Archive of Our Own ^beta

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     33-year-old Richard Kentucky got up at the very mundane time of 7:00 am to get ready for his very mundane job as a history teacher at a very mundane high school on a very mundane Monday morning. Just about every day was like this, mundane and uneventful, and just as it should be, because enjoying yourself was illegal anyways.

     The law actually said, “Anything said or done by an individual for the purpose of ‘entertainment’ and ‘laughter’ is considered unlawful and immoral, strictly prohibited, and punishable as seen fit by the authorities and their assessment of the crime’s severity,” but it’s basically the same thing. The law was defined loosely enough that it could be up for interpretation, and therefore it was enforced in different ways across the provinces and states of Draconia Falls. Richard was fortunate enough to live in a province that was pretty lax on its definition of such, otherwise he would’ve been sent to Intensive Therapy years ago.

     He would much rather be doing something else much much more frivolous instead of getting ready for work, but he resigned to just thinking about it so he wouldn’t go Hysterical from his mind-numbing routine. Richard had woken up well before 7, but he didn’t feel like getting out of bed. He felt the crust crystalizing in the corners of his eyes as the hours passed, transforming from a greenish, almost booger-like goo into tiny brown rocks that tear at your tear ducts when you try to get them out. When he got to the bathroom, bugs scuttled out across the floor, running their tendrils along his bare feet. He jumped back in surprise, nearly banging himself on the walls and ceiling of the hallway. He really needed to clean the bathroom, and the whole apartment, seeing as it’s become a depression hole of a home, but he never had the time or energy.

     He showered off all the grime built up from the weekend, and when he went to brush his teeth, colorful chunks of food jammed in his teeth jumped out at him, looking like a kindergarten art project had grown in his mouth. “Damn, I really let it get bad this time, didn't I? I should really get better at remembering to do this stuff.” He said that almost every Monday morning after seeing how much he let himself go over the weekend, but he never did anything to clean up the shithole he lived in. In all honesty, he just couldn’t be bothered.

     Richard went to the kitchen, grabbed a glass of water, and took his government-issued “Stabilizing and Diminishing” or “S.A.D.” pills. They were supposed to put a damper on your emotions so that you’d be less likely to laugh or freak out. The pills didn’t really do much for Richard other than make his constant feeling of dread ever so slightly worse, but he dare not mention that to his doctor, lest they take him away for experimentation to find a way to make the pills more effective. He’s seen the horrors of what the legal system does when you break the “laughter law” or didn’t conform to the masses, and experienced a few himself in his reckless youth, and there’s no way he’s going through anything like that again.
He then just sat there for a bit, thinking about what he saw in those government facilities, his kitchen faucet dripping ominously against the dirty pot in the sink as his oatmeal grew cold.

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     A requirement of his training as a history teacher was to witness the punishments for certain crimes such as the laughter law. Because he and other teachers-to-be would be researching, studying, and teaching the past and its events and ideas, the government wanted to make sure that they knew what would happen to them if they taught in a way that could influence the children to have ideas about causing disturbances and attempting to incite insurrections in the name of bringing back what was.

     Richard didn’t see this as necessary because the government pumped kids full of “depression drugs,” as he called them, pretty much since birth, so how would the kids have the drive to go against the government if they weren’t able to feel that drive in the first place. Even if the drugs didn’t work well on them, the students knew better than to act out, having had talk about joy and laughter being bad and how they would be punished severely if they didn’t follow the law drilled into their heads since they could understand language. And if they didn’t know better, they would learn quickly. The government made sure of that. But oh well, they were still gonna be paranoid because they didn’t want to let go of their precious power.

     Richard and the other teachers in training were brought to the control room of one of the Palaces of Punishment in the region’s federal prison, also known as the 4th Fortress. Behind the glass was a man, stretched out by all four limbs and hanging upright. He lifted his head at the sound of people shuffling into the room, and sudden gasps were heard at the sight of his face. It was badly beaten and bruised, along with the rest of his body, and his mouth, oh his mouth. It was pinned in a permanent frown, reminiscent of an old-age movie that Richard couldn’t quite remember the name of, but he knew that it started with a “C.” It was much more grotesque than the movie, however, flesh torn and pinned haphazardly, blood dripping down his face from wounds that seemingly had refused to heal.

     His name, as they were told by the technician in the room, was Anansi Payne. He was a troublemaker just like his namesake, and was a repeat offender when it came to legislation that was based on the laughter law. He was previously employed as a middle school English teacher, another profession that was heavily monitored, due to middle school being the prime time for pranks in the past, and English as a subject encompassing all kinds of media from all different genres, including comedy, which was a required material to teach despite being illegal to recreate.

     Lena, a wide-eyed, and somewhat naive woman who wanted to teach Civics to 9th graders, leaned over to Richard as the technician began pressing buttons to begin Anansi’s punishment. “Hey Rikki,” she whispered, “what do you think they’re gonna do to him?” Richard was a little too tired to deal with her bubbly personality at the moment, or whatever the slightly depressed equivalent was, and he wasn’t all too fond of the nickname he had been given, but talking to Lena was a lot better than just standing there. “I’m not sure, but it probably has something to do with the ropes,” Rikki replied. “They even have one tied to his neck despite the fact that it’s not holding him up.” “I really hope his punishment isn’t too bad, he seems like he was a nice man.” Richard didn’t know how she could’ve gathered that from his pseudo-crucified body and his disfigured face, but now that he thought about it, there was this seemingly calm air radiating from him. He supposed that with a presence like that, the kids he had worked with in the past must’ve felt comforted by him.

     The machines in the room started to whir as the technician turned the final key to start the punishment. Anansi’s fingers and toes were splayed out by almost invisible wires, and his head was lifted up by the rope around his neck. Everyone watched with bated breath as the wires began to pull at the man’s phalanges. Slowly, one by one, they watched his fingers and toes be pulled apart joint by joint, wincing at the popping noises that accompanied. It seemed as though his skin was being peeled off simultaneously, revealing the muscles, ligaments, tendons, and bones underneath, blood falling silently to the white ground, leaving behind stains of the sins committed by the law.

     Next were his arms and legs. They were pulled apart much in the same fashion, just much slower and tortuous to both the victim and the spectators. After the skin came off, the muscles were plucked from the bone by mechanical arms with almost the same fervor as a young child devouring a chicken wing on Thanksgiving. The room was so starkly silent, with the only noise being the soft humming of the computers and Anansi’s hellish moans and groans. Lena almost passed out multiple times from all the blood and gore, Rikki having to catch her before her head hit the floor. The only thing he was feeling in that moment was rage as he watched the poor man be torn apart for simply trying to make the world a better place. He knew right then and there that he was gonna find a way to turn the society that they lived in into a place where people were free to feel. As he watched Anansi’s head be torn from his body with one final pop, he had already come up with fragments of a plan to make things right and not have this teacher’s death be for naught.

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    Snapping back from his memory, Richard realized that he only had 40 minutes left before he had to leave and not miss the bus to work. He quickly got up and put his oatmeal into a to-go container and threw it in his lunch bag. He had a microwave in his room, so he could heat it up there. Reheated food is always slightly worse than when it was heated the first time, but it’s better than not eating and feeling that oh so unendingly insistent pang of hunger. He ran through the apartment nabbing the rest of his clothes and the bag that he brings to work with him. The thrill of rushing to get ready had adrenaline shooting through his veins. He frantically ran through the house gathering his things, making it out the door with only 3 minutes to spare. “That was probably the most enjoyable thing I’ll do all day, nah scratch that, all week,” he said to himself. “I’ll be lucky if I don’t die of boredom by the time Wednesday rolls around.” 

    Richard walked through the frigid and damp air of the early morning, fog and water droplets sticking to his bones as he trudged along. He got to the stop and sat to wait for the bus to come, trying his best to ignore the snot dripping out of his nose, as well as the homeless man laying next to him and snoring impossibly loud. 

    After what felt like forever, the bus showed up. He climbed in, swiped his government-issued bus pass (all teachers who ride the bus get one), and went to find a seat. Unfortunately, the only available seat was between a mother desperately trying to get a hold of her screaming toddler and a man that smelled like liquor, weed, gasoline, and Axe body spray, who was man-spreading horribly. The mom and the kid didn’t bother him that much because he knew what kids were like from firsthand experience, so it was just the man that was getting on his nerves. It was a surprise that he smelled like that because all forms of drinking alcohol and recreational drugs, with few exceptions, were illegal, and you could be punished severely for having them. But because it was illegal, most people didn’t know what those things smelled like, and no one runs into any form of law enforcement that often, so people could get away with having it. Richard, though, was one of those people who knew what certain substances smelled like, and that fact made the smell piss him off a lot more than it would a normal person. 

