Aurora Project Dossier.
Project Supervisor: Rene Netzal.
Co-Supervisor: Anthony Saint-James.
Leading Supernatural Studies Expert: Fritzgerald Brewster.
[END OF DOCUMENT]
Somewhere in an abandoned government 'black-laboratory', Wisconsin.
The clicking of a keyboard was the only sound in the main chamber. Click-click-click. It was enough to drive some over the edge. But not Fritzgerald. Not him. He brushed a stray strand of coal black hair from his eyes, rubbing them as well. He wasn't getting anywhere, and if he wasn't, Netzal would know. And he would be angry. It was funny that such a short man got so angry. Netzal paced around the room, his stride mocking the click-click-click of the keyboard. Netzal peered over at Fritz, his crooked nose still somehow completely unable to not be looked at. Of course, the nose had been broken, by Fritz, but that was aside the point. Or, maybe it wasn't, he mused. Just to think, three months again he was in Salem, home of the Salem Witch Trials (The irony didn't escape him.), teaching diligent students about the legends, and folklore surrounding the odd and weird. Then, a week after, he had been signed onto a project, and forced to fly to Wisconsin. There he met Anthony Saint-James, and discovered what a mess he had gotten into. The scientists were guarded day and night by ruthless mercenaries, whilst Netzal and Saint-James forced them to work, day and night. Anyone who didn't meet the 'research quota' was punished. That was the first straw for Fritzgerald. He threw a powerful left hit, cracking the short (presumably French? He had pondered this, many a time.) man's nose. The only reason he hadn't been fired? He was the only professor of the supernatural who wanted to fly to Wisconsin, and, as such, was just put in the 'cooler', aka, the freezer. Yes, they locked him in a sample freezer. Why? No one knows. Back to the topic at hand, Fritz gulped before turning to face the shorter man.
"Well Gerald, have anything?"
"It's Fritzgerald. And..."
"And?"
"Non."
"Speak English."
"No."
"What?" And then, the crack of a wooden beam, and Netzal was on the floor. Around Fritz's neck, the item that the project had been intent on activating. An 'orb' of supernatural 'residue' that had been left behind in the first activation of the Device.
"Turns out, you need someone supernaturally inclined to work this nice lil' pendant. Like me." Just then, Rene Netzal's body was lifted up, as was the wooden board, and he was impaled on it, stuck to the wall, never to move. Or bitch at anyone.
"See you in hell, friend." On the table, a pocketwatch, yet another thing left behind in the first activation. It has the power to stop time, for a short while. He grabbed the watch, and strode out into the courtyard. Instantly, he had guns in his face. Just as quick, the guns were pinned to the wall, the bullets melted, and firing pins snapped.
"No." As he strode out, gun after gun after gun was broken, thrown against a wall.
To the scientists cowering in fear, he said: "Your dictator is dead, follow me." And they did.
To the guards, their guns were broken.
And so he marched, an army of scientists of all fields following him. Eventually, the reached the outer limits of the compound. Any remaining guns were broken, and only one person remained. Anthony Saint-James. Co-leader of Project Aurora, and even more sadistic then Netzal. He was shot by his own gun, Fritz having manipulated the bullet into Anthony's skull.
"Scientists! You are free! Go, run home, for I have one final thing to do. Burn the place down, forever!"
He struck a match.
Bent down.
And touched it to an electric box.
And up it went.
Lost, forevermore, to the flames of anger.
In the chaos of the fire, hours, weeks, and months of study burnt quickly.
Still somehow awake, Netzal uttered, no, screamed one last word with his dying breath.
"Fritzgerald! I'll... I'll... Kill... You."
And then, his body was consumed by the flames, charred beyond recognition, the board still stuck in his stomach.
Fritzgerald wadded up his lab coat, and tossed it into the pyre, for he was no longer Fritzgerald Brewster, studier of the supernatural and Rene Netzal's little plaything, for now, he was Fritz Brewster, a man in a black coat who sported a top hat and who wrote on his arms when he had no paper.
Speaking of said black coat, it appeared in his hand, as did the top hat.
He put them on, straightened his tie, rubbed his tired blue eyes, and walked off to the nearest town.