A Scientist's Thesis

writing-prompt-s:

The personal assistant of a being of unspeakable evil has done the research, crunched the numbers, and determined that they are due a raise.

She knocks.

“E̶͖̯̙̼̟ͅṈ̶̳͓T҉̞̲̳̗̺̮̘Ȩ̤͍̙̤R̨̮͈̲̱͔,̼̲̜̙̼̕ ̛̠F̦͈̫O̷O̡̘̼̳͕̻̫L̯̼̘̖I͏̺͔͙͎̗͉̣S̡͉͕̦̭͖̗̫H̳ ͔M̜͚͚̥̦̘͎͠O̰̼͟R̷̟͓Ṱ͈̼ͅͅA̖̪̬̰̻̖͓L̟̜̥̩͡,̞̭͍̹̤͝ͅ ̸A̧͚̩̪̭͎N͙̯̮̤D̸ ̻S̘͍͕̺̝͖̼͡P͏̱̩̖͔͖E̷̩̟̤̗A̭̯̺͇͔̦ͅK͙̩͓̙̲ͅ ̺̱̼̘̹̣̱̀T͎͕̬̥̮̙H̨A̛̹͈̪̖T̢̯̦̤̞̺̹̠ ̟̼ͅYÓ͚͕̯͚̥̮U̞̥ ͚M̳͝A̗̼̜̗Y̤̟̟̥ ̝̳̺͕̻̜̗͞C̸O̵̥͕̮͖͔̤̻N̟V҉̱I̖͘N̙C̸̤͔E̛̱ ̖̺̗͇̖̦M̹̻̞E͍̱̺͕̥̹ ͍̺͙̥͓͙̙͢T͔̫͍O̞͓̬̰̞̞ ̷̗̱S̀P̺̯AR̝̲̙̫̗̹͖͡E̹̝̟̪͇ ̥͖́Y̴̩O̶̱͚U̗͎̹̫̺ͅ ̪F̧͙O̮͉̕R̡ ͖̞̺̤T͚͕̘̣̫̞ͅH͏̠̫I̢͉̼͖̠̦S̯̪ ҉I̡̲N͙̥̦̪̖̖ŞO̤̘̥͢L͇̩̪̮̩͕E̢͙̩͕̹̰̭N͇̪̞̦C͈̳͇̲̣͔E͓̟.̦͔̜̞̗”

She opens the door and a breath of cold air greets her. The inside of the chamber is much, much larger than the building should be able to accommodate, and the only thing connecting the door to the abode of the Unspeakable One is a narrow ice bridge over a chasm where the tortured souls of the innocent swirl and glow, their mouths open in a perpetual scream of agony. The world falls silent and sharp, the shadows darker than they should be, hiding shapes one can scant contemplate without losing what last scrap of sanity they may have held onto on their way to this cursed place.

The Unspeakable One Itself is a sight so twisted as to torment the dreams of those who lay eyes on It for seven years, something that shifts and changes in impossible shapes and dimensions, an image just out of reach of human comprehension, always slipping away and failing to connect to anything that should be. The sense of doom mounts as she looks squarely at It, feeling Its eyes bore holes into her soul, stripping her bare of all defences and illusions, understanding her for who she is and twisting that by their mere existence. Everything else disappears and the world is only her and It, and she understands intimately that she is worthless, meaningless in the presence of this power.

“I want a raise. I sent you an email with the numbers, you can check them yourself, but they’re right.”

