Waving his staff around, the herd scrambled to part as someone else walked into the clearing.

This figure was small and lithe, wearing a sheer white gown covering every inch of exposed skin except for a pair of unblemished hands that did not match any of the others. A hood and veil covered their appearance except for a single massive brown braid running down their body and just barely hovered above the ground but it was obvious that this was someone of great beauty. Especially if the lustful and envious looks being sent their way was any indication.

In those feminine hands, laid a simple set of tools. A large, black stone bowl with a single wickedly sharp obsidian dagger balancing across it's lip. A faded yellow bone like appearance for it's hilt, carved with a series of sigils and embedded with three separate gems. A jade green opal, a blood crimson ruby and a vivid diamond that sparkled even under the torchlight with not even a single speck of imperfection. It spoke of power, something ancient but more than valuable enough to stoke the greed of man. No matter their background.

Even tied up as he was, a surge of visible desire passed over the redhead's gaze as he craned his head back to look at the approaching doom. Whether they glittered for the women or the dagger, it would never be known.

After she reached the very bottom of the dais, the women kneeled to one knee, holding up the items like an offering to a god. Her head bowed low to ground, taking great care not to lock eyes with the tied up foreigner. Shoulders slightly shaking as the silence grew.

In a rare show gentleness, the leader took a step forward and gently pulled the women up to her feet. Face growing softer, fonder as he looked into that veil. Eyes piercing through the physical material easily and his gnarled hand cupped her covered cheek. There was nothing but the love every father should have for their daughter.

His voice dropped down an octave, taking on a much gentler and less intense tone as he spoke. That garbled language doing nothing but passing along an innate, underlining intent. Sounding full of love but also disappointment, hurt for some slight against not just him but the entire community. But, there was a make up for it all.

Pulling her further atop the dais, he turned to crowd with that intense face back in place like a visor slamming into place. Scrawny arms motioning towards them, his daughter, the stone platform and the darkening moon above. Cheering ensued as his words were lapped up with great relish.

Unsteadily, she took front stage. Handing the obsidian dagger over to her father and holding the bowl between two hands and with a nod, the two demigods lumbered forward to grip the foreigner's jaw. Forcing it open with ease, as though his struggles were even below being annoying to them.

Gently, the robed women straddled over the struggling man. Her hands shaking visibly as she held the bowl up his lips. A thick, viscous sludge the color of dirt and bone, dripped slowly, like sap, down the man's throat. And no matter how he wriggled, not a drop of the concoction was left.

Coughing, he tried to force whatever he'd just swallow back up but to no avail. The pair demigods retreated, leaving only the three of them above everyone else as fell down in supplication. Seeing these divine creatures, legends made manifest, the crowd too descended into a silent bow. Their foreheads pressing into the ground. Now only the man's feeble cries were left to the deathly still night.

The leader swapped the two objects, falling back to the background as he gazed up at the almost completely devoured moon. Expectation and excitement evident on his harsh face. Slamming his staff on the ground thrice, he began to bellow out to the night. Garbled like always but had a hint of power, a sort of force that prickled at the nerves. Teased at the mind and jammed into the soul. Akin to the feeling of being stared at for an extended amount of time, hair prickling to attention. Jewelry clattering, words bluing into a continuous sound that became mere ambient music.

The crowd, screamed out as well. Their sound muffled by the ground itself as they chanted into it. Not all at once, some words were left behind, other's were hummed as they forgot certain phrases. It should've sounded awful, like a rookie choir singing together for the first..but it wasn't. Somehow, supernaturally so, it all came together. Blending all the discordant notes, off cue lyrics and made it worked. It was a hauntingly beautiful melody, a song of worship.

Taking this small window of privacy, the women, still holding that shaking dagger, leaned down to brushed her veiled lips against his chapped and chipped mouth. Soft words, like trickling rain on hot stones, were spoken just loud enough for only the two of them to hear. But unlike the garbled language lost to time, her words could be understood perfectly even among the fervent chanting.

"I'm sorry, my love."

The robed women's voice was melodious, pleasing to the ear in all ways. The type of voice that was more suited for laughter, not this somber and sorrowful mess.

A staff slammed against stone and she rose back up straddled atop him. There was nothing else she could say. No final declaration of their love, nor promises of what life could've been. Looking up, her hood and veil fell away from her face. The red head could look on in horror and recognition as his whole world came tumbling down around him. Heart shaped with sharp eyes matching the old man's, pouty lips drawn together in a thin line. And with a tug of her hands, that braid undid itself into a massive and luscious brown river. Looking like an angel descended from Heaven, a beauty unfit for this world. And then Hell ascended to Earth.

