“Yeah you do,” Maine countered. “I know, believe me | know. You're 
gay. Have been for about six-seven weeks? Almost overnight? 
Straight for fifty-odd years, and then one day you wake up and voila! 
You're thinking interior design and fake tan. Lost your faith round 


about the same time too? But you still go to church like a good, 
straight Texan boy...” Maine let the revelation sink in; one, two, 
three, four, five. “...Am | wrong?” 


Paris did not answer. 


“Good,” said Maine. “Now don't you worry none. I'm an equal 
opportunities blackmailer; treat stags and fags the same.” 


Paris’ gaze fell to the floor. “Il hope you don't expect me to confirm 
your allegations,” he sighed. “I have nothing to say to you.” 


“Suits me,” said Maine. “I don't want a conver-fucking-sation about 
Will and Grace and clutch bags.” 


“So what do you want?” 


Maine shrugged. “I don't know yet,” he admitted. “Money, | guess. | 
don't know. I'm going to have to get back to you on that.” 


“I'm not confirming your accusations,” Paris said. “But I'd like to 
know where your information comes from.” 


“Oh, friends of friends,” Maine said. “I have my sources.” 


“| don't know how you got my number, or my name, or my address, 
but | can find out,” said Paris. “| have my sources too.” 


Maine clapped his hands, his face beaming. “Oh yeah - your 
daughter, right? Works for some secret organisation? CIA or some 
shit like that? Let's not get her involved in this grubby, greedy little 
situation. Or your wife, for that matter. Don't want to push her off the 
wagon, do we? Not when she's come so far.” 


“Christ,” Paris whispered, trying to massage an oncoming tension 
headache away at source. “How do you know all this?” 


Harold Maine leaned back and smiled, and his foetid cigar-smoke 
breath rolled over Paris like fog. 


“Contacts,” he said, and he relished the word like cold beer on a hot 
day. “Contacts.” 


Output: Shredded multi-colored reflective polycarbonate 
plastic coated with aluminum. 


Input: (1) Disc 

Setting: Coarse 

Output: Pools of yellow and black ink (most likely from 
label), aluminum and polycarbonate plastic pellets. 


Input: (1) Disc 

Setting: 1:1 

Output: (1) Audio compact disc, “Ain't No Reason” by 
Brett Dennen 


Input: (1) Disc 

Setting: Fine 

Output: (1) Apparently unchanged compact disc. 
However when played for D-class personnel, they 
commented on the superior quality of the music anda 
lasting preference for Jack Johnson’s singing, requesting 
more of his works (measurement of the duration of 
musical preference in progress). 


Input: (1) Disc 

Setting: Very Fine 

Output: (1) Apparently unchanged compact disc. 
However when played for D-class personnel, test 
subjects mentioned tasting maple syrup and bananas, 
additionally had a feeling of fullness afterwards. They 
declined offers of food for a period of 4 hours afterwards, 
and blood tests immediately after the experiment 
indicated the consumption of a high carbohydrate meal, 
even though no food had been consumed by the 
subjects for 6 hours previously. No other anomalous 
effects were reported. 


Note:Interesting results. Let's see what happens with a 
different CD.- Dr. 


Name: Dr. Praetoreous 
Date: / /2017 
Total Items: (5) Audio Compact Discs, “Toxic” by Britney 


oo0o000 


Calvin Paris walked out of the library and into the back of a black, 
brand new limousine. The driver pulled off slowly, integrating with 
the traffic heading south, and he did not look at Paris, or speak to 
him, or attempt to interact with him in any way. 


Finally, out of public view, Paris allowed himself to sink back into the 
luxurious leather upholstery and poured himself a drink. The 
headache was here to stay; no point thinking otherwise. No point 
trying to avert it, or handle it, or deny it. Just have to contain it, he 
thought. Limit the damage as best he could. 


He'd been incredibly stupid, he realised. He had found himself ina 
hotel room with another man. No; he had found himself in bed in a 
hotel room with another man, and - lacking anyone else to confide 
in, least of all a God he no longer believed in - he had told his new 
lover everything. How he'd been heterosexual all his life, how he 
had betrayed his long-suffering wife, how the taste of another man’s 
sex was so much more satisfying than her’s. Dear Christ, he'd been 
stupid. He gulped the whisky in one; it burned as it went down, 
spreading outwards on its way. He poured another. 


Harold Maine must have known about the hotel encounter. He must 
have known about Johnathon. How? Didn't matter. He knew; J had 
told him - how else would Maine have known about his overnight 
change from straight to gay? Or his fall from faith? 


He looked out of the window at the ambling, aimless folk on the 
sidewalks. Caught a glimpse of a pretty young thing, then saw her 
stunted arms and shook his head. “The world’s gone mad,” he said 
to himself, and withdrew his cellphone from his jacket. He took a 
large swig of whisky, waited for its fire to turn to velvet, then dialled 
his daughter's number. 


