"Yes we do doctor. We find caution and secrecy to be paramount. 
Now, before we begin, this entire session will be recorded for 
verification purposes. This is not a request, I'm just informing you 
that everything you say is going on the record. Is that understood?" 


"Yes. But what do you mean verif-" 
"Please state your name for the record, doctor." 
"Doctor Henry Olstein." 


"Good. You may call me Mr. LaFerro. Now, we, by which | mean 
you, just have a few papers yet to sign before you are officially an 
employee of the Foundation. This should take no more than an hour 
of your time, after which you will be sent where you are supposed to 
go, given an orientation, and assigned to a team. Any defection 
during this time will result in termination. Is that understood?" 


"Yes. No leaving or I'm fired." 


".,.we'll go with that. First is a Foundation-standard nondisclosure 
agreement. By signing this, you agree to not reveal or publish the 
details or findings of any project or projects you work on from here 
on, in this time or reality or any other. Additionally, you agree to be 
held to the same regarding other staff members of the site at which 
you are to work unless they are on your team. Your home, should 
you choose to live off-site, will be bugged and wired for surveillance 
purposes. Any breach of contract will result in termination. If you 
agree to these terms, print your name here, sign here, and initial 
here, here, and here." 


Dr. Henry Olstein briefly held the pen before saying, "So...no 
publication? Ever? Even if | discover something that could change 
how we understand reality?" 


"Good God, they didn't let this guy know anything!" thought LaFerro. 


"Permission may be granted to publish your findings in an internal 
Foundation-only publication. Permission will come from your site 
director and depends on your assignment, your findings, and an 
internal review process of the publication. I'm told the review 
process is exceptionally harsh and has reduced more than a few to 
several sessions with Foundation-employed psychologists. Please 
sign the form so we may continue Dr. Olstein." 


LaFerro watched as Olstein scratched his signature on the paper. 


Another life, thrown away into secrecy. This man would never see 
the light of day again, at least not with family or as Dr. Henry Olstein. 
A life in the shadows. 


"Thank you doctor. Now, we have just a few more to sign. This 
packet of forms explains your clearance level, pay grade, sick days, 
site policy, holiday policy, housing arrangements, vacation days, 
etcetera. If you agree to all the terms and conditions laid out herein, 
you need to print here, here and here, sign here, and initial here, 
here, here, here, here, and here. This needs to be done throughout 
the packet. I'll give you a moment." 


Olstein scribbled furiously, apparently anxious to get on with the job. 
"He wouldn't be so anxious if he knew even a fraction of what he 
was getting into," thought LaFerro. But then, none of them really did. 
Some knew more than others, but no one really knew. 


"Very good. Now, this packet outlines your benefits, insurance, tax 
exemptions, food plan, and gives you the choice between the 
standard, death/dismemberment/displacement compensation and 
the death/dismemberment/displacement/dislocation/relocation/ 
multiplicity/immolation/[DATA EXPUNGED] compensation 
packages. Yes, they've actually written [DATA EXPUNGED], no | 
don't know what it means. It should be noted that this package will 
take a significant amount more out of your paycheck, but will 
guarantee total compensation and financial stability for the 
designated recipient upon your accidental death, dismemberment, 
etcetera. Please mark a checkmark by the package of your choice 
and the designee's name. Then, if you agree to all the terms listed, 
you need to sign here, here, and here, and initial here." 


"The, uh, death/dismemberment/displacement/whatever package... 
that's all a joke right? Not ever actually going to happen?" 


"I'm afraid I'm not cleared to tell you that, nor do | know for certain 
doctor. Do you wish to continue?" 


.- Yes 


"Very well. This paper details the amount of budget per annum you 
will receive for projects. Additional funding and resources may be 


requested. If this looks acceptable to you, please sign here." 


"| think that was the fastest I've ever seen someone sign their 
name," thought LaFerro. 


"...what are D-Class personnel, Mr. LaFerro, and why do | have 
such a high number of them?" 


"That information is above my clearance level doctor. | have 
approximately seventy-five more pages for you to sign before you 
can leave. For the sake of brevity, I'm going to let you peruse and 
sign them at your leisure. They all need to be initialed in the upper 
right corner and signed at the bottom. I'll give you a moment." 


Olstein skimmed and signed the papers quickly, looking more 
agitated with each paper. 


"Okay. This has to be a joke. 'Under no circumstances are you, the 
signee, to touch the anomalous penguins that may or may not be 
present on your site. At no times are you to make a penguin, bird, or 
fish comment around said penguins. Testing of penguins is strictly 
forbidden. Breach of this contract may result in demotion or 
termination.’ This is a joke right?" 