The sky filled with red, crimson beams cutting through the black with ease as the moon bleed. A ruby film overlapping the world. A nightmare made manifest. The chanting grew more reverent, hiking up an octave. Heads banging against the dirt rhythmically, none of them caring of the bits of blood that splattered in their wake.

The leader, still waving his staff around to instruct the makeshift choir, his brown eyes took on a bloody hue. Glowing and piercing, like a monster had been stuffed into human flesh and now saw this as the perfect time to escape. Gray hair flapping in a nonexistent breeze, veins practically glowing under his skin.

And the woman took one final breathe, holding that dagger aloft in a twin grip, ignoring both the chanting and the pleading from beneath her. With the crimson moon behind her, she struck down with force of a runaway beast. Obsidian blade sliding through skin and slicing cleanly through bone. His cries were even more frantic than the chanting, gaze looking on as he carved open like a pig.

Again and again, she slashed out. Ignoring the blood pooling down on her legs, ignoring those stupid green eyes shouting at her betrayal, ignoring a proud gaze from a monster that had lived for much too long and ignored the similar look from beyond this world. Beyond her time. Her own eyes taking on a reddish hue, a ring of crimson encircling her pupil. This continued, until she reached her hand down and tore apart of his rib cage before tossing it aside with wet splat.

The pair looked down at the bloody mess. Each locked onto the visibly beating organ, it's pace picking up as if it was some shy maiden. For the first time, the women looked down into those lovely eyes. His unusual pale skin, and shock of red hair that matched the world around them were all oddities she had grown to love. But no matter how fond the memories were, she still placed the dagger down on the space besides them and gentle cupped the essential body part with both hands.

His cries grew ever louder, as he was forced to watch as his own heart was ripped out of his body. A plea for anyone or anything to just let him die, to not feel that pain exuding from him in a near wave. But, there were no gods that night...at least no gods that would listen to his prayers.

With a yank, all those fleshly tubing fell away with a snap. But despite it leaving the body, it still continued to pump. Splashing blood over the pair of them, completely soaking through her veil to show off a slender body as she lifted it high into the sky. Her own mouth opened, ignoring the deluge of lifeblood that filled it. Words garbled and ancient, a cry to another power. Older than this forest, older the land, older than man. She too chanted, leading the chorus of carnage as the crimson moon blazed behind her.

Besides them all, a silent witness to this carnage, a lone statue laid. Prompted up on a small protrusion overlooking the sacrifice. It was that of a women gripping a single gnarled staff in two hands. It's figure shapely and nude. A small, gentle smile etched across its face with twin scarlet diamonds for eyes. Gaze gleaming silently. Gleefully.

Before suddenly, three pairs of crimson eyes swiveled to look in unison at one spot and just like that, the world unraveled in smoke. The memory once lost to time, now unearthed.

***

All Albert could feel in that moment was pain. A deep ache running from his forehead and all the down to every inch of his body. His tongue felt dry and swollen, even making swallowing his own spit nearly impossible. That dull ache in his shoulder had become a throbbing mess, his right hand doing no better. And in that moment, he wanted nothing more than a few high dosages of sleep medication to fade off into a blissful, dreamless slumber.

He felt...cold. So very, very cold. Frigid sweat soaking through a thin and worn t-shirt. Goosebumps running along his bits of exposed skin, flesh rubbed itself against chilly and rough brickings. His prized jacket, nowhere to be found. In fact…

'Where's my other shoe?'

Even without opening his eyes, he could tell one of his feet were completely bare. Lacking both shoe and sock. Another missing article of clothing to make this day the piece of pie it was. A real cherry on top, one could say.

As the teen tried to pull himself off the dank alleyway ground, foot steps could be heard coming rapidly his way. Normally, that would've been enough for him either dash for the nearest exit or hunker down to possibly hide but with the way his mind was, all he got out was a pained and raspy groan.

"He's over here!" The voice sounded feminine, quieter with a slight southern twange, called out to some unseen companions before dropping down an octave to speak to him. Holding an edge of concern one would have for a sick but still rabid animal."Just stay still Lovecraft, help is on the way."