    It felt very unfair to Richard that others got to have fun throughout the week, and he only had the weekends because of grading and planning various things, and sometimes not even then. “With the myriad things that I do for this country, I should be entitled to a lot more free time,” he muttered to himself, not really caring if people heard him. He sat there, hunched over and brooding, for the rest of the bus ride, observing his surroundings occasionally. It was slightly chilly, too cold to be comfortable, but too warm to warrant donning another layer, and everything seemed to be covered with a slight film of dirt and grime. He could see all the individual divots in the floor due to all the dirt packed in them from over the years, and he swore he just saw a rat creeping around somewhere. The air seemed to have a residual heaviness to it, yellow and sulfuric, and the moisture from the breathing of the passengers made the atmosphere even more dank than it already was.

    The bus pulled up to Richard’s stop, and he was very relieved that his uncomfortable ride was over. He got off the bus and began to walk to the school. Public buses were only allowed to stop but so close to elementary, middle, and high schools to prevent randoms from being tempted to trespass. It was a good idea, but it was very inconvenient for teachers that couldn’t afford a car or didn’t live far enough to qualify for a government-issued one, those who didn’t or couldn’t ride a bike, or people who were definitely too far away to walk. After trudging through the soot-colored slush, he finally made it to the main office, where he signed in and made his way to the West Wing to go to his class and get everything organized for the day. 

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    As students began to roll into class, that feeling of dread began to wash over Richard all over again. All the kids in his classes were exceptionally boring, which is what was expected of them, but it made Mr. Kentucky even more upset and lifeless than he already was. The same people answered questions every day, the same kids were playing games instead of paying attention, the same kids turned in their work last minute, and the same kids were over achievers. The same monotonous schedule with the same monotonous people every fucking monotonous day of the week. School drained him, but it paid well and it helped fund his little…”organization,” so he just thugged it out every week. His only escape was the weekends, providing substances and running his show for the good of the people. Mr. Kentucky didn’t have time to think about those things right now, he had a first period class to run. 

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    Siobhan, one of those aforementioned students who would rather play games than learn, came up to his desk during independent study time. “Uhm, Mr., how do I turn this– why are you talking to yourself? You look insane.” “Huh!? What?” Mr. Kentucky whipped his head around wildly looking for who was talking before realizing that the voice was coming from right in front of him. “Oh Siobhan it’s just you.” He breathed out a heavy sigh of relief. “I don’t know who I thought it was, but I’m glad it’s not them. Now, what were you saying?” The girl sighed. “I just wanted to know how to turn this in, cuz I tried to press turn in on the site and it wasn’t working.” “That’s because you have to turn  it in  on Google Classroom. Like I said 4 times. Like it says on the board.” “...Oh”

    Mr. Kentucky let out a groan of disappointment and put his head in his hands. “Why are you like this…” “Listen man I was- I didn’t hear you and like, I did the work on time and stuff so like-” cried Siobhan. “For once” Mr. Kentucky grumbled. “C’mon just give it to me just this once pleaseee?” she pleaded. “Ughh fine, I will give you credit for completing your assignment on time, but you still need to pay attention. Now go turn it in and do those missing work for your other classes.” “How do you…” “You know I can see all your grades, right?” She paled and let out a meek, “Oh…” “Your grades certainly aren’t…the best, but you’re doing better this marking period than you were the last, so that’s definitely good. Don’t get discouraged Siobhan, any progress you make towards better grades is good progress.” Siobhan suddenly had a huge smile plastered on her face. No one had ever been that encouraging to her before. “Now leave me alone so I can go back to talking to myself and looking insane. it’s my favorite pastime.” Mr. Kentucky waved her away so he could go back to doing…whatever he was doing.

Chapter Text

     Marrisol Samuel was an agent of the Total HYSTERIA Eradication Marines, otherwise known as THEM to most people. THEM was a specialized government task force claiming to be a form of mental health research team that was looking for a cure of Hysteria, as the name implied, as well as other forms of psychotic disorders. They ran the Reregulation Facilities across all of Draconia Falls, and every patient who came out of them couldn’t tell you exactly what they did to “fix” them, but there were rumors circulating about what really happened there.

