A reality bridge is being built, the apartment complex needs to be vacated to be demolished.

You are a subcontractor tasked with obtaining consent and if not consent at least ascertain whether there is conflicting ownership or other nasty bureaucratic surprises.

Your weapons are your charming smile and the tiny gun with a remarkable big bite.

Unknown to your employers, you also carry a laser sighted serrated blade with 5000 volts coursing through it. The Weapon is waiting for a chance to "sting m-f"

You, to the viewer, are at this point androgynous. Compliments to your "specialty inner mold perfect fit" space suit.


The job was marked with code yellow. This means hostiles, do not kill unless provoked.

Also: “We don't know what the fuck is in there.”

Because of your bedside manners the supervisor of said district has seen fit to attach a note.

It reads: "Bring Artifacts"

Code for possible extra dimensional gateways.

The note is also smeared with lipstick in the shape of a kiss with fangs.

You file this last detail away for further thinking after the job is done.


this is an intro to:

“So, we just had a brain-communion session that would make the Great Spirits of Whitechapel proud. Hideous beasties were invoked, and the drums of weird things were given a good beating.

A log of this burbling insanity can be found here: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1yPVgp73YRAVk-Xbkgf8BcyBUoIZGI2fJ7gxEYhpVXBk/edit

EDIT: This whole thing was inspired by this: http://girlwithribbon.tumblr.com/post/25914615660/ianbrooks-architecture-of-density-seven

via: http://freakangels.com/whitechapel/comments.php?DiscussionID=467&page=38#Item_5