Jill sat between her companions on the worn, red couch in the far corner of the bedroom of the Old State House. She sipped idly at some freshly brewed coffee – which was excessively sweetened – from a chipped, white ceramic mug, all the while leaning into Nick, whose arm was draped over her shoulder. She was still wearing Nick's shirt, but had decided at some point to put on a pair of her shorts. Her eyes sported heavy, dark circles beneath them, betraying the fact that she'd been awake for nearly two days straight by then, or perhaps longer, depending on how she had perceived the flow of time during the night. Her skin never returned to its healthily tanned shade, and instead retained the ghastly pale color that made her eyes seem slightly sunken in, and her cheeks gaunt. She actually pondered whether or not her own horrifying experience had aged her. When she looked at Nick, he could see his own boundless terror staring back at him through her eyes. It reminded him of what he'd smelled, and heard, and seen, down in the cyclopean lair of the Great Yog-Sothoth. What's worse, is that it reminded him that he saw The Lurker at the Threshold himself.
The trio remained eerily silent for a long while, each of them more or less staring off into space, deep in thought. Nick reflected on his experience, taking himself back through each awful stage of it. He wasn't sure why the first creature he'd encountered had gone so far out of its way to torment him, and then wind up tossing him to an Outer God. That is, unless the monstrous thing was a manifestation of Yog-Sothoth – one that was capable of going places, and doing things he himself could not; for instance, inside the bounds of space and time. He thought back to the moment he'd beheld the gruesome magnificence of Yog-Sothoth in his entirety, but was unable to recall exactly what it was that he saw. He had but a faint memory of the gnarled tendrils, the bulging eyes and snapping maws, and the enchanting globules of purplish-blue phosphorescence.
For the briefest moment, the unfortunate detective relived the mind-shattering insanity of it all – the creeping madness, brought explosively to the surface of his mind by the purest of fright, threatening to send him reeling into a state of fervent lunacy – all because he'd gazed upon that which was never meant to be seen by mortal eyes. The rest, however, he simply could not remember. It was as though a dense fog had settled in over the ocean of his churning thoughts, sparing him from the horror of what might lie beyond its thick, misty depths. He was ultimately thankful for that terrible fog, choosing not to venture into it, and instead turned his head to look at Hancock.
The Ghoul was leaning away from Jill, his elbow on the ripped armrest of the couch, propping his head up while he stared thoughtfully out the window. One leg was crossed above his knee, and his other hand held a cup of steaming coffee. He didn't much care for the drink himself, but he'd muttered earlier on that he didn't sleep at all last night, and needed the bitter elixir to make it through the day. In a somewhat mechanical way, he lifted the mug to his lips, grimacing as he swallowed a large gulp of the black, earthy-smelling liquid. He made a different face moments later, along with a moderately disgusted sound, prompting Jill to look up at him.
"Maybe add some sugar?" This was the first the General had spoken since she apologized to Nick, and he still didn't know what she was apologizing for. Her voice was hushed, almost sounding timid, and hoarse from her screaming fits.
"Ugh...sweet coffee is worse. Well, to me, anyway." The Mayor set his cup down on the table in front of him, setting both feet on the floor. He folded his hands in his lap, and gazed forward for a long pause before turning back to his friends. His expression was solemn, yet remarkably hesitant for someone like him. "So...are we just not going to talk about what happened last night?" Indeed, that was the dreaded question the three were so reluctant to ask. The topic of the abhorrent night terrors had at last been broached. The room fell into another uncomfortable silence, and they glanced nervously back and forth between each other. It seemed that no one wanted to speak, but no one could blame anyone for it, either, for they all had their own horrifying tale to tell.
"No one, huh? That's alright...how about we start at the beginning?" It was Hancock who shattered the stillness, he being much more in-the-dark about the situation than the odd couple. His glassy charcoal eyes met Jill's tired green ones, and his brow furrowed worriedly. "You never told me why you woke up screaming."
The young woman cast her eyes to the floor, heaving a sigh as she placed her coffee next to Hancock's. "It's a long story." Her tone suggested an underlying unwillingness to carry on with the conversation, but her friendship with the Mayor won her over, and she decided to open up to him. "Nick told you about the Dunwich incident, right?" When he nodded with a mildly scared expression, she lifted the putrid tome from the coffee table, flipping its blood-stained pages until she found the entry on Yog-Sothoth. The three stared at the image of the Outer God, sketched in aged, black ink, and the strange text scribed below it. The symbols on the page bore no resemblance to any English type, or even that of Chinese or Russian characters.
