June 18, 1871

I waste no time in writing this account for my memory is still aroused. The morning was young when Emmett arrived to collect Amadeus and I from his home. Maximilian—this inscrutable industrialist who I heard so little about—resides in an estate near Polk Gulch. As we slowly climbed the steep hillside, I saw the mansion's gleaming white façade. The Doric columns which decorated the front portico reminded me of the Temple of Apollo—the whole building felt as if it were plucked from the Ancient Greek coastlines. An assortment of Neoclassical and Asturian designs meant to convey a sense of godliness among mortal men. His private thoroughfare is fringed with exotic palms, and the front doors were lofty bronze slabs impressed with portraits of victorious Greek heroes.

"He has a thing for Apollo, I suppose," Amadeus sarcastically explained.

Inside, I felt like I was striding through the library of Alexandria. The columns, the friezes, all the ornate Greek entablatures, the gorgeous corbels, and hand-carved wood—it excited me so deeply. The ceiling in the foyer held a beautiful mural of Apollo slaying the Chthonic dragon, Python. No amount of words or sentences or paper could justly describe the beauty of Castle Acorn.

Then, "Mr. Morgan, is it?" a booming voice asked.

Maximilian stood at the end of the horseshoe staircase, gently resting up against a wooden statue of Apollo with a warm and gentle smile.

"Welcome to Kingdom Acorn," he joked.

We gathered in the solarium where a table and chairs were already prepared. We were flanked on all sides by an arrangement of tropical and subtropical flora meant to reproduce a vision of paradise previously imagined by the Greeks. Or so Maximilian explained. His obsession with Greco-Roman culture was refreshing, albeit total in its lunacy. Stripe was already there. I took a seat first, followed by Amadeus, Emmett, and finally Maximilian. Once we introduced ourselves, we began.

"Well, Mr. Acorn, you requested my attendance, and so here I am. What is it that you wish to share with me?" I asked.

He musingly leaned back in his chair. "Right. Very well. I was told you are aware of the inquest into the retrieval of Henry Wirz's super-weapon."

"I do. Thomas mentioned it to me."

"And you are aware that, while the super-weapon itself was never found, it was a joint effort between Captain Wirz and Ivo K."

"I am."

"Are you aware that I was the one who financed the inquest?"

I was stricken with shock. "No... I..."

"I know about your invention, Mr. Morgan. I know you unfortunately, albeit unknowingly, surrendered it into the hands of our enemies. And I am also aware of your work in Washington... Solaris. Have you heard about the discovery in Alabama?"

"Yes. SWAT, correct? But what does my invention have to do with—"

"Because, Charles, your invention is SWAT!" Amadeus yelled. He looked troubled and helpless. "Thomas informed us of Yellow Tavern—and what happened with your brother. The designs we recovered in Alabama are similar in almost every facet to the designs from your invention. Wirz and Ivo K. were not working on some mechanical atrocity. They were working on a means to corrupt and control human thought."

I could hardly speak. I merely slumped back in my chair in a cold daze, fighting back the tears. "I... they are turning my invention into a weapon? That cannot be possible."

"I assure you, Mr. Morgan, it is very possible," Maximilian said with a stern glower.

"Nevertheless," Stripe bellowed. "The congressional investigation persists. My men will arrive to-morrow morning to brief us on their findings. I believe any one of the men on Julian's list could enlighten us, however, they all managed to elude my best efforts of capture. Though not for long. Once we are through, I will begin the search for the so-called Refinery."

My thoughts were flailing wildly like someone drowning in a maelstrom. All I felt was hatred and loathing for myself. When Maximilian spoke, his austere tenor pulled me out of the depths.

"The project, Mr. Morgan... I understand it was named Solaris."

"Yes," I quietly affirmed.

"What are the origins of that name?"

"I do not know."

"I believe the State Department named it," Emmett clarified.

"The project descended from your lab, did it not?" Maximilian asked.

"It did, but I did not contribute to its namesake."

"I need to know the origins of that name, Mr. Morgan. Exactly how far back does Solaris originate?"

"I do not know."

"How long have you known about the emerald?"

"Are you accusing me of something, Mr. Acorn?" I impatiently asked.

"Not exactly..."

"Max," Stripe interrupted. "I believe Char—"

"Why was the project named Solaris?" Maximilian barked. He stood up with furious passion. "Where did you find the emerald?"

All those feelings of misery, stark desolation, anger, and hate, together with the accusatory tone in Maximilian's voice produced a barbarous sentiment. I stood up, and lashed out at Maximilian, for I felt him questioning my integrity.

"I never initiated the project! The emerald was delivered to my office upon excavation because of a shipping mistake, and before I could even attempt a thorough examination of it, the federal government interceded and named it Solaris! If you are suggested that I am involved with all this, or that my certification as a man of science is either bogus or dubious, then you are hideously mistaken! This is not the time for childish presumptions! I do not take lightly being accused!"

Maximilian no longer appeared angry. Behind his once humbling expression lay a lingering pain and anguish that I wholly understood. Whatever he kept to himself, it slowly and methodically ravaged his thoughts. He was on the brink of weeping. Something bothered him so deeply, but it was not an appropriate time to ask.

"It is irrelevant," Amadeus declared. "Our focus must be on preservation. The last thing we need is another war!"

I was shaken. "Another war? What do you mean?"

Striped leaned forward in a somber, almost defeated gesture. "My investigation into the whereabouts of Eli Braxton has produced some unsettling disclosures. The South is steadily devastating itself with upheaval. Mobs are running rampant, targeting reconstruction offices and Freedman agents. With all the red shirts and White Leaguers, I fear that bringing Eli Braxton to court will trigger another civil dispute."

"It is a diversion," I softly admitted. "Mr. Braxton's manhunt successfully averted attention from the mass acquisition of various land estates made by Renfield T. Ratigan. His direct association with the conspirators eludes me, but his associates are, nevertheless, the same people on Julian's list. He is obtaining land by the thousand-acre, and for what, I cannot postulate, but something big is coming."

"You are mistaken," Maximilian dismissed. "I know Renfield. He purchased land out here. He is trying to modernize the city, not destroy it."

"I am afraid there is some validity to Charles' accusation, Max," Strip regretfully acknowledged. "In my pursuit, I saw steamers, tightly packed with young men, departing from depots hidden deep in the bayous. They only operate from twilight to midnight, and their destination appears to be the Nevada Refinery. Mr. Braxton's influence extends only to the southern states, which suggests someone has acquired property out west. I fear we overlooked a crucial contestant in this game."

"My god," Emmett finally uttered. "Train cars with people in them? What in the world could they be doing with all those men?"

"SWAT. It must be SWAT," I spoke with regret and finality.

"You are wrong," Maximilian said. "The super-weapon is something entirely more complex and far more perilous, though I do not believe we should overlook SWAT's importance. SWAT is merely a component of a larger system."

He tilted his head down and rubbed his chin. I could tell he was pondering something great and heavy, and at that moment, I realized he was holding something from us. Admittedly, I do not believe he was acting maliciously, nor do I believe he was holding back from divulging something that could alter the state of affairs. No, he was concealing a dark and personal history.

"What is our next course of action?" Amadeus asked.

I stood up again and paced towards the doorway with spiteful indignity. "The Refinery. We will find our answers at the Refinery," I coldly elucidated.

"Where are you off to?" Emmett sounded worried.

"I am leaving. I will no longer entertain myself for the crimes I have abetted."

I grabbed the doorknob, but before I could step foot into that hallway, I nearly stumbled over a tiny figure who, all the while, was attentively listening to our conversation. She was the sweetest, freckled young girl—eyes as blue as the sky, and cheeks flush with embarrassment.

"I am dreadfully sorry," I said, picking her up. "I did not see you there, young one."

"Sally!" Maximilian cried out. "What in the world are you doing here?"

"Miss Rosie said I could play upstairs," the young girl nervously stammered, running up to him for a longing hug. " I was looking for you. I thought maybe when mother returns, we could go out to the park and watch the ocean."

Maximilian lifted her onto his lap and combed back her long hair. He smirked. "You sure do love the ocean, my dear."

Then another, older voice called out from the hallway. "Sally? Sally! There you are!" It was the nursemaid, Miss Rosie. She was a sturdy woman—sharp nose, tight grimace, but carried herself like an athlete. She was beautiful.

"Run along with Miss Rosie," Maximilian urged. "Father's got to escort his friends back to the cab." He lifted her down from his knee. "Then, I promise, we will go to the park!"

"Alright," the young girl said rather ignorantly.

She sauntered passed the others, neither acknowledging them nor wishing farewell, however,

just before retreating with Miss Rosie, she looked up to me with penitent eyes and said...

"It was a pleasure to meet you, sir." Then curtsied.

I bowed. "The pleasure is all mine."

The moment certainly left a slight impression of hope that swelled deep in my heart. I looked around at everyone's eyes, which hung low. Even Stripe looked irregular as if he was nervous and agitated. Upon that moment, I knew it was my responsibility to everyone in that room, including the generation of children which Sally now represented, to correct the error I had sown. I would now allow the innocents of our friends and descendants to be ravaged by tyranny or subjugation. This was the vow I took, solemnly standing in that hallway, wrapped in a malady of treacherous thoughts.

Shortly after, we enjoyed a small lunch and were soon ushered out to a cab. Stripe held back to discuss a private matter with Maximilian. Then, before he dispatched us, Maximilian—the king of that magnificent castle—wished to impart some final words with me.

"I do not wish to forge a conflict between us," he admitted. His voice was stoic, but beneath it lingered an under-current of desperate panic. "I am nothing more than a loving father, despite my prosperity or what the press may lead you to believe. I love my family, sir. Both past and present. I want them to be happy and remain happy. I tell you this so that you may understand my attention to this affair is earnest."

"I understand, Mr. Acorn."

"Please, call me Max."

"Alright. I understand, Max."

He smiled. "It was a pleasure to meet you, sir, and I look forward to our companionship."

We departed Max's kingdom rather somberly. I was mulling over everything whilst Emmett and Amadeus were having at it. It is clear the atrocities at Sumter were not strictly reserved to SWAT, and so I beg the question, what other monstrosities occurred there? The satchel which the Razor-Claw possessed remains at large—that much is true—and similarly, the contents are not strictly relegated to SWAT. Thus, I regretfully suspect that this "super-weapon" is a device far more sinister and ghastly in nature. Moreover, I suspect Maximilian possesses a vague notion of what that super-weapon is. He knows more than what he lets on.