Z2012+SiteH+Taller+Tales

=Marker:= =Artifact:=

=History of Artifact:=
 * LOCATION:**
 * _**the Annex, Charleston Naval Base
 * TIME:**
 * _**4:13 A.M.
 * DATE:**
 * _**13 April 2012
 * ARTIFACT:**
 * _**(1) Broken Cassette Tape

_Your name is Jack Noir. It is possible that you only call yourself that because your real name is embarrassing and/or you cannot stand the thought of it. In fact, you despise it with the entirety of your gloomy little heart.
 * DRAMATAZATION:**

You work in a warehouse on the Charleston Navy base as a secretary of sorts. And you detest the job even more than you do your last name. Your boss constantly nags you about it, and there is a clear territorial hate in your exchanges. And yet, there is some kind of antagonistic attraction between you both, and you two are in a relationship deemed **CALIGNANT**. This makes your persons a **KISMESES** couple. (You have no idea how you know that obscure reference, but assume that it was probably something you saw on Tumblr. Yeah, probably that, and totally not memories of a past life in which you went crazy with power and killed a lot of humanoid creatures with sick nasty god powers.)

Also, regardless of the fact that the woman dominates the work place, you have gathered like minded individuals as your posse and plan to usurp the company by owning over half of its shares. Because, you keep reminding yourself, you hate the bitch.

It is partially because of the mutual hate that you keep such odd hours, and why you are on break at this ridiculous time in the morning. You glance at the obsidian-black leather watch on your wrist, and the time strikes an odd chord in your core. There is nothing particularly odd about the numbers them self, except that you are walking about the base at 4:13 in the morning. Whatever. You shrug. Not worth the stroke to worry about that right now. (But it still persists in the back of your head.)

Shaking off the sensation, you take a look around the street you are on. It is quite a ways from your place of employment, and is not that familiar. You make a note to study all parts of the base. . . eventually. Right now, you are preoccupied with the bay side house in front of you, and are currently walking around to the backyard. You feel unusually curious - normally you would simply walk past the decrepit building - and are cautious as you creep around. With all the fanfare lately about preserving Charleston's old houses, who knows what kind of officials could be lurking around the bend, waiting to spring on you.

Wait. This is stupid, you tell yourself. You stop seeming suspicious because you stop thinking suspiciously. You rise from your half-crouch with a sneer of self-disgust curling your lip. God, you can be stupid.

Striding more normally now, you stop dead in your tracks when you hear the crunch of older technology sound beneath your shoe. Lightly taking the limb off of the discarded device, you can now see that it is a **BROKEN CASSETTE TAPE**. (You don't know why you talk about objects or odd terms with a decidedly sharp and animated voice, but blame it on your dominatrix employer.)

Picking it up, you receive a blinding headache, and screw your dark eyes shut. Fingers tightly gripping the cool plastic, you sit heavily down on the steps of the property. Behind your lids, something resembling television static flickers in your vision, and the accompanying sound is nearly deafening. It grows gradually quieter, as does your headache, and you see a video feed start - a little choppy, but otherwise intact.

The frame is focused on a rather pale gentleman in a black funereal suit and tie with a white shirt and handkerchief. You covet the high quality suit, and wished you knew how to contact the fellow, but are distracted when you hear someone talking.

"Hey Josh, we're rolling," you hear from off-frame. It sounds like the person holding the camera, but you can't be sure.

"Yes, I can see that, thank you," the pale fellow responds. His voice seems kind of hollow to you, which gives you the creeps, but you shrug it off. Although, you cannot do this entirely, because you see the forest that he is standing in front of seems to respond in a lively way to his presence, which makes you wary. Suspiciously, you watch as he begins his harrowing tale.

"Hello. My name is Joshua Dutton - or, was, rather, before my Change." He seems sad for a moment before staring straight into the camera. His liquid midnight eyes - no whites to speak of - seem to see right into your soul. You should probably feel more frightened, but they give you the same feeling your watch did earlier, and you shrug off the hair-raising sensation.

"After the Change," he continues, "I was called Slenderman. I was a protector borne of the forest, and as such, I attempted to stop an evil cult called the Alchemists before they killed all of human life. They planned to only prepare the way for Poseidon - or, rather, a demonic entity masquerading as the sea god of the Ancient Greeks. But this is not about my recent past - only my earliest memories of this museum of corpses you are now sitting on."

Uneasily, you shift of the stoop, and rub the back of your neck. This is making you very nervous, but you refuse to appear weak. You slouch on the steps and scowl a little with your sharp teeth. But this is just stupid - the young men in the film are only a recording right now, and there is no need for such a dour expression for the ghosts of past exploits. Surely they can't be there right now. That would be too much for you currently.

"It was a long time ago," the slender man says, "when the Frei Fever first struck. I was a 'yellow' or so they said - a wiry little scrap of a boy with little hope for eluding the fever for long. One night, I was taken from the children's room in the Admiral's house, and transported to a place they called the Annex. There, I was given my own room, and they gave me a lot of toys to play with. Little did I know that I was their toy." The young man in the recording seems lost in his memories, you think to yourself.

"Mitch," Slenderman suddenly says. You startle as he does so, but watch curiously as the scene unfolds. "Bring the camera over here" - the camera starts moving toward him - "I cannot continue this story verbally as I have done before. It is too painful. Let me sync my mind with the tape so that the story can get across."

There is a flash of white, and then darkness after you witness Mr. Dutton's attempt at synchronizing his mind and the machine. Your current surroundings reappear in your field of vision, and you sit there for a few moments, more than a little stupefied at the haphazard video. You glance at the crumpled tape lying in your hands, spot your watch, note your tardiness, and quickly shove said tape into your inner jacket pocket. You make a note to learn more about the video. . . eventually. Right now, you have to return to your clearly hated job before the monster lady that is your superior arrives.

As you speedily abscond with the tape, you see the sun rise over the bay. You stand there, thinking for a minute, and frown a little at the new challenge you have taken on in the form of a broken cassette tape. Of course, you would like to smile, but your character will not allow for it, seeing that you are clearly - not - a badass, and yet figure yourself as one.

Still, you think to yourself. This world still has mysteries. And while you may not be the adventuring type, you do feel like you are on the cusp of a new life, or perhaps have already begun it.

And it sounds. . . exciting!

Characters of Andrew Hussie (c): Jack Noir, terrible lady-boss, friends of Noir Characters of urban myth: Slenderman Character of Drew Atz (c): Mitch the cameraman