     In reality, THEM was not the caring organization that they claimed to be, which was obvious to everyone, but the people in power were too wrapped up in themselves to really notice. It’s not like the people could do anything about it though. THEM had two main purposes: experiments and investigation. The first main branch of THEM experimented on citizens who were either trafficked or admitted as patients to a Reregulation Facility. The second branch was geared towards sniffing out and snuffing out rebellions, and using members of such rebellions as examples to the public, warning them to not even think of going against the wishes of the government.  Marrisol was a member of the Investigation Branch while her husband, Jarrod, was part of the Experimentation Branch. 

     Jarrod was head of the Special Soldier Testing Department, or SSTD, which was lovingly called “Super STDs” by the rest of the Experimentation Branch. His department was in charge of overseeing the testing of enhanced soldier drones that some of the other departments were working on. They tested for cognitive function, response to orders, endurance, durability, enhanced strength, and enhanced agility, along with a couple other things. It was a nice enough job.  He was the one who signed off on everyone’s reports and requests for new types of testing, but the higher you get in the ranks, the less hands-on things you get to do. It was hard to give up, but the pay increase was a lot, so he has the money to do his own experiments in secret. He’s not allowed to actually do that, but he gets away with it because he holds a high office and no one else is currently qualified to replace him. Not even his wife knows what he’s doing, just that he spends a significant amount of time in his “home lab” when they’re at home. 

     Marrisol is the Senior Captain of the Juni-Soldier regiment in the Investigative Branch. She’s not one of them of course, but she’s in charge of training them. She goes out and does field missions sometimes, but most of her time is spent training the new recruits in the physical aspects of their job. All the soldiers need to learn investigation skills to fulfill their roles, so that’s why the I-Branch  trains them all. Captain Samuel is seen as the strictest instructor in the whole I-Branch, but she’s the one who cares the most about the pupils, she just shows it in her own way.  Her husband has to wear earplugs when they go to bed, due to her screaming commands in her sleep, but he doesn’t mind that much because it shows she’s passionate about her job. He hears her muttering about mixing training with experiments while she’s sleeping also, but he decided to wait for her to bring it up to him while she’s conscious before he actually starts trying to create something. Not to say that he doesn’t have any ideas yet. 

     Not many people realize that they’re married until they see them show up together, and even then they don’t entirely believe it. They’re such different people that no one believes that they got together naturally, much less like each other. Marrisol is always yelling at Jarrod, and it’s so loud and obnoxious that everyone tries their best to tune them out. If they actually paid attention to the content of their conversation, they would know that they’re just having a normal “married couple at work” conversation. Chatting about their weeks, new projects they’re working on, and potential date nights. Marrisol simply doesn’t have an “inside voice” at work because she has to yell there all the time, so it just looks like she’s berating her husband every day. 

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     The Samuel’s both got called into the Head Director of THEM’s office the second they walked into work. Neither of them knew what it could be for, but it didn’t sound like it was for anything good. No one really knows anything about the Head Director outside of the top officials of each branch, but they don’t share any details. 

     “Did we do anything? Because I know that I didn’t do anything out of the ordinary,” whisper-shouted Marrisol. She quivered, not dramatically, but enough for everyone around to notice and subsequently wonder, “What’s got  her so scared??” “I don’t think we did, at least not anything they could find out about,” murmured Jarrod, not wanting to draw more attention to himself than he already had. 

     The walk of shame was a lot shorter than anyone would’ve thought. Apparently, basically everyone passes the Head Director’s office all the time, but everyone assumed it was a broom closet or something because it had no plaque, no window, and it was always locked. All that was there was a room number plate next to it. The pair got to the door and stood there for a solid 5 minutes before Marrisol mustered up the courage to knock.

     The door opened, and painstakingly slow. It was too dim to see clearly into the room, so the couple walked in to see who and what was in there. 

    The lights turned on as the door closed. Sickly, fluorescent yellow lights that flickered and buzzed. The whole room was pretty dingy, especially for the Head Director of a whole specialized task force. The wallpaper was dirty at the trim and peeling, the air felt heavy with humidity and the smell of e-cig smoke, and there were definitely mouse droppings scattered across the floor. It was certainly not what anyone would’ve expected.

     There was a frosted window at the very back of the room, and in front of that were two chairs, and a desk with someone sitting behind it. It was what looked to be a girl no older than 14, chestnut hair in high pigtails atop her head, wearing a very old age style school uniform. Her skin was adorned with freckles, and she was sitting there hands folded, with the sweetest smile you ever did see on her face. Her azure almond eyes however, were the most soulless holes that could be considered “eyes.” There was no light whatsoever in them, and if you couldn’t hear her breathing you would’ve thought she was a mannequin. This was none other than Elighzah DeSales-Manning, the Head Director of THEM.

