[Agnet Carlson removes his shirt and attempts 
to fall on UI-56. UI-56 fails to penetrate Agent 
Carlson's skin, leaving him unharmed save for 
minor bruising. Test concluded. Agent Carlson 
suffers no lasting effects, other than a self- 
proclaimed desire for "silk pantaloons". 


My hypothesis is that UI-56 posses mild mind-affecting 
proportions, causing subjects using it to experience trivial 
disputes as confrontations of the highest importance. 
UI-56 also seems to cause subjects to speak in what 
they perceive as medieval-like language, and makes 
them cocky too. It's a strange one, no doubt. 


Dr. Charles 
+ Show Test Log UI-56-2 


Research personnel: Dr. Charles, Dr. 
Demagne (reporting) 


Test subjects: Agent Ricks (male), Agent 
Chan (female) 


Test: In an attempt to verify UI-56's influence 
over women, | instructed Agent Ricks (who 
has a notably poor vocabulary) to hold the 
sword and speak the words, then introduced 
him to Agent Chan. The following result was 
recorded: 


Agent Ricks: Do my eyes misguide my, or do 
| see an extra fine maiden in this here 
chamber? 


Agent Chan: What is he talking about? 


Agent Ricks: Come now, don't be shy! Yon 
bitch knows this knight has all the right gear! 


Agent Chan: Did you just call me a bitch!? 


Agent Ricks No need to be upset, my petite 
kumquat. Come, there is a great water serpent 
in my breeches, and it requires your attention! 


[Agent Chan then grappled with Agent Ricks 
and removed UI-56 from his grasp. She 
attempted to use UI-56 to harm Agent Ricks in 
a highly inappropriate manner (in my humble 
opinion), before security personnel intervened. 
UI-56 was returned to storage, Agent Chan 
was reprimanded, and Agent Ricks was 
escorted to the infirmary] 


| really don't know what to tell you about this one, Laura. 
It's a sword that makes you act like a pseudo-medieval 
asshole, as far as | can tell. Where do you even get this 
stuff? 


Dr. Demagne. 


We also found a coupon with with the pamphlet and UI-56, saying it 
was for a free tutorial tape. We sent for one and it arrived a few days 
later, starring no other than two of the clowns we captured during 
the raid. The spooks came and took that too, but | did manage to 
write a transcription of it beforehand: 


+ Show Recorded Log 


[Camera opens to what appears to be a mail room. A 
figure enters the frame, wearing long robes, a pointed 
hat, and a flower-patterned tie. That's Daniel Monroe, 
though he likes to be called Danerius. He claims to be a 
Luxomancer, though | have no idea what that's supposed 
to mean] 


Dan: Greetings, aspiring knights! Today, |, Danerius the 
Magnificent, will be your guide to the realm of the 
arcane! Let us begin. [to someone off-camera] minion, 
bring forth the Sword! 


[He's talking to Edmund Sami, a low level manager who 
works at tech support at Merl's. Strange guy, always 
wears that mask on his face] 


Sami: [off-camera] Who the hell are you calling a minion, 
Dan? I'm technically your superior! 


Dan: Excuse me for a moment, dear sirs. [walks off- 
camera] Sami, Mr. Jamu placed me in charge of making 
the video, obviously because he knows which one of us 
is the real wizard around here! 


Sami: Oh, don't you dare! You know the only reason 
Jamu did that was to spite me! Some cousin, he is. Now 
get back on camera and let's get this over with! 


Dan: Not until you admit I'm the the one in charge. 


Sami: If | do that, you'll never let me hear the end of it. 
No deal. 


Dan: Fine, | guess I'll just have to tell Mr. Jamu you're 
being uncooperative. And that you haven't finished your 
quarterly performance report, minion. 


Sami: That's it, you dimwit Luxomancer, your ass is 
mine! 


[you can hear a scuffle occurring off-camera] 
Dan: Not the beard! Not the beard! 
Sami: Yes the beard! 


[The camera is knocked over. Video feed stops, audio 
continues] 


Dan: Hmm. This didn't go well. 
Sami: You better not tell Jamu anything about this! 


Dan: No way! He'll blame me for ruining the tape! 


Sami: Who the hell cares, Dan? No one is ever going to 
actually order the bloody thing. Let's just say we're done 
and get lunch. | think it's pizza day. 


Dan: Pizza? Endorius take this accursed tape to the 
leaky Stygian Abyss then. 


Sami: What? 
Dan: Fuck it, lets eat. 
<End Log> 


Anyway, that's all we have left from the raid. The spooks took 
everything else. | know | should be angry, but this is far more than 
we usually get. | wonder why they allowed me to get away with that, 
I'm sure they knew exactly what | was doing. They always do. 


Sir, I'm... not sure we did the right thing here. This might sound 
hypocritical from the one who organized the raid, and | know we 
don't have the resources to handle this sort of things ourselves, but | 
still hate doing this. Those people we caught were weird, true, but 
giving them away to the spooks... You know no one ever comes 
back once the spooks gets their hands on them. They weren't bad 
people. They didn't deserve this. 


