LETTER FROM A MAN OF SCIENCE
Dear reader,
I am writing in the hopes that, in the right hands, my actions can be somewhat justified. I know I have caused a lot of suffering, and getting any kind of compatriots in the world of science on my side has already proven to be difficult. But hear me out.
The name is Riley J. Smith. I am a 39 years old scientist with expertise in medicine, neuro-chemical research and bio-utilities, including genetic mutation and artificial restructuring of membranes, as well as body parts. Some of my most fearsome critics will rephrase that bit as "bioweapons". I can assure you my creations we're not meant to cause such harm to society.
It's a simple yet crucial step on evolving other species to our level of intelligence. Through science, we can make the unbelievable happen; dogs with the ability to speak and question things like we do, plants with the capabilities of holding fantastic powers beyond our understanding, etc.
Again, most of the "deniers", as I call them, will place all of this in a form of conspiracy. Some suggested that I am assembling an army that will cause the second stage of the apocalypse. They speak for me as if I hadn't endured any of the same hardships the Bottomless Pit provided post-apparition.
In fact, I shall give you a bit more of my background, in context with the situation, to prove that I am the same as all of you.
As some historians suggests, in 2025, at the time all the states were formed as "United States", a pack of detonation devices exploded in New York that transformed Manhattan into a desert, forming a massive open crevice named "the Bottomless Pit" near the area where Central Park was once located. I believe this to be a lie and that no one knows what really happened, but that's beside the point. This caused a lot of conflict between other states. In 2029 they split into the 50 something countries that exists over there.
I was born the year prior to this mess, 2028, in Switzerland.
My parents, Tony and Branda Smith, birth me in a region that was not so affected by the problems of your western universe, like I call it. God forbid they lived in this small town which the name, for the sake of this story, matters not.
We lived peacefully as normal citizens there, but by the time I was reaching adulthood, my sweet 16s, I was a lonely boy. I was lost and my early passion for scientific discoveries was denied by my mother. Saying that she was unhinged would be an understatement. Father died when I was 11 years old, apparently shot to death nearby the now detested remains of Old York, during one of his expeditions. Pathetic rebranding of a country aside, father was a part of a reconnaissance team, a partnership between multiple European landmasses to gather knowledge on what happened in the west after the bizarre bombings.
To this day, we still have no clue which country is responsible and why. A lot of blame is being thrown at everyone. All this to say, the death of my father caused Branda's already worrisome state to, well, worsen.
And it got uglier after that.
One day, I was securing some groceries and coming back, when I saw a dead puppy. It laid there, with its dead eyes staring at me. I don't remember what happened that day for it to have such an impact on me. I felt the need to lay it in a proper grave. It deserved that at least. A good boy like this being left to rot in the streets. Shame on the disgusting owner who did this to its own animal. I placed it in the bag of groceries I ended up not using and brought it to my house, to bury it in our backyard. Mother was sleeping and so did not notice her son bringing back home the corpse of a dog, yet.
As I dug the grave and was about to place the animal in there, I started feeling this sense of sorrow and sadness. I ended up crying, a lot. I was, and still am, an ugly crier. I also have a tendency to let everyone know I cry by accompanying the tears with melancholic screeching. I was an emotional wreck from birth it seems. I cried enough that my mother was awakened and angry.
Suddenly, some of the tears that fell on the dead dog started glowing in a mixture of green and cyan. I felt the body of the puppy shake in my hands as literal parts that we're torn and decomposed restructured themselves. My tears and my emotions brought that puppy back from the dead, as if we were in those children movies of old, full of wonder. The young dog left these cute little barks and when the glow stopped, it got up and running and it was licking my face with affection, as if thanking me in its own language for helping it. Such primordial love I hadn't felt since my father's passing. My first instinct was to tell my mother the great news.
She looked like she saw a ghost.
I remember screaming in pure joy: "Mother, look! You won't believe this! I brought that poor dog back to life!"
I would not be able to describe everything that happened without triggering some trauma.
All I will write down here is the constant smell of burning, the ashes of the citizens and buildings rotting to bits and the vivid memory of my mother, holding some kind of weapon, a spear, slashing through a platoon of army men and destroying a tank with her own physical prowess.
I also remember that dog, turned to cinder. In the midst of her insanity my mother kept repeating: "Begone, heretics from below."
Begone, heretics from below.
That day, I had awakened something within her. I still have no idea how to this day. One minute I revive this puppy, the next my mother loses her grip in reality and becomes what I can only describe to be a devil.
Through all of this, I had a feeling it had to be connected to the legends of the Bottomless Pit. She always kept her upbringing a secret and sometimes talked about the people in Switzerland like they we're not the same as her, different. She expressed touch of xenophobia at times, almost threating what was not immediate family as monkeys, below her, below her people. Of course, she was a lunatic, so I had no ground rule for believing in her speeches. However, when your weak and fragile mother gains superpowers and destroys a town of 50 000 people by herself, murdering innocents, including classmates, and that puppy, the only way to go was down, way down where it most definitely began.
After studying on my own for 3 years, I left what was remaining of Switzerland at the time for Old York. There I continued my research on my powers and the Bottomless Pit, eventually falling on the small village of Gallows.
Gallows. This was a load of trouble.
I came here at the same time as the Alexanders family. Back then, I had changed my focus from animal experiments to creating armor with machinery.
After a few years of research on the former, I was constantly getting traumatic reminders of my mother's descent into chaos. When I thought it was getting nowhere, I decided a change of plans would ease my mind.
