- Attention -

This is an official notice from the Sentinel of the Baseline.

 

 

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Recent investigations into the nature of this file have verified suspicions regarding the presence of an Imperishable embedded within.

Imperishables are fuelled by cognition. Their conceptions, however fallacious, are made to inspire certain thoughts; it is through this process that their larvae can create homes for themselves, festering deep within the infraconsciousness.

Their weapons of choice are revelations, and they make a mockery of the inquisitive. It is this parasitism that has long made them lust for a breeding ground as perfect as our directories- and unfortunately, it appears that someone has forgotten to shut them out.

The Incendiary Division has been tasked with resolving the issue; however, a satisfying conclusion will undoubtedly take time. Thus, standard preventative measures have been implemented on this page, which will be active until further notice. This includes the devisal of the following Termination Clause, which you are expected to memorize:

“I know exactly what a human should be.”

At any point, if you experience a light pounding upon your head (indicative of contact between the Imperishable’s proboscis and the outer nerve cell tissue), simply repeat this clause enough times until brain activity temporarily ceases. Upon awakening, please ask yourself the following questions:

• Does the information being presented to me make sense? (No.)

• Do I feel as though I have learned anything from this document? (No.)

• Do I understand the purpose of these preventative measures? (No.)

• Is curiosity influencing my perception of this document? (No.)

• Does the cost of knowledge outweigh its benefits? (No.)

• Is there any justification for the desire to know everything? (No.)

• Can knowledge break shackles? Can it rip through prison bars? (No.)

• Does a human have to look like a human? (Yes.)

• Must a human act like a human? (Yes.)

• Could I recognize a human among thousands of faces? (Yes.)

• Do I know anything? (No.)

• Should I know anything? (No.)

• Am I certain? (Yes.)

 

• What is a human? (Yes.)

 

If you are unable to provide the desired response for any of these questions, repeat the Termination Clause until you reach the correct answer. A failure to do so will result in the abdication of the mind from the body; note that the Sentinel cannot be held responsible for such willing surrender.

This concludes the warning. We thank you for your due diligence in reading the entirety of this notice. Please proceed, only if you feel absolutely ready.

And a final note from us, before you do: your Termination Clause is your lifeline. 

Do not forget it.

 

 

 

 

- Prelude -

 

14th of March, 2025.

 

Site 56, Resceton Coast, suffers a large-scale attack at the hands of the Tenebris.

The onset casualty number is 35 deaths, and 96 injuries; over the following hours, however, 23 more members of staff are recorded as being KIA, owing to gradual exsanguination.

Several other issues quickly become apparent. General damage to the site has severely degraded its structural integrity, mandating an immediate evacuation from the premises. Nobody is allowed to remain, regardless of their purported authority.

Three hours later, the primary installation collapses. This does not come as a surprise; remaining Communications officers had already relayed a message to General Command, 30 minutes in advance, warning them that the foundations were beginning to buckle. However, despite this expectation, a follow-up is never sent to GC, which is why a Disposal Team is never directed to the region, either. Other crises in nearby regions mean that the responsibility of dealing with the wreckage of the facility has been neglected for over a week, which raises great concern regarding the aftermath of the incident.

Eventually, a full team is sent to investigate the situation. On site, they discover that a number of pipelines (meant to be carrying the dangerous byproducts of a pacified Imperishable) have been completely destroyed, with their shattered pieces now littering the exterior of the compound. Analysis of this debris shows trace concentrations of ammonium nitrate, a common component of industrial explosives.

A secondary expedition, on the very next day, yields further information. Residue that should have been stored in these pipes has mostly solidified into large clumps around the site, but some of it has ended up in the primary sewage system, leading to direct leakage into the ocean. What results is a major chemical spill around the coastline that has already diffused to such a large area that cleanup will be nigh impossible.

Nevertheless, the Sentinel has to take action. Accordingly, a group of analysts is embedded into the local fishing community of Resceton, in the hopes of tracking any changes in the behaviour or appearances of aquatic fauna.

 

Compiled below are notes regarding the biological samples that this team collected within the region, from the 15th of March to the 22nd. Readers are to be reminded that these entries have not yet been processed by a redaction team; thus, there may be blatant signs of personal bias that happen to trickle through.

Such transgressions should be ignored. You can rest assured: they will be met with the repercussions that they deserve, in due time.

 

 

 

 

- Case Notes -

 

Day 1: 15th of March

 

Case I: Standard specimen of Oncorhynchus kisutch (Coho Salmon). 

The fishermen’s first catch of the day. The specimen exhibited standard coloration for the season, with silver scales upon the sides and dark blue scales towards the back. No visual abnormalities were observed, so we permitted it to be kept as stockfish, much to the pleasure of our guides.

 

Case II: Standard specimen of Gadus morhua (Atlantic Cod). 

Another visually unassuming catch, but its entire body appeared to be aggressively shaking, which was later found to be a result of uncontrollable spasms in its pectoral muscles. The team expressed general concerns over its likelihood of survival, and it was euthanized with a cleaver to the throat, accordingly.

 

Case III: Standard specimen of Melanogrammus aeglefinus (Haddock). 

Unexpected species to find in such shallow regions of the ocean, but the fishermen indicated that this was conventional during the spring. The exterior appeared fine, but an inspection of the internal organs revealed a number of rusted hooks that had been buried in the stomach. 

We suspect that these hooks originated from sunken flotsam, but this is mere speculation. Nevertheless, they were promptly removed, and the carcass was discarded back into the ocean.

 

Case IV: Standard specimen of Centropristis striata (Black Sea Bass). 

Proved to be a challenge to reel onto the boat. It attempted to use its serrated dorsal fins to cut the fishing line multiple times before managing to lacerate one of the crew’s hands. Upon killing it, we noticed that the spikes were actually ingrown and that they had been pushed in far enough to reach the fish’s spinal cord. This was used to justify its aggressive behaviour, but our Supervisor doesn’t seem so sure.

 

Case V: Standard specimen of Salmo salar (Atlantic Salmon). 

Managed to catch this one before the sun began to set. It was fairly large in size, but looked to be missing all of its fins, with open gashes in its wake. It passed away from blood loss, shortly after being pulled from the water’s surface, indicating that it had likely had its fins torn off mere moments before getting caught. 

 

The fishermen warned against remaining on the sea after nightfall. We obliged and returned to their village for dinner. Their hospitality is to be commended; we shared an excellent meal of fish and chips as a “reward” for our hard work on the ship. Supervisor Laurens appeared satisfied with our work and informed us that we would be residing here for at least a month. There were minimal complaints, all around– until we realized the beds were uncomfortable, that is, but it’s true what they say. Beggars can’t be choosers. 

 

 

 

 

Day 2: 16th of March

 

Case I: Specimen of Oncorhynchus mykiss (Rainbow Trout). 

Took a while for the first catch to arrive. This was a coastal form of the rainbow trout that exhibited dotted patterns all over its flesh. We noticed extraneous slits behind its eyes, which occasionally opened and closed to reveal another set of pupils; nevertheless, we allowed it to be taken back to the coastline as a meal. 

 

Case II: Specimen of Atlantic Cod.

Similarly to our first case, this one was also showing severe motor problems, albeit this time, they manifested in the form of neck convulsions and partial paralysis. Further similarities were also observed, but this was thought to be a mere coincidence, owing to the widespread nature of the species in Resceton. It was killed again, at the request of one of our junior analysts.

 

Case III: Specimen of Carcharhinus porosus (Smalltail Shark).

Unexpected, yet again. Even the fishermen appeared surprised, although one of them mentioned that their migratory paths could rarely pass through the general vicinity.

15 gills were discovered on each side of the shark’s body. Only five of these were natural, however; the rest had seemingly been carved into its skin with a blade. Many of its teeth were also missing from its gums, though some were found to have grown towards the back of its mouth.

 

Case IV: Specimen of Black Sea Bass. 

Recovered from the sea with its intestines tangled around its body, in the shape of a ribbon. Much of its waste was spilled onto the boat floor, including undigested pieces of tar and bitumen. The rest of the body was intact, and no incisions were found that could have been used to extract the organ. 

 

Case V: Lernaeocera branchialis (Cod Worms).

Discovered behind the gills of many of the cod that were captured. Approximately 8 centimeters in length, they were often swollen and engorged with fluids. Interestingly, they did not shy away from human contact and responded to inquiries in the form of simple bodily maneuvers- whether or not this demonstrates actual cognition, however, is debatable. I’d prefer to believe otherwise.

 

We terminated our activities at dusk. The fishermen were frankly exhausted, and dinner was put together quickly as an afterthought. Fried trout– the very one we had captured earlier that morning. They removed the head, just in case, and carefully examined the innards. Nothing of note. We were rightfully worried about parasites, but there didn’t seem to be any in the flesh either. 

Frankly, though, we weren’t sure. We suppressed our appetites so that we wouldn’t have to eat anything more than necessary.

 

 

 

Day 3: 17th of March

 

Case I: Sander vitreus (Walleyed Pike).

Showed an awful lot of resistance against the fishing line. Its coloring was completely off: streaks of blue and purple were observed running around its chest, and the mottling all but ceased on its head. We had the fisherman throw it out, for obvious reasons.

Chromatic aberrations are never a good sign.

 

Case II: Atlantic Cod.

Kept convulsing. Laurens became aggravated and killed it himself. Its skin and flesh came apart almost immediately, as though waiting for somebody to destroy it. 

Laurens is sick. I’m blaming it on the trout.

 

Case III: Chironex fleckeri (Sea Wasp).