But | guess that's just what we do, isn't it. 
Signing out, 


Special Agent Stanton. 


Subject: Re: UI-56 
From: Director McNamara, FBI HQ, Washington D.C 


To: Special Agent Laura Stanton, Unusual Incident Unit, Los 
Angeles Office 


Don't rock the boat, kiddo. Just keep your head down and try not to 
think about it too much. Hang in there, eh? This assignment won't 


last forever. Soon the entire Huston incident will blow over and we 
can get you back to the big league. | promised your father I'll get you 
out of this, and | will. 


Oh, and try not to swear so much, it looks unprofessional. 


Director McNamara. 


Sample 887-2674: Several pages of machine-readable bar codes, 
corresponding to ten-digit numbers. The significance of the numbers 
is unknown. 


Sample 887-2676: A series of chess problems, designed using a 13 
x 9 square-chessboard. 


Sample 887-2677: Solutions to crossword puzzles published in the 
Sacramento Bee newspaper between July 23, 1971 and August 15, 
1973. 


Sample 887-2680: The character "g", repeated approximately 
85,000 times. The document contains a table of contents, headings 
and subheadings, footnotes and handwritten marginal notes ina 
different handwriting, all consisting only of repetitions of the letter 
"g", but punctuated and formatted as if it comprised meaningful text. 


Sample 887-2681: A map showing the locations of all Correios de 
Angola postal system mailboxes in Cabinda, Angola. 


Sample 887-2682: Chinese horoscopes for all current roster players 
in the National Hockey League. 


Sample 887-2684: A transcript of a Nahuatl-language conversation 
between two speakers. One of the speakers was named "Heart of 
Jaguar"; the other speaker is not named in the conversation. The 
conversation discusses weather conditions in central Mexico and the 
timing of a prospective military attack by the Aztecs ona 
neighboring Tarascan settlement; the attack evidently took place in 
the year 1508. 


Sample 887-2685: A log of lightning strikes in Cuba over a 16-year 
period beginning in 1906. The log reports the date, time, longitude- 
latitude coordinates and energy of each strike. The log is written in 
Javanese. 


Sample 887-2686: A series of motor vehicle certificates of title for 
hearses owned by funeral homes in Appleton, Wisconsin. 


Sample 887-2689: A copy of several sections of a New Zealand 
statute regulating the use of asbestos. The text is transcribed in 


Tales K 


Katrina and Morgan and Little Miss Dotty Doo 


Katrina sat on the red bench, her shiny Teenage Mutant Ninja 
Turtles lunchbox to her left, and Little Miss Dotty Doo tucked under 
her right arm. The sun felt nice on her face. She absently swung her 
feet, which a/most (but not quite) touched the ground, back and 
forth. 


She hadn't particularly wanted to go to the movies today — not after 
what had happened. Instead, she had decided to come to the park. 
It was such a lovely day, and she knew Little Miss Dotty Doo loved 
the sunshine. 


She had packed herself a lunch: one apple, a juice box, anda 
granola bar. She'd wanted to make a sandwich, but all the lunch 
meat had spoiled long ago. It didn't really matter, she supposed. 
She could enjoy the sunshine even if she didn't have her absolute 
favorite sandwich in the world, as long as she had Little Miss Dotty 
Doo with her. As long as she loved Little Miss Dotty Doo, and Miss 
Dotty Doo loved her, everything was okay. 


It wasn't that Katrina didn't notice the looks the kids on the street 
gave her and her lovely house, because she did. She simply didn't 
care. They were probably just jealous, because Little Miss Dotty Doo 
didn't love them. Even when some of the big kids were mean, she 
knew they were just mad. She could tell because sometimes they 
tried to take Little Miss Dotty Doo away. 


But Little Miss Dotty Doo would not tolerate it. She only loved 
Katrina, and Katrina loved her. And Miss Doo would not allow 
anyone to separate them. 


So everything was okay. 


"Hey, weirdo," came a voice from behind her. A mean voice. A big- 
kid voice. 


Katrina stood and turned. She left her shiny Teenage Mutant Ninja 
Turtles lunchbox on the red bench, but kept Little Miss Dotty Doo 
tucked under her right arm. It wasn't just a big kid. It was Morgan, 
the biggest kid of all. The biggest bully in the eighth-grade class. 
She had her scraped-up arms folded high on her chest and her dirty 
baseball cap with the brim to the back of her head. Her freckled face 
was scrunched up it the way it got when she was looking to pick a 
fight. Katrina thought it made her look like a pig. 


"You're supposed to be in school." Katrina shifted her weight from 
foot to foot and clutched Little Miss Dotty Doo tightly. It always made 
her uncomfortable when Morgan's face got scrunched up like a 
pig's. It was kind of scary. 


"| got suspended. | hit Peter Charles on the head." 


"That's a mean thing to do." Katrina was never sure how to speak 
with Morgan. She could never tell what the bigger girl with her 
scraped-up arms would say next. 


"No shit, Sherlock." Morgan spat, a great big gross glob. It landed on 
the red bench, where Katrina had been sitting. 


"Please don't curse," Katrina shifted her weight. "Little Miss Dotty 
Doo doesn't like it when you curse." 