“Y̴͖͈̰̱̯Ọ̘̣͙U͕̗͉̝̤̦ ̢̼͖͉̗D̩̝̖̱̺̗̤A̶͈̭͕̹̲̟͕ŖĘ ̫͉̰̼̮͓͍D̢͚̹͚̬̣̫̭E̤̥͎̪̤̳̗M̜̬̺̙̼̻A̮̩N̘̮̺D͔͘ ̟̣͕̻̭A̭̖͓̬͝NY͎̱T͏H̝̖̭̼̥̺̻̕I̡̩Ń̥̹͎ͅĢ̝̮͓͖̼͖̻ OF͇̥͈͍͉̕ ̡̭̩̞̖̟Y̗͝O͍U̦̼͓̯̰̦͠ͅR̪̲͍̫͉ ̘Ḻ͎̤͇̹O̷R͍͙̝̻̥D̶̰̤̥̝͚̖̯ ͓̟A̪͚͕̕N̹̯̺̺Ḑ ̜O͍W̳̩̦͕N̳̩͇̗͠E̷̱̳̲̺̦Ŗ̻͉͙͙̞̭ͅ,̬̭̬͖̬̯̻ ҉̖̰I͈͓̗̞̮̼̬N͏̘̮͉̦͇̠̖SI̺G̟͚N̪͚̺̣̩̤I̭̼͇̬̞͇F͏̳̥͎̯͇̰I̯̝̭̦̙̩C̛̼̲͍͓͇͍̲A̤͕͔͓̗͘N̼̥̯̭̟̞̳Ṱ̺̯̤̱͙ͅ ̰̣͝V̰̼ER͇̘͉̞ͅMI̯͍N?̵̪”

“Just check your email.”

There is a timeless pause during which a millisecond or a millennium may have passed outside, time and space warped until they bear no resemblance to their former selves, interrupted only by the sourceless sound of fingers tapping on a keyboard.

“…VE͈̭̯͠R̥̺̦͟Y̪̞͇̤͜ ̘̹̻W͉̣̦͇͔E͖̲̣̰̖̖̤L̩͚L̬͖.͚͔̹̬͔̦͟ ͕̠̭̠̟̮̟Y̳̥͘O͓̩̜̳U ̨͉̦̯͙ͅS̡̳̼͓H͔̥̬͇͉̮AL͠L͕ ̰̼̟B̬̠̫̘E̴͓̮͖ ̵͎̟G̱͚Ŕ͇͖̙A̤̕N͉͖̭̞̝̥͠TE̟͔͍̗͓D͞ ̴T̮̞͇͜HI͎̮͞S̷ ̡̹͎̥͖͍͈B̟̤͈̲̯O̱̯O͔̱N͙,͉ ͓̳͕͞W̧̟͚̦̮̤͇̯R̩E̦͡T̝̫̼͇͢C͠H͔͎̭̲E̻̼͚D͔͎͍͚̫ ͉C̮͍̻̲̙̘̘Ṟ͉̖̙͉̬́E̟̖͍ͅͅͅA̡͈̜̜͎̩͓̙T̶͉̲̪͉UR̸Ẹ͢,̗ ͉̝̜A̝͖͎N̠̼̣̦̹̦͞Ḑ̖ ̠̺͍̯̦S̮͟H̟̘A̷͎̹͚͚̱͖͍Ļ̻L̲̗̼̪ ̫͔͚P̖̞̘̯̜̲ͅR̴͖̼̰A̙̞̖͕͍̪I̥͞ͅŞ̦̪̜̟̞̦̣E̸͔̘͈ ̟͉͖̰͈̯̠͡M̨̺͙͙̰E̷̪̗̖̖ ̜͕͕͈̦͍͕F̯͖͈̜̮͡ͅO̶͎̰̥R͖̤̠̪̯̪̼ ̜̯Ṃ͓̫͇̘̙̲͟Y͏̯͕ M̥̺̮̰͎̱͔E̳̺͘ͅŔ̫C̛̯̺̜͙̜̰Y͚̝̤̦̬̗͜.̨̞̜̝”

“Thanks! By the way I scheduled your golf match with Beelzebub for tomorrow at four, is that okay?”

“͔͚͉͚THͅA͡Ṭ̴̫̺̤ ̵̭̭͈̰I̢̳̯S̨̫͉̖̬̻̖̱ ̮̠͞A̝͓̮̫͓̻N ̞͔̻̳̰̫̖͘A̬͚̤̥̭͞C̪̝̼͈C̜͔͚̤̝̖̖E̳̱͞P̺͎̫