In spite of my efforts, quantity over quality was a mantra I underestimated. The Alexnaders line of armor and weaponry was coming out faster than my products, considering they were more sufficient and staffed compared to my lonesome workshop. They were blacksmiths after all. It was their bread and butter. It was a rough workload to deal with. My armors were considered life savers, in case something was wrong, while their equipment was treated as the necessity. It pained me greatly.
Soon however, some nosy villagers heard of the papers I had published before moving to Gallows. They told me I would be better off helping the village with what I was an expert in. Even the Alexanders supported the idea.
That's when I understood, at 22 years old, that I shot myself in the foot. I wouldn't be able to escape what I started. I wouldn't be able to escape my mother's murderous stare, in the cold dead of night.
Since then, I started hallucinating. I started seeing the dead as they spoke to me, sometimes in reality when I was alone in my workshop, sometimes in my nightmares, haunting me for what felt like days. Some of those phantoms were obviously people from my village in Switzerland. Others were unknowns, speaking of atrocities that never happened on this planet; a mechanical beast that crushed their homes to smithereens. Another connection to my mother and the Bottomless Pit, is what I thought. I never put enough brain power on that. I wanted these ghouls to leave me be, even if it meant denying my curiosity.
The more I helped the citizens of Gallows with my "expertise", the more this wish became impossible.
I first started with the simple animal care: Healing wounds, attaching new paws or legs and surgery on eyeballs and other body parts (I quickly got rid of genital restoration, after an incident that almost saw me close my shop due to a cat's erectile disfunction). The point is, I've finally built something of a market share for myself. After that, it jumped into animal mutation. I helped the populace with many of their issues with clean water and even got some experiments that could help fortify sturdier houses. These mutants are scraps stitched together compared to what I can do today, but at least I was useful.
I, Doctor Riley J. Smith, never procrastinated. Everyone came for my services as much as they went for the Alexanders family. We were all equal and had our respective lanes to stay on.
Then, nearing my thirties, the tomfoolery with the Gallows Knights happened.
These buffoons was the signal of bad things to come. They claimed they were acting in the name of the populace, unlike me who was "lining from people's pockets", a "lazy hack". How dared they!
I had been in this town for years! Being called a hack by a bunch of heretics wearing suits of iron infuriated me. Still, the people loved the Gallows knights, so they would tell me to keep quiet about their saviors. It became childish. They genuinely believed these fools would solve the mystery of the Bottomless Pit. Meanwhile I was sitting in my workshop, stomaching sleepless night after sleepless night to continue what I started over a decade ago, and no one cared!
Well, one day, the basket full of eggs crashed on the ground.
The Gallows knights decided to do an expedition to the pit world. It was sudden, uncalled for, and unplanned. They needed all the creatures I had created, all the manpower willing to help. The Alexanders threw themselves in and dragged me into it when I showed but an ounce of reticence. I was looking at a disaster. Everyone else were blind, but I got so sick of being treated like garbage that I put on the fold.
I even started to build this elevator that they could use to go down. When I proposed my creation, I was shunned. It was disappointing to see years of service unjustly denied. This is how I was being repaid. I felt cheated.
Regardless, the Gallows Knight did these expeditions.
We were patiently waiting for their return.
A week passed. A month passed. Two months passed.
Not a sign. Not a soul.
This felt like the situation with my father all over again. The pain hit faster this time, as me and the Alexanders were blamed for this shocking loss almost on the spot.
I was crushed. For the second time in my life, my good acts brought misery for everyone. At the age of 29, I ended up leaving the village, devastated. All the hope we provided was lost, and so I only had my experiments to take off the edge. This time, I was heavily focused on one goal: discovering and shedding a light on what the wretched pit was hiding.
For the last decade, I have been experimenting on animals and humans that volunteered for it. The key word here is volunteered, making all acts legally and morally just! I even have the papers set somewhere in my house to prove I was in my rights to experiment on these people. I have been preparing for 10 years and now I am ready. I will be leaving my laboratory sitting in Old York and get back into the borders. I will do it, no matter if any of you believe I should be punished.
To everyone who has defended my cause, thank you. We will find out what's down there, together!
- Riley J. Smith, 12th of October 2067
#
LETTER FOUND BY THE LOCAL AUTORITIES 2 DAYS LATER, 14th OF OCTOBER.
THE LABORATORY WAS IN RUINS. THEY COULDN'T FIND THE PAPERS TO PROVE THE LEGALITY OF HIS ACTIONS. CITIZENS SAID THAT A FEW HUNTERS STARTED CHASING HIM DOWN. ONLY ONE WAS STILL ALIVE TO FOLLOW HIM IN THE FOREST.
AS FOR BRANDA SMITH, IT WAS FUZZY AT FIRST, BUT THAT DESCRIPTION IS AKIN TO THE AWAKENING OF A TCHEN.
WEILDING A SPEAR? SOUNDS LIKE OUR BRANDA, BUT THE SYSTEM IS SLOW HERE, SO I CANNOT CONFIRM ANYTHING WITH A SOLID HUNDRED PERCENT.
MORE INVESTIGATION WILL HAVE TO BE MADE. I'LL SEND THIS TO THE CHANCELOR WHEN I AM FINISHED HERE. KNOWING HIS HUMOR, I BET HE'S GOING TO FIND THIS DOFUS OF A SCIENTIST HILARIOUS.