"Your doll can't think, dummy." Morgan spat again. This time, it 
landed on Katrina's shiny Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles lunchbox. 
"It's made of plastic. Sorry-not." 


"Little Miss Dotty Doo can think," Katrina insisted. "She loves me." 


"Jesus, why do you have to be so weird?" Morgan scratched her 
scraped-up left forearm. Her face scrunched up even more. "Living 
all alone in that creepy house and not even coming to school, like, 
ever, and sitting there in that mothy dress while it's hot out, it's 
weird. No wonder nobody likes you. It's cause you always have that 
fucking doll, you little psycho." 


"Little Miss Dotty Doo loves me. And | love her, too. | don't need 
more friends. | don't want none." 


"You are insane. | saw what you did to Lenny. Man, | don't know 
what it was but you're a psycho, and everyone knows it. Everyone 
knows about Lenny, and no one is ever going to be your friend. How 
do you like that Miss Mothy-Dress?" 


Then, Katrina heard a whisper. Little Miss Dotty Doo spoke to her, 
and told her what to say. 


"If I'm so crazy dangerous, you probably shouldn't be talking to me." 
Katrina's voice was strong and clear, the way it only got when Little 
Miss Dotty Doo was helping her. "| might make you disappear, too. If 
you had any brains, you would have realized that by now, Morgan." 
And she smiled sweetly. 


Morgan stood for a moment, stunned. The gears turned in her head, 
processing Katrina's words. Then, her face scrunched up the 
tightest Katrina had ever seen it. She rounded the red bench, 
stomping her booted feet, her hands clenching and unclenching as 
her breathing grew heavier. 


"Give me that, you little B/TCH!" Morgan roared, and she tackled the 
smaller girl to the ground. Katrina held onto Little Miss Dotty Doo as 
tightly as she could, but of course Morgan was stronger. Little Miss 
Doo left Katrina's hands and she felt the cloud begin to creep up 
behind her eyes. The emptiness began filling her, starting in her toes 
as Morgan began to run, holding Little Miss Dotty Doo under her 
arm like a football. It grew stronger and stronger as Miss Doo moved 
farther and farther from her. 


But she knew everything would be okay. Little Miss Dotty Doo loved 
her, and she loved Miss Dotty Doo. She knew Miss Doo had a plan. 
They only had to be apart for five minutes. Little Miss Dotty Doo 
would protect herself, like she always did. 


Then they would have a new friend. 


Katrina huddled her feet underneath her as Morgan crossed the 
empty street and entered an alley, leaving her line of sight. She 
rocked back and forth as she waited. The emptiness filled her up but 
she resisted crying. She had to be strong for Miss Doo. 


Then, there came a scream from the alley. Katrina checked quickly 
to make sure no one else had heard it and would investigate, but the 
street and the park were deserted. 


Katrina stood, retrieving her shiny Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles 
lunchbox from the red bench. She walked quickly across the street 
and into the alley, feeling the emptiness draining from her as she 
went. 


Close to the other end of the alley, she found them. Little Miss Dotty 
Doo lay flat on the pavement. Next to her sat a beautiful porcelain 
cup and saucer. They were white with blue patterned designs 
around the edges. 


"Miss Dotty Doo, it's beautiful! She picked Miss Doo up and cradled 
her in her right elbow, then retrieved the cup and saucer with her left 
hand. "We have a new friend. Let's go home." 


They would never be separated. Katrina had all the friends she 
needed at home. 


And she loved Little Miss Dotty Doo, and Miss Dotty Doo loved her. 


Everything was okay. 


Keeping With The Times 


It was always like that. | grew up in a small village just south of 
Niznyj Novgorod, as third of four children. My mother always longed 
for how, before | was even born, we lived in a nice apartment 
Moscow, with my father working at the ministry. Then Chruscov 
came. "We got to think in new ways." he said, and so, my father 
ended up a deputy in the local soviet. Even that was probably 
thanks to my grandfather... 


My grandfather was a war hero - lost a leg fighting the SS-men. 
When | was a boy, | wanted to be like him - tell jokes to a full pub or 
House of Culture, play folk songs on a harmonica. My class teacher 
once heard me talk about it with Sergej, so he took me off, and 
knocked on my forehead - "You got to think in new ways, Grigorij - 
the culture of tomorrow doesn't need drunken comics, and you are 
neither good enough, not with a right cadre profile to be taken to 
study acting." Well, so | did, and became a militionary. 


What can | say.. Nights are long and cold, promotion nowhere... | 
somehow lasted through, and got transferred to the city. Life went 
better from then - the girls like a uniform, and there were some other 
things to do... until that one night. We got called in by some hag.. 
think she was a pensioned teacher... She claimed to see some 
youths carrying off half a pig, and in this time of shortage, sure must 
have... Ah well - we had a bit under our hats already... made a 
game out of who to send. . Six shots of vodka, two of kerosene, and 
a peg on the nose... needless to say, me and Fyodor weren't lucky. 
Ah well, thought we'd scare them a bit, and if it was really meat 
,gonna bring some of it home and ask those fuckers where you can 
get it black.