In the cellar, you encounter a room full of human-like growthes that are covered in a fleshy and viscous pink substance, just like the growths you have encountered above. With the remaining survivors, you fall amongst the growths in a fury – and at some point, the mansion burns down around you, trapping the rest of you in the place.
At that point, you realize you can slip away – and do just that.
You are the only survivor.
In the morning, several cars pull up – clearly expecting people to escort, or perhaps arrest. You approach one, expecting Duplessis – but to your surprise, the man who greets you is a tired looking older man with a star green-accented badge. He looks past you with an exhausted stare and mutters -
“Scrub the project, and terminate the evidence.”
As quickly as the cars arrived, they leave – ignoring you entirely as if your presence was never there. Upon your return, you are unable to contact Duplessis – or even find any proof that a man by such a name existed.
In addition, you cannot shake the feeling you are being watched – and when you dream, your dreams are nightmares of a slime that falls upon you as you sleep, choking you, smothering you, breaking into your lungs...
The Major's belongings were found to contain a cable to be sent on the event of his death. The recipient had died several days prior in a spate of violence directed by the German colonial administration against those of mixed racial background. The cable was confiscated and the Major's rank post-humously removed.
The Financier was investigated after his death, and found to have been involved in numerous organizations that profited directly from human trafficking and influencing the balance of power. His holdings were confiscated, but brought bad luck to those who purchased them, and his name became a byword for profiteering and corruption.
The Aristocrat had no possessions left besides an unfinished letter. It begin, “Monsieur F, Mon Coeur,” but had no other content besides lines that had been crossed out and inked and crossed out again. Of the recipient, nothing could be found; and of the Aristocrat, nothing remained – not even memory.
The Reporter was quickly found to have been creating sensationalistic news, and collaborated with the old republic in an attempt to bolster her reputation. Having laundered money, she ran to Ireland. On revelation, her family cut ties to her, and her grave grew untended and overgrown.
The Singer's music, considered melancholic and pompous in the upbeat twenties, was held up as a hallmark of wasteful words and imagined suffering. Her image was repatriated for use in advertising and sale of products, until of her music and her words, little remained.
The dreams continue to haunt you for the rest of your days.
Case File B – In Service: