"Boo."

Player: Gasmask

Link: http://www.furaffinity.net/user/gasmask/

Character Name: Seven

Age: Unknown

Sex: Male

Species: Unknown

Height/Weight: 7'8"

Social Status: Outer Class?

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>>Recording 14328 begins.

My name is Detective Robert Pens. I... I don't know what year it is.

I don't know where I am.

I've been buried under layers of stones and bones which seem to shake and bleed if I look at them, seem to birth dark figures that skirt around me if I choose to ignore them. Hands twist forward from the rocks and tear off my skin and limbs, over and over again. I am ripped through every dark thought of every citizen of Einheit every time I close my eyes. The pit has filled with liquid waste twenty-eight times, and I have drowned in it twenty-eight times, and each time I've woken up from death completely dry. But I'm still whole. I know it's not real. It's real. It's probably not real. But it is real. I wish I could explain. If it's real to my mind, it's real to me, and I know it was real to the other guy who was thrown into this pit with me. I didn't know his name. I don't even want to talk about how he died, but I've somehow gotten used to the smell and the dark. I will never get used to the visions, or the terror, because it's always fresh and new, there's no predicting it, there's no becoming bored with it. It's always going to chase me. Even if I get out of this pit, which I'm sure I won't.

But. Anyway. I'm recording this because I want to talk about the... Thing that threw me down here. "Seven", The Red Knight, Horror Incarnate. The Great Bastard.

He loves that nickname.

From what I understand, Seven is some sort of terror-obsessed aberration. Not a monster in the traditional sense, not a boogeyman; Seven's very real and he's very--

Let me start again, with some facts.

He stands insanely tall. I'd say eleven to... to twenty feet tall. Mind-boggling heights, though. Sometimes he seems to cover all my sight, as though he rises thousands of miles. Yet, he's able to squeeze that body through the smallest holes, twitch his limbs through and pull his torso after with a sick crunching sound. I wish I could explain it better, but... it's so difficult to put sense to a senseless being. Seven wears no clothing. I guess Horror doesn't need to cover itself- there's no private bits to cover, anyhow, just a sexless body. I wonder if he's really a "he" at all. His flesh is a weird mix of armor plates, and leathery brown and black skin, stretched tightly over heavy bones and creaking muscles, bristling with thick black hairs in patches. He has one near-skeletal arm that he holds curled to his chest- his left one, I believe- and his right is strong and muscled. From what I have seen, though, his left arm is just as strong as his right. From his back sprouts four massive, spidery legs, bristled with hairs and tipped with tearing claws. His face is bizarre and nasty, like a churning, shrieking fountain of jaws, mandibles, and acidic spit; one unblinking white eye stares out with a crosshair-pupil, and the other side of his head is lined with glittering black ones, as though a spider was sewn together with a man. He reeks of rotting death, burning rock, and choking chemicals; his breath is usually fresh with the iron scent of blood and meat.

His disgusting, dry skin and chitin flickers like a mirage sometimes; it swims in my vision when he moves through the walls around me to taunt me. Like he's not really there. I can see his muscles, nerves, and skeleton in layers, like they dance with eachother, badly knotted together, forced to maintain that shape, to contain a chaos that shouldn't even exist. Like snow being blown in curtains over the streets. I miss the streets. But. D... Deep in his bones I see something so unknowable, so terrible... Like a treacherous storm made of spasming hairs and spikes and bacteria and lights and shadows and fingers and... and Things, raging against his body, causing his image to bulge and twist horribly. I would go so far as to say that gross body is actually possessed by the creature Seven, that the body is a victim in all this. His horrible outer appearances don't matter, though they don't help, either. What's boiling inside is so much more nauseating.

You can tell when he's getting near because you will feel fear, disgust, anxiety, and shame- it hangs about him like an aura, it permeates your logical senses. In his footsteps churns pure fear, like it seeps out of his pores and pollutes the earth in slug-black marks that scintillate and wisp over the ground. I recall seeing these flickering spots in the Midcity in retrospect, though I didn't understand what I was experiencing at the time, and my brain made me forget it, buried it deep in my subconscious as a forgotten nightmare. I saw a woman pass through this trail of terror and immediately begin ripping her flesh with her claws, burbling a scream that sounded like it was strangled forcibly from her throat. No one paid her any attention, even myself; there are so many insane people in and under Einheit, after all, and more every day.