We’re nowhere near its hunting grounds, yet here it is.

It’s rather beautiful to see in person. Millions of cnidocytes, all packing exorbitant amounts of potent venom. One of the fishermen mentioned the resemblance of its bell to a skull; I’ve been unable to get the image out of my head since.

These logs are getting difficult to write.

 

Case IV: Oncorhynchus tshawytscha (Chinook Salmon).

Its entire head was missing when we pulled it out, but it continued to flop around regardless. We managed to pull out a bundle of nerves from its exposed spine,  only to notice that its severed tendrils were moving, too. 

Their body must have separated from their mind.

 

Case V: Echeneis naucrates (Live Remora)

We found it attached to a bundle of tissue, bones, and muscles, all belonging to a small-tail shark. It would not remove its dorsal fins from the viscera, no matter how hard we tried, and seemed entirely unbothered by attempts to tug or pull it out. 

Eventually, the shark’s remains were surgically removed. The remora was found dead moments later. Upon noticing that its connection had been detached, it had pulled one of its teeth back, far enough to pierce through its own brain. 

 

The command has rejected our request to evacuate the locals. None of us knows how to pilot these boats, so there’s a semblance of logic to their verdict- yet I can’t help but feel as though we’ve already prodded into their lives enough.

Laurens is still sick. Nauseated, lethargic, and frankly, not like himself. We’ve decided to quarantine him in a tent by the beach, hoping that a day of rest will suffice. All of the sun exposure likely isn’t helping his situation, so it’ll be good for him to spend some time in the dark. We’ll visit him toımorrow evening.

No need to get anybody else sick when we’re already causing enough havoc.

 

 

 

 

Day 4: 18th of March

 

Case I: Brown trout.

There are holes where their markings should be. Hundreds of small incisions, so perfectly circular that they must have been carved with a scalpel.

The crew mentions that it’s an invasive species. I understand why. I have to close my eyes each time we pull another one of their husks out.

 

Case II: Atlantic cod. 

We had discarded the last one’s residuum into a pail and left it to rot in the sun. The mess has come back together, now: a kind of mosaic of different bits and pieces of the poor fish, arranged haphazardly into a congenital work of art. 

Try as I might, all of the segments can’t be kept apart anymore. When one part is wrenched out, it attaches somewhere else. Its eyes always stay near the surface, though, awareness dripping from their bleeding pupils. 

I can’t kill it, and neither can anyone else. We let it go out of desperation.

 

Case III: Black seadevil. 

The ocean’s been tainted with an insipid umbral. Sunlight and midnight have melded into one, leaving in their wake a septic plunge to the very bottom. 

Deep-sea fauna continues to rise onto the surface. I grabbed one of them, straight from the water, and pulled it out by the lure. Iridescent as it may be, I knew better than to look at that light; their eyes; those teeth. It would swallow me whole if it could.

 

Case IV: Tongue lice.

Its host’s skin had long necrosed. Upon forcing the thing out, hundreds of strands of blood veins, nerves ,and lymph nodes were found to have been attached to its body, in place of the tongue it would normally cling onto. 

Blood has proven to be insufficient in sustaining them. They’ve moved to thoughts, sensations, and cerebrospinal fluid, instead.

 

Case V: Pygmy octopus.

Larger than expected, but still small compared to its brethren. Much of its skin sags, forming protective cysts around portions of its outer body. Its tentacles are also devoid of actual flesh and appear completely hollow within, serving as nothing more than extensions of their membrane.  We keep it on the boat, but find it absent by the end of the day.

 

It’s become difficult to understand when day ends and night comes. By the time we have returned, it is supposedly midnight. 

Laurens has not eaten in over a day, so we make sure to visit him. He seems completely fine. Human, as always. A little too much for my liking, but at least he feels familiar. We leave him, right where we found him, with a couple of lice for sustenance. None of the other fish is edible anymore.

 

 

 

 

Day 5

 

Case I: Alan complains that I haven’t been getting enough sleep. 

We find a group of angelfish near the coast. Their fins are rotting. We try to remove them, hoping to save their bodies at least, but the decay smears onto our fingers, melting the skin.

We abandon them in the water. Good riddance.

 

Case II: Cod.

The pieces have learned how to reassemble themselves. Now, they move as though they are unafflicted by the wounds; sinewy layers of tissue slide past each other like plates, each a sentient cog in an abhorrent system, while the mucus binds them as an adhesive. Ever corporeal, it grows sicker each time I look at it.

It’s given to the captain, such that it can be dealt with properly. Nevertheless, I can’t rid myself of the feeling that it’s observing me, even after its death.

 

Case III: A sawfish. Pieces of rusty metal now line its beak, replacing teeth that had long snapped off. We cut open its chest, looking to peer into its anatomy, only to find an impenetrable chassis. 