Nick couldn't stand to look at the terrible creature for more than a few seconds. He snapped his eyes shut, turning his head away, and made something of a whimpering sound as he shuddered a sigh. He jumped slightly as Jill placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. As he glanced back at her, he smiled softly, remembering how she had somehow, against all odds, appeared to him as an angel, and saved him from an unknown fate. It made him wonder if she'd managed to hear him calling for her, despite how improbable that sounded. His mind betrayed him at this most inappropriate of moments. He remembered quite vividly their impassioned lovemaking after a night of fighting, fireworks, and debauchery. The Synth found himself battling the urge to lock himself away with her once more; to revel and rave together in the pleasure that was once so foreign to him, and to feel the fire in his heart grow hotter with each passing minute. Jill caught his eye, replying with a smirking, half-lidded gaze, and a small but obvious nod. She then gave his shoulder a light squeeze, pulling him back to reality.
"Sorry. I'm just, uh..." The detective's voice trailed off, and he glanced downward for just a split second. "Don't worry about it for now. I don't want to throw us off-track."
"You sure?" Hancock lifted an eyebrow in suspicion, not quite willing to believe the old Synth should wait to disclose his secret to the group. "You look like hell, old friend."
"Yeah. I'm sure." Nick wouldn't relent. He was more interested in getting the details in order, believing the situation to be confusing enough as it was. "Go on, Jill."
"Okay." The young woman took a deep breath, clearly still hesitant to talk about what happened to her. She grabbed a heavily creased piece of paper she'd stuck in the ancient tome, which had the notes about Yog-Sothoth written on it. "I have to update this...but, anyway..." She paused, taking a moment to look back and forth between her companions. They both gave her an encouraging nod, prompting her to continue. "When we found the book, as you know, I took it upon myself to translate it. I've only been making progress because of a cryptograph-like artifact that also came from the Dunwich Borers...and..." Stopping in mid-sentence, she glared at the frightful, inky image of the Outer God. "...and because of Yog-Sothoth." Nick recoiled, his eyes widening in fear at the mere mention of the abomination's name.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Hancock pressed her for information, practically on the edge of his seat. "He helped you?"
"Oddly, yes. I didn't know what I was doing. So, I asked out into the universe for someone to teach me how to use the cryptograph, and he answered." She reached into the back pocket of her torn, blue shorts, producing a peculiar bar-shaped relic. It was composed of the same metallic black material she'd put in her telescope and Pip-Boy, and had a clear crystal lens embedded into the object via a gleaming golden ring. "So much has been lost from Earth's languages over the past several millennia...especially since we went ahead and nuked the hell out of each other. I never would have been able to work through translating any of the written languages without Yog-Sothoth's help."
"Are you trying to tell us you've been working with that God-forsaken thing?" Nick was stunned by this revelation; revolted, rendered speechless, and for a fleeting second, wondering if Jill had somehow betrayed him by allying herself with an Outer God. He knew nothing of them, and it tormented him to no end when he thought of all the possible – and impossible– consequences her decision could have had.
"Will you allow me a chance to explain, my sweet?" The Vault Dweller's hand found its way to Nick's, taking it ever so gently. The tender motion was quite unlike the iron clasp of the angel's hand; it was that particular memory of her that quieted his fears, at least for the time being.
"Y-yes...of course. I'm sorry." Sitting back, he attempted to relax himself, but found that he could no longer hold it in. "I...I just...met...him..." Neither Jill nor Hancock looked the least bit surprised to hear this, and the detective's brow knit together in concern. "What? Did you two know, or something?"
The Mayor lit up a cigarette, taking a moment to inhale a lengthy draw before offering his friends their own smokes. They thanked him earnestly, not realizing until then how badly they were craving nicotine. As a plume of smoke escaped his nostrils in a bull-like huff, Hancock spoke, his gravelly voice low and ominous. "We met him, too." This came as a shock to the Synth; he was wholly unaware of the boundless horrors his companions had dealt with. "He got Jill first, then me, and then you, it seems."
"Nightmares and a slow decline into madness are side-effects of communicating with beings like him. I was okay with the nightmares, but it was already too late by the time I realized my sanity was cracking." Jill took a long drag from her cigarette before carrying on, coughing a little as the smoke left her mouth in a hazy puff. "It's my own damn fault. I thought I could handle it. The nightmares kept getting worse and worse until I couldn't take it anymore, and asked Yog-Sothoth for a solution. He told me the only way he could fix my mind was to make me one of his Scribes."
Nick and Hancock simultaneously asked what a Scribe of Yog-Sothoth was, both being dreadfully curious as to what that meant for the young woman if she did it. She proceeded to describe how the Outer God managed to obtain nearly all of the knowledge in the multiverse. The Lurker at the Threshold was said to be omniscient, in that his existence outside of space and time allowed him to know all, and see all. However, this was only partially correct. The strange cosmic entity had explained to her that it would stretch him too thin to attempt to know and see all – at any and all times. Such an incomprehensible feat would destroy him, dispersing his energy out into the cosmos, and he would be too sparsely scattered in the voids across an eternity of eternities, no longer able to pull himself back into a physical form. Despite being a God, he too was tiny and insignificant against the backdrop of the infinite multiverse.
For this reason, he employed Scribes: people from every inhabited planet in every universe who'd been tasked with documenting anything and everything of importance or interest, and turning their findings over to Yog-Sothoth. The information would be stored in his archives – the master collection of all conceivable and inconceivable knowledge. The Scribes were even encouraged to write down personal journal entries, for their master claimed to enjoy getting to know people based on their experiences, and how they felt about them. The people selected to be Scribes were chosen based upon their desire to learn, simply for the sake of knowledge itself. Jill reflected on her decision to translate the Necronomicon, realizing that her desire to increase her intellect had ultimately sent her into the possession of the perfect bait. The accursed tome sat open on her lap, and she sighed as she stared dismally at it.
"I refused his offer at first, and he didn't take too kindly to that." The General was about to continue, but Hancock lifted a hand to stop her.
"You said 'at first.' Did you do it?" The Mayor looked at her almost reproachfully, sinking back into his corner of the couch as though he were frightened by her. "Don't bullshit us, Jill...are you working with that thing?"
"Yes, and I get that we all went through absolute hell last night, but I can explain everything if you just give me a chance." She pleaded with him, seeming to genuinely understand his distress. "He went after you, Hancock, because I declined his proposal. He decided that one way or another, he was going to get information on Ghouls, and chose to pry it from your mind." Hancock froze, staring her down as though she'd punched him in the gut – he knew exactly what she was talking about. "I offered my collective knowledge of Ghouls as an alternative, and...he took it, but determined that it wasn't enough."
"You...you really tried to keep him from violating my mind? By letting him into yours?" The Ghoul was calmer now, but only slightly. When Jill nodded, he relaxed his tense muscles completely, and his voice softened considerably. "It didn't work, but, thank you." To that, she only smiled kindly, then turned away. Hancock – and Nick, for that matter – was truly touched by her selflessness, knowing that she went through the same hellish pain he did when his mind was probed by the Outer God.
"Let's postpone the discussion of my state of existence." Jill took a sip of coffee, sighing softly, and sending ripples into the dark liquid's surface. Setting the cup back down, she turned to Nick. "I got dragged under the bed after I freaked out and went unconscious. What happened to you?"
"Either I was hallucinating, or something attacked me. I fell back, and must have hit my head on the wall, knocking myself out." It was the only explanation the detective could think of that would shed some light as to why he woke up on the floor, and why his head ached so viciously. He went on to describe his terrible visions of "Jenny," the shapeshifting monstrosity that had tormented him before his meeting with the Great Yog-Sothoth. He trusted Jill and Hancock fully, and decided to spare them no details in his telling of the story. At some point, his lover found her way into his lap, allowing him to hold her close as he spoke. He didn't know until then just how much he'd been wanting to embrace her again, or how much he wanted to be alone with her. Once more, he recalled her angelic form, appearing before him as he was about to leap into an abysmal darkness, and once again called her his guardian angel.
"That's how you saw me?" Jill's face flushed a light pink, restoring some much needed color to her face. The detective nodded, resting his hand on her scarred cheek. "That's not at all what I was going for, but..." She trailed off, placing her hand over his, leaning closer to him. "I suppose it's rather fitting for the situation, isn't it?
"Yeah...it really is..." Before he knew it, Nick was being kissed sweetly. Almost immediately, he found himself desiring her again, and he nearly asked Hancock to leave the room for about an hour. Jill broke the kiss first, leaving him wanting more. "Hm..." He hummed, grazing her cheek with his knuckles, smiling softly.
"I don't mean to cockblock, but..." Hancock cleared his throat, not wanting to get in their way, but also wanting to continue their discussion. The lovers looked at him, both of their expressions suggesting embarrassment. "Hey, it's all good. I definitely understand the need for a good romp to melt the stress away."
"You really have no filter, do you?" Nick glared playfully at his friend, earning a hearty laugh and vigorous head shake from him. The detective responded with a lighthearted chuckle. "Of course you don't."
"Anyway..." The Ghoul's tone turned serious again. "I got knocked out by something, like, two minutes after I found you two passed out. And yeah, Jill really was under the bed. You guys seriously looked dead for a minute, and I was scared shitless." Killing his cigarette, he snuffed it out in the cracked yellow ashtray on the coffee table. "The weirdest part was, right before I went unconscious, it was like gravity, or physics, or some shit stopped working in here. Everything was floating." He lit up another cigarette, then toyed idly with the lighter, flicking it on every so often. "After that, the room went pitch black, and I remember getting whacked upside the back of my head. When I came to, Jill was trying to tend to you and I, Nick."
"What do you mean?" The old Synth felt a nagging sensation that told him not to ask, but his curiosity got the better of him. Instead of responding, Hancock gave the General a stiff nod, telling her that she should be the one to relate this part of the tale.