“Carol? We need to talk.” 


And the black, brand new limousine rolled on, and the driver was 
silent. 


Next 


A Well Practiced Introduction 


| shivered like a jackhammer, even with my heavy down jacket 
drawn up around my neck. It felt like at least ten below zero, thanks 
to the wind chill, which by all logic should have been stopped by the 
snow covered trees. Winter hates logic, | think. Why else would it 
snow so damn much? 


"Move!" | shouted at the others, and the pickup truck rumbled 
forward, muffled by the thick snow. Something thumped in the back, 
making its large, tarp-covered box shake from side to side. Ropes 
held it in place. | took a cask from my belt, smelled it. No drinking on 
the job. 


Yeah, fuck that. 
| took a heavy mouthful, and waited for something a little like warmth 


to hit my bloodstream. 


"Thank you, Agent. The research division will take care of the rest. 
The, ah, replacements for Jekowski and Phillips are waiting in the... 
um, the Cafeteria, | think. For introductions." 


She waved me off. She was new, still nervous in her job. Didn't 
remember to ask me if | had found any new risks with this one.. 
"When it starts drooling yellow, get everyone as far away as 
possible. It can spit poison." 


She blinked, then nearly dove for the phone. 
"We gagged it." 


She relaxed. 


The new kids were sitting across from each other, each with a stack 


of papers in front of them, and no food in sight. | didn't go to them at 
first. First, food. Then, my plate piled high and held in the palm of my 
left hand like some ritzy waiter, | took a handgun from my side, 
stepped behind one of the new kids, and pointed it at the back of his 
head. He had cropped dirt red hair. 


"You just died," | said in a bored voice. To his credit, he barely 
flinched. Could have just been a silent hiccup. The boy across from 
him didn't do so well. though. Nearly tipped his chair over. 


"Geez, are they recruiting out of high school now?" | asked him after 
an awkward second's pause. He looked like he was. As I'm getting 
older, they're getting younger. 


"Um... Director. You're... | mean, Captain Bark. We were told to 
report to..." 


| cut him off with a "Yeah, yeah. Now, tell me what you could have 
done to keep from getting killed just now." 


No one spoke for a second. | jabbed carrot top in the back of the 
head with my gun, and he finally spoke. "Pay attention to my 
surroundings. When someone enters the room, check for weapons." 
He had a thick Scottish accent. "Now could you please..." 


"No," | said. "Besides just seeing me, what would you do? | have a 
gun. You don't even have a toothpick." 


"Run and hide, probably, sir." 


"Good. Remember that. Fight when you have either one hell of an 
advantage, or no choice in the matter. Of course, you're still dead.” | 
drew back the gun, and sat on the table beside them. 


"| hope you weren't waiting for me in order to eat. | hate that. Don't 
go all formal on me or you'll find yourself on Keter duty for whatever 
the hell excuse | can find. And lose that damn accent. You make me 
think of a leprechaun." 


| didn't let the leprechaun finish. "You, Youngblood." They were both 


staring at me now. "If | had pulled the trigger on your friend the 
leprechaun, what would you have done? | see you came out here 
naked as well. No gun, not even a god damn butter knife. And 
wetting the bed isn't an option, no matter how much practice you 
have." 


"Don't finish that. If your next sentence doesn't start with a verb, 
you're talking too much." 

| raised the gun to the leprechaun's face again. "Now, Youngblood, 
what do you do?" 


"But..." 


"Wrong!" | shouted, and pulled the trigger, discharging the blank with 
a loud bang. 


This time, the leprechaun jumped. 


"So, twelve legs with claws, four legs with pincers, and a pair of 
pincers... erm, normal, mouth pincers that is, which... deliver an 
electrical current that disrupts the prey's heartbeat." 


"You call that normal?" 
"You know what | mean." 


"I'd know what you meant if you weren't talking like some kind of 
drunk pixie." 


| had to credit him. He could control his temper. 


"So, they never mentioned what the other..." he paused to think, 
"eighty six legs do." 


"They walk," | said. "Suit up. The weather's a bitch out here." 


The truck rumbled and shuddered to a halt. The door gave a metallic 
whine in preparation, and before it could open into hell frozen over, | 
zipped my coat up around my neck. 


Partial Notes from the Corps of Discovery Expedition, 
1804-1806 


NOTICE FROM THE FOUNDATION RECORDS AND 
INFORMATION SECURITY ADMINISTRATION 


The following excerpts from the Journal of Meriwether Lewis were 
located during a Foundation sweep on the swath of land that 
encompasses The Louisiana Purchase on 21/06/1808. Before 
being released to RAISA, the following excerpts have been 
translated to modern English by the Foundation. The following 
excerpts document anomalous activity during the entirety of the 
expedition(1804-1806), which is hypothesized to be the earliest 
recording of The Serpent's Hand in existence. At this time, the 
following records have been archived in the Records and 
Information Security Administration(RAISA)'s knowledge 
database, with the noted absence of the map mentioned several 
times in the preceding excerpts. Please do not remove or alter the 
following documents without my express authorization. Thank you 
for your anticipated cooperation. 