"I'm afraid not doctor. Those penguins drive a hard case. | can't think 
of a time they've lost in Foundation civil court. Please sign the form if 
you agree to the terms." 


Grumbling, Olstein signed the paper. 


"Amazing," thought LaFerro. "He gets caught up over the penguins 
clause but signs the ‘no contact with family' clause without skipping 
a beat. I'll never understand these people." 


"Well doctor, | believe that's all I've got for you to sign. You may 
leave. An Agent will be waiting outside to escort you to your 
assignment. Congratulations on your employment, Level 3 
Researcher Henry Olstein." 


As Olstein left, LaFerro looked down at the papers in front of him. 


"Dr. Henry Olstein, Clearance Level 3/682," read the paper. 


"Poor bastard. Send in the next one." 


Welcome to the Future 


Please sit down, Dr. Hurst. 


| am Dr. Roy. Please don’t stare. | apologise for the search, but we 
could not be entirely sure you were genuine. We've had quite a few 
people over the last few months who sought to cause...problems 
with us. But enough of that. Our friend in the Foundation gave me 
quite a bit of information about you, Dr. Hurst. 


Of course we have people in the Foundation. Your friend, David, | 
believe. Just last week he sent us information on six possible 
recruits. David gave you quite the glowing review. 'Just what we 
need’, 'A brilliant mind’ and 'Able to do what must be done’. Now, 
that last one gives me hope. Let's have a look at this file, shall we? 


Oh, you were involved with the Alaska incident? That was 
magnificent, you should be proud. The research data alone was 
extremely useful, as | can see. A few casualties, but these cannot be 
avoided in our line of work, can they? And you used another item to 
stop it? You've been wasting your time at the Foundation, doctor, 
you obviously belong with us! 


Perhaps it’s time | tell you what it is we do here. In essence, we're 
very similar to the organization you just left. We’re not as big, | 
admit, but | feel that our very nature means we achieve more. Much 
more, as you will see during your career with us. We have three 
hundred and twenty six items currently in our possession. Actually, 
with your welcome gift we now have three hundred and twenty 
seven. 


Take for example the ‘human serum’. Inject it into any animal and it 
will morph and twist into the approximate shape of a human. The 
samples they had, they locked away. But we had better ideas. We 
injected it into a human. Oh, the results. This is what you will do. Do 
what it is not right to do, because nobody else is able to do it. It’s for 
the good of the world, doctor! 


unknown source, but since / /20 , all broadcasts have been 
successfully intercepted using Protocol Upsilon-Beta 3 and blocked 
from public viewing. 


Episode Log 


Episode Title Contents 

‘Bobble's Kitchen Surprise) Setting of episode is a 
stereotypical small 
American town. In the 
episode, Bobble the Clown 
appears to kidnap one of 
the town's citizens and 
takes him to his home. 
Once there, Bobble the 
Clown informs the viewer on 
how to prepare human flesh 
for consumption, then 
proceeds to skin, gut and 
cook the citizen. 

‘Bobble in the Big City’ Setting of episode is a large 
American city, possibly New 
York. In the episode, Bobble 
the Clown instructs viewers 
on methods of lighting fires 
undetected, using resources 
such as mosquito coils. At 
the end of the episode, 
Bobble the Clown sets fire 
to a large building and 
leaves. The picture stays on 
the burning building for a 
further three minutes before 
the episode ends. Screams 
are audible during this time. 

‘Bobble's Sneaky Saturday’ Setting of episode appears 
to be London, as the 
Elizabeth Tower housing 
Big Ben is visible. In the 
episode, Bobble the Clown 


We have many more test subjects than the Foundation. The officials 
in the countries we place our facilities pay us to take their poor, their 
destitute, their useless. The people we use have nothing. They are 
nothing. But we can take them, use them, and then they are 
something, aren't they? They're the future. 


| hope that in the future, wars will not be fought with guns. They will 
be fought with impossible things; wars will be ended in an instant. 
They could be ended before they began. I’m not evil. But the things 
we do have to be done. 


We'll give you thirty test subjects for your first two months and 
access to two Vertigo items. You would call those Safe items, we 
don’t. Bright new ideas, doctor, for a bright new future! Haha. 
Impress me, doctor. I’m sure you will exceed all of our expectations. 


You are to use the items on the subjects, as I'm sure you know how 
to. Keep trying and trying until you find that moment where it all 
clicks and you're not holding something that should not be in your 
hands. When you find you're holding a weapon, you've done it. It's 
another small step, doctor. Another small step. 


Oh, the name? We are a small force against the tide of impossibility, 
and this small force seeks to create logic out of illogic. What better 
name than the Chaos Insurgency? 


Welcome to the Machine 


The squad split to opposite sides of the street at the head of the 
block. Private Scott followed two others and the sergeant into a 
bombed out church. The four soldiers sifted between the pews, 
calmly but rapidly assuming position. They scrambled over chunks 
of concrete and stone littering the floor with early morning irritation. 
Scott turned his gaze up to the broken rafters of the roof and tripped 
clumsily over his own feet. It seemed funny to him that the cathedral 
in this little French town was larger than any back in Trenton. 
Clambering over a cracked slab of the wall, the four men set up ata 
pair of tall stained-glass windows. The intermittent missing diamond 
panes offered a fine view of the road below while providing a modest 
visual obstruction to anyone approaching. They had to take it in 
good faith, Scott supposed, that the other five men had found a 
position on the other side of the street. 


The sergeant lay prone and silent, the barrel of his rifle poking 
slightly past the sill. Scott stood awkwardly by, looking over his 
shoulder at the beams of light coming down through the roof. It was 
almost angelic. 


“Get the fuck down, jackass,” said Private McKenzie jovially, tugging 
on the edge of Scott’s coat. Scott scrambled down, weapon 
bouncing loudly off the stone. Then they waited, tensely. A full 
platoon of German soldiers was scheduled to come through 
sometime that morning, though they didn’t know when. They had 
three squads behind them, thankfully, but Private Scott’s squad 
would be at the front. 


They fidgeted. McKenzie and Scott flicked pebbles at each other, 
and Jacobsen smoked. The sergeant just lay there. He could have 
been asleep. 


After a long while they became aware of other sounds under the 
songbirds and the light creek of the broken ceiling slats. There was 
movement, and slight hints of “s” sounds drifting from voices at the 


far rear of the cathedral. 


“You hear that, sarge?” asked Private Jacobsen, inching over on his 
elbows. 


“Yup,” the NCO responded. “None of our boys are up this far.” 


“Maybe two of us should go check it out-” Jacobsen added, eager to 
get up. 


“Jerry ain’t up this far either,” the sergeant continued, not listening. 
He peered far off down the road. “We're all going,” he decided. “Get 
up.” 


The four stood and began moving to the back of the church, Private 
Scott in tow. The light disoriented them, shifting from bright to dark 
as they walked beneath the gashes in the great ceiling. The 
sergeant lifted a finger to his lips. A spent cartridge jangled 
underfoot, and Scott jumped a little. Behind the altar and to the left 
was a wooden door, slightly ajar. Voices echoed from within, up a 
long stone staircase. And there was another noise, something 
subtler, and higher pitched, barely audible. 


Suddenly the sound of gunfire erupted up from below. The soldiers 
sprang from inaction and pressed themselves against the wall. 
There were shouts from the basement, and more shots. The 
sergeant motioned quickly with two fingers, looking markedly at 
Private Scott. Scott turned from the wall to the door, rifle 
outstretched, and felt aching pangs of adrenaline up the back of his 
neck. He pushed into the stairwell gingerly. The three other men 
followed him slowly down the moist, dark passage. The gunfire had 
stopped, but there were still loud cries emanating from below, and a 
strange, shrill chittering, as if from rats. 


They came to the bottom of the steps, and Scott leaned quickly 
around the edge of the threshold. It was a long basement room with 
a low ceiling, poorly lit by flickering torches in wall brackets. At the 
end of the room was an altar, hung with a white cloth. Upon it sat an 
ornate golden goblet. It shone strangely in the relative darkness, 
giving off a bluish shimmer. 


In the center of the basement was a wooden table, upon which 
stood two figures. They were a man and a woman, and they wore 
odd khaki jumpsuits. The man was frantically fiddling with a 
flamethrower, cursing loudly in an accent that sounded German. The 
woman stood at his back, brandishing an ugly machete. There was 
a third khaki figure below them on the floor, body partially obscured 
by a dark, flowing mass. 


As Scott looked closer, he saw that the mass was in fact a swarm of 
thousands of vermin. They were nothing he had ever seen before — 
grapefruit sized, skittering with perverted rapidity on spindly legs, 
screeching incessantly. Most of them pressed at the table, crawling 
over each other in ravenous eagerness to get up to the two figures. 
The woman swept the machete low, angrily slicing back the 
creatures that managed to mount the table. The man was cursing in 
German, and whacking at the flamethrower with his fists. Private 
Scott stood agape at the base of the stair.