He could only groan as a pair of hands gently pushed him back to ground, a flash of pain stabbing into his eyes as he tried to open them but it was just enough to get a look at his new guest. Short cropped black hair and pale skin, perfect make-up to match her tailored and freshly ironed suit. Her neat appearance along with the usage of his underground name, told him all he needed to know.

It seemed there were some serious benefits to signing on with Madame Clements, a on demand search and rescue was more than worth the price.

Not to soon later, another pair of foot steps came running his way.

"Stay with me Lovecraft!" Another pair of hands tilted his head back and fingers pried open a single eyelid before a beam of condensed light was shown directly into his retinas making him try and fail to fight off the woman's ministrations. "Responsive pupils, dilation down to a reasonable level...no signs of concussion...how many fingers am I holding up?"

"T-two."

He guessed from the blurry appendages being shoved into his line of forced sight, croaking out his answer.

"Good, he's coherent. Give me some ice chips!" Alder's voice was sharp as she commanded her companion and soon, a frigid chip was being slid between his dried lips. Which he sucked on eagerly, his body eagerly devouring it and begging for more if that headache was anything to go by. He readily took in another chip. "Good, we'll get you some for here you soon. Just suck on those chips for now and you can drink some actual water in a bit. Cedar dear, please keep him distracted while I check him over."

"Sure," The women replied quietly as he could feel hands run over his limbs. Pressing against his ribs and checking his pulse just to make sure. "What happened? From what Willow told us, you were doing a reading and suddenly started freaking out before running away."

"P-put that thing back." Albert croaked, accepting another ice chip to quell his soar throat. "It's nothing good."

"…" She fell into silence, some amounts of understanding filling her voice. "You don't need to worry about that, Madame Clements put it on lock down when she heard about your reaction."

A sigh left his lips, a mistake as his chest heaved with a rapid and dry cough.

"Where's my stuff? Was it stolen?"

No matter how hard he tried pushing, whatever happened after the reading came up as a complete blank. The memory he could remember just fine, but how he wound up here was out of reach.

"No, Willow has it. She took your gun before you left for obvious reasons." Yeah, if he was really freaking out as they said it wouldn't be smart for him to be carrying a gun in his state. "And she picked up your jacket from outside the building. Your phone is also safe...but as for your shoe and sock? I-I have no idea. Do you remember anything?"

"No." If it wouldn't send stars in his vision, he would've shook his head but the underground doctor had his neck in a vice grip. "All I remember is doing the reading and...what was in that thing...you guys are putting it back..right? If not, destroy it."

"Seems like transient global amnesia, possibly a manic episode."

Alder commented softly, not really talking to anyone but more like taking notes.

"Madame Clements has it on lock-down." Cedar repeated, ignoring the other women. "I don't really have a say...but I'm sure you can try to convince when you recover."

It wasn't an answer he wanted to hear. That thing, that memory it had been clung onto for all these years were some of the most intense emotions he'd ever felt from anything else in this world. It was malevolent and everything screamed at him to take a sledgehammer to slam it to pieces. But given his condition, nothing he said would do anything but make him seem insane...more insane than they already believed him to be.

"Okay, he's good." The doctor gently pulled him to his feet, hooking an arm underneath him to aid the walk to come. "Let's get him to the car and back home, a good days rest and food will do him some good. Lean on me, I have you. We'll just take it one step at a time."

In the flood of aches and pains, headaches and barely satiated thirst, a single thought came to mind. A small whisper that would only further fuel his reckless plans in the future.

'At least there was some benefit to all of this.'

[Psychometry: 22%]

(A/N: Hey! Thank you all for reading! I'll tell you, I didn't expect this chapter to be so goddamn huge! 6K words?! You guys are eating good today! Just shows much I really enjoyed writing this! It showed all the pitfalls of the system and what it meant to play around with it. Coming with both benefits and consequences. For those confused as to what happened, there's a mechanic in Call of Cthulhu where if a player loses 5 or more SAN at any one time, they're required to FAIL a INT roll to stay sane but passing means they got temporarily insane for 1d10 hours. They go through a Bout of Madness, which can make them go into a violent rage attacking everyone in sight or flee or pass out or gain a temporary mania or phobia..or in this case, experience amnesia for about 1d10 rounds. I made it last longer for shits and giggles XD. And they can also experience delusions in this time. Combine this with the optional Insane Talents rules from Pulp Cthulhu pertaining to skill augmentations, I gave him a conciliation prize for all his suffering during all this. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter as much as I loved writing it! Thank you all for all your support and I'll see you guys next week!)