— Maria Jones, Director, RAISA 


June 03, 1804: 


My name is Meriwether Lewis. Thomas Jefferson approached me to 
discuss an expedition that he has planned. He informed me about a 
swath of land that was recently purchased, and he trusted in my 
skills in order to explore it. He advised me to explore the entire 
swath of the Louisiana Purchase and trade with any indigenous 
people located there. He also told me that building relations with the 
Indians was optional but greatly encouraged. After agreeing to the 
proposed plan, | left the statehouse and met an inspiring gentleman 
by the name of William Clark, a tall caucasian man in his early 
thirties. When he told me about his aspirations to become a 
draftsman, | immediately drafted him. | had to ask Mr. Jefferson if it 


was acceptable to bring a hired hand on this expedition with me. 
June 05: 


Mr. Jefferson agreed, just like | figured he would. He was hoping 
that Clark and | would be able to achieve that which his exploration 
teams could not. Clark and | set out for the market to buy provisions. 
We bought a few bushels of apples, about a Ib of meat and two 
gallons of water. We figured this was enough to last us for the 
majority of the trip. Seeing as we were heading downstream in a 
canoe, we filled the rest with camping supplies, such as a burlap 
tent, a hiking backpack and a tinderbox. We also included 
commodities, wood and various textiles like cotton and silk, to trade 
with any indigenous locals we encountered. 


June 13: 


During the beginning of our expedition, the forest came alive with 
the sounds of nature. Birds flew overhead, their chirping catching 
me slightly off-guard. On the banks, the occasional deer was spotted 
coming to the riverside to drink from the pristine waters that flowed 
beneath our canoe. The fish, salmon | believe they were, were 
heading upstream; a few of them smacked us in the face as they 
went. We probably ended up tossing about fifteen salmon back into 
the river by the end of the day. The scenery began to blend together 
as we paddled downstream. Hopefully we encounter some Indian 
settlements on our way to the Pacific. Our supplies are running low, 
| must have miscalculated the amount of supplies required for the 
exploration. 


July 20: 


Signs of civilization! A fort has appeared, covered in various animal 
furs. The walls of the fort were made completely of oak, covered in 
burlap to protect it from the elements. We were alerted to the fort's 
presence by a few US army volunteers that came on this trip with 
us. Clark has already moved in to portage on the bank nearby, the 
volunteers remained in the boat as we ventured inside. Inside were 
a bunch of wigwams arraigned in a circle around a gigantic fire pit. 
Behind the fire pit was a tall totem with the head of a cobra carved 
into it, on which a symbol was carved comprising of two halves. The 


first half was of a tree shedding it's leaves, with the second half 
rapidly tapering off to a slender body adorned with the head of a 
snake. While we were preoccupied, some of the indigenous people 
who claimed to be Indians appeared from their respective wigwam. 
They were tan-skinned, wearing buffalo hide vests and cotton- 
woven pants, with headdresses of feathers and rawhide upon their 
heads. 


The first few moments of any first interaction is usually 
uncomfortable. They did not appear to be overly thrilled to have 
unannounced visitors inside of their fort. Clark mentioned the aspect 
of trade and it seemed to clear the air, so to speak. We traded 
goods with them for food and items to continue on our way. One of 
the Indians were especially generous during our stay at the fort. He 
announced that he was the Chief of the Serpent tribe. The Chief was 
wearing a cloak made entirely of bird feathers draped over his back 
and was holding a wooden staff with a circular cut of bone adorned 
at the tip, with spikes extended from the base, and feathers taped to 
the body of the staff. 


He asked about our destination and when we told him the Pacific, he 
said that he had a map that could be of assistance to us. Clark and | 
asked what he wanted for the map, and the Chief said that he would 
only give it to us in a trade. Clark and | exchanged offers back and 
forth before we came up with an audience with Thomas Jefferson to 
hold talks about the treaties. This seemed to please the Chief for he 
stood up and walked over to a wigwam, opened the wooden door 
upon it, and invited us in. After we walked in, we found ourselves in 
a different place entirely. A place that we never knew existed. 


Date of entry unrecorded: 


When we stepped through the door, it was if we passed into one of 
those fiction books. Bookshelves flanked us on either side, as tall as 
the eye can see. The Chief turned around and removed what we 
mistook as clothing to hang on a rack beside the door behind us. 
"Travelers. | promise help you with exploration and now going to 
make good on word. This is Library." Clark and | could only stand 
and stare in awe at the interior of the building. Plush red carpet lined 
the floor and we noticed a thirty foot tall carpet just walk by us. "Hey 
Shag." The individual that led us into this place gave a friendly wave