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     The Samuels were stunned. This is not at all what they had expected, and they believed that surely some kind of prank was being pulled. You can’t even get scouted to be a Juni-Soldier until you were 16/17,  so how in the world was what looked to be a middle school girl straight out of a textbook illustration meant to be the head of what was considered one of, if not the most elite sectors of the military? 

     “I know you both are probably trying to wrap your heads around what’s going on, but I assure you, you are not seeing things.” The director’s voice dripped with honey, but there was no emotion to be detected behind it whatsoever. “I’m actually 27 years old, which is still quite young for this position, yes, but certainly less unusual.” She looked at the couple’s dumbfounded expressions, took a deep breath, and began to explain. “I underwent extensive cosmetic plastic surgery to revert my looks back to my teenage years. I felt as though my appearance has only declined since then, so I just had to change it. And my wife says I look cute like this, so that’s always a plus.” She beamed at them, but there was no warmth in her expression, almost as if she were a robot trained to imitate human features and emotion. 

     Marrisol was the first to speak up. “Um, if I may ask, why have you called us into your office at such short notice?” she murmured timidly. This was probably the first time Jarrod had heard her not yell inside at work, and the gravity of the situation was really weighing on him in that moment. What could they have done? Did they find out about his experiments? Nothing is even close to being complete, so how could they be threatened by what he was doing? Was it simply the principle of him performing them behind THEM’s back? His thoughts began to spiral rapidly, and he became so distressed that he was overcome with dizziness and started to sway. Elighzah sensed the pair’s unease and motioned them to sit so she could explain what she wanted from them.

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     “I’m sure you both are wondering why I’ve called you into my office,” the director began. “I was mostly wondering how this is your office, but that too of course,” thought Jarrod, who didn’t dare utter his quip out loud. “You two have been selected to head a special operation I’d like to call Operation: Battering Ram. The main government’s intelligence sector has caught wind of an ongoing rebellion underground, both literally and figuratively. Have you two heard the term “speakeasy?” She didn’t wait for a response. “They were originally secret bars that became popular during the Prohibition Era of the Before Times. The sale and production of alcohol was illegal, but people still went out and drank it anyway in these secluded spaces that were oftentimes hidden in plain sight. Even law enforcement were patrons to those shady establishments. They ended up overturning the Prohibition later on, so there was essentially no point for doing all that, in my opinion anyways, but the appeal of a hidden place to socialize and drink remained.”

     “According to my sources, this rebellion is taking a similar approach, but instead of just alcohol, it’s outlawed entertainment as a whole that they’re providing to the masses. I’m also under the impression that these ‘speakeasies’ are themed around a certain Before Times genre of entertainment: the Circus. Acrobats, lion tamers, strongmen, fire swallowers, tightrope walkers, beautiful women on elephants, and especially clowns. Anything that you could think of that falls under that category, they’ve got it, and then some. Add substances and solicitors to the mix and you get the epicenter for indulging your disgusting, flawed, wretched human desires.” The Director spat out those last few words with such disdain you could almost believe that she wasn’t human herself. 

     “Your job is to snuff out this rebellion before it spreads throughout the country, and even past our borders, and figure out what about this group of people make them so drawn to such frivolous things so we can eradicate it entirely from the people of Draconia Falls. You’ll have a team with you of course, but it’ll be up to you to create it with members of your respective branches. Once you’ve picked your people I’ll double-check to make sure they’re fit for the job, and then I’ll send you on your way. Your team will be privileged with more freedom than other groups, and shall receive a generous budget with the ability to request for more, which obviously has to be approved by me. You’ll have until two weeks from now to draft this group, and then we can get started. How does that sound?” 

     “And if we were to say no?” inquired Jarrod. “You can’t!” grinned the Head Director. “Now then, let me not hold you up any longer. Notice of the first meeting will be sent electronically at some point in the week. Now off you go!” She stood up and gestured for the Samuels to leave her office and get to work on their new assignment, not even bothering to explain who would be replacing their current positions while they’re on this secret mission. “Oh and one last thing!” called Elighzah before the couple fully stepped out the door. “Don’t tell a soul about this assignment outside of people you’re recruiting. I’ll know if you did…”

“Happy hunting!”