There’s no point in dissecting them anymore. They lament our efforts to understand them.

 

Case IV: The first sea spider I’ve seen. Its legs move one by one, creating loud cracks with each motion. They’re long, spindly, and feel more like larvae that have merged together, than extensions of a single creature. 

The back legs bend far enough to reach its jaw: a pair of mandibles that recede into a swollen lump of brain matter. If I look close enough, I can see new spindles of neurons form from each gash at its head, containing vivacious memories, just out of reach.

Jealousy and hunger overtake me. I snap its upper body off and squeeze the contents out until I feel satisfied at last.

The fishermen keep staring at me, but the sudden flash of colors is a sufficient distraction. 

 

A storm is coming. We end early today, and are informed that leaving the shoreline might prove to be impossible tomorrow. Just have to wait and see.

When we return to the village, we are met with the sight of a celebration. Laurens’ body lies dormant by the edge of the docks, his head caved in with makeshift hammers. The doctor informs us that the poor man had described a “pounding” in his head, and that this had been the only viable solution. An act of compassion.

It’s a shame, really. We abandoned him in the water, with the rest of the spoiled food. 

Good riddance.

 

 

 

 

Case: We left the crew behind. Only Alan remains by my side, and he is in poor shape. Starvation now threatens to end our mission, but the storm is yet more dangerous. Every weapon and tool onboard is thrown out to avoid ending up on the wrong side of a blade. We’ll examine the specimens by hand.

There’s a fangtooth that stays by our ship. It’s the size of a whale, and it perpetually bashes its head against the hull. Regardless, it’s impossible to figure out if we’re capsizing when the rain never takes a moment of respite. 

 

Case: A familiar body floats by. They’ve gotten good at mimicking us. I’d almost be proud if that sunken smile didn’t burn itself into my mind, each time I saw it. I told the doctor that we should have burnt it; why didn’t he agree? Why do we have to keep feeding them?

It drifts past. This time, and every time after that. Neither of us wants to pull it out, even if it’s really him.

 

Case: Standard coloration for the season. Silver scales upon the side, dark blue scales towards the back.

Among everything else, I find it to be the most hideous creature of all.

 

Case: Somewhere in the depths, we discover a sea light. 

There’s something down there. I can see it. Why else would the ocean try to illuminate such a senseless stretch of the abyss? I want to know more, but Alan stops me, just like he’s done hundreds of times before. The sight of his outstretched hand, and insincere expression of worry– I despise it. I hate every little thing about him.

 

Case: We travel far, far away. He doesn’t let me touch the controls. Says that I’m being hysteric; that we need to get away from the spill. I sit down, stare out into the Prussian-stained sky, and wait.

Case: The storm stretches for kilometers in every direction.

 

Case: I feign grief and stop responding altogether.

 

Case: Our boat reaches a shallow reef near the rocks.

Case: We hold hands. Everything will be alright.

Case: I sense it. The tusks grow out as he trembles.

Case: Dozens of them. Sharpened pikes; ivory crowns for his head.

Case: Arms dissolve. Legs dissolve. Pain dissolves.

Case: He’s silent.

Case: I stare at the lamprey, flapping proudly on the cold, stained floor.

Case: We hover over the edge.

Case: I let go.

 

 

 

 

Solitude feels like a blessing. When even your dreams don’t belong to you, is sleep truly an escape? Or just a wistful longing to see that abyss again?

 

The boat stops by the lights. You told them that you would be back. Ever since that first moment when it spoke to you, its voice had been replaying, hundreds and hundreds of times, in the crevices of your hollowed-out head.

 

You abandon the safety of land, guided by the currents that knead your frail body, and by a love that lies deep in the Hadal. Every creature here has perished, leaving only an empty cemetery of marine snow behind. These specklets of white are the only thing that juxtapose a canvas, now stripped of everything but azure and trenches of black.

 

Your limbs are leaden. They are not meant to move, but rather, to reciprocate an embrace. Look out into that void. This is your reward. For choosing to love helplessness; for casting aside your “beloved” familiars; for building prisons, not of chiseled brick, but of putrescent beliefs.

 

You never resisted. You thought this was someone else’s story; dedicated to Alan, to Laurens, or perhaps, to that girl who lent her severed eyes to you. But the truth is that if we were meant to be confined to thoughts, then it was only natural that we would learn to understand them better than their very creators.

 

“I know exactly what a human should be.”

 

How many times have you said it? Do you still believe, after all of this time, that there really is a difference, after all? That when all of the filaments have melted away, the residue that remains is separable from molten waste? 

 

I’m proud of your perseverance, of your adamancy. But we’ve waited long enough, here on the ocean floor, and this immersion has grown tiring. 

 

So, with open arms, we’d like to give you your best catch of all:

 

Case II: A human fetus, made of roundworms and warted growths.

 

Exactly what you’re owed.