I think I know why, now.

Seven loves to talk to me. His voice is so deep it's almost inaudible sometimes, just an uncomfortable rumble in my chest and eardrums that feels like it'll stop my heart. He's got an accent, though it's outdated and odd. I'd call it "Claik" or "Gaelic", though it defies those descriptions too, it seems to jump about depending on his tone and volume of voice. Behind his low voice is a chorus of shrieking and crying that tears into my head, begging and pleading for release, like they're imprisoned in his throat, clawing upwards to get out. Seven loves to jeer at me, to remind me of shameful things in my past that I nearly forgot about- Frey knows how he finds out about them. He comes down into my pit to tell me about my loved ones and all the ways he's tortured them while I was held down here. I used to curse him, try to hurt him, throw myself at the rock walls and scream like a wild animal, but now I don't care. I don't love my family anymore. They never tried to come find me, they never did anything to stop this abomination from tormenting me. I would have, for them. Seven still explains to me how they died, in excruciating detail, or how they're being kept, alive, suffering, but... I don't care. Maybe that's Seven's doing. Maybe he made me a monster.

An important aspect to note about The Red Knight is that he loves to make deals, though he hasn't carried through on any of them. He is a torturer with no morals or honesty, and he has squeezed every secret out of me... about myself, all of my clients, all of the people I have investigated over the years, or any security secrets I may know about the Toride... not many. He seems to be interested in details I would call painfully mundane- the color of the last cup I held in my hand, the taste of the black coffee I drank from it, if I could see any oily marks swirling on the surface from the last drops of the pot, and if those marks said anything to me. He has asked me these questions specifically exactly fourteen thousand, three hundred and twenty-eight times. I don't know why I know that. I never really counted. I guess the only thing he gives me is the quiet to record these messages. He never promised me that, though, he just lets me have my private time for sanity. Perhaps to torture me even more? As is, I try to make as many recordings as possible, to avoid the monstrosities for as long as I can. He promised me that I would be out of this pit soon, but "soon" has no meaning. He swore I would remember all the information I needed to complete this case about Dr. Tay Jonson, but I don't even remember my home address, I don't remember what other voices sound like, I don't remember what light is. I don't even remember eating, sleeping, or drinking. I've been in this pit for what could be years, and...

Huh. That's something else I didn't think about until just now.

Seven was gone for a very long time. I don't know how long, but there was a stretch of time where the only horrors in the pit were my paranoia, my memories, and my recorder. I began to get used to the normalcy of the darkness and rock faces, until the ghosts and screams and horror exploded back into my mind and heart ten times worse, ten times more powerfully than before. It's like he went to sleep and then came back even more awake. When I first saw him, his flickering flesh was wet with what seemed like gallons of blood, slick and shining in the dim orange light of my recorder's screen. Even his teeth and eyes were coated in this liquid, and he opened his arms wide as though he was going to embrace me. The knot of chaos inside his bones churned with a golden light deep in its core, and I was scared, so scared, but also in awe. Seven isn't a monster, and may the Ministry help me with what I'm about to say, if I ever get out of here.

Seven is a God.

Seven is the god of chaos, horror, and death. No. He IS Chaos, Horror, and Death. I really and truly believe that. I know that is against everything I have been taught in Unity, but you haven't seen what I've seen, you don't understand. He's taken apart every cell of my body, stripped them of their walls, and put them back again, he's turned my veins inside out and from them he shoved me into an unreality that has yet to exist, but has always existed... I can't explain! Please don't think I'm insane, but... I've seen the terrible divinity of the body. There is no light here, there's only consumption, waste, loss.

I think the city is being destroyed, and I think it's Seven who's consuming it.

Please, find me, please, help m--

SHHHHHHFFFFFFFFGive it back! You KKKKKRRRRRRRRRRKTways let me haveBZZZZZZZZZZT WAS FOR M--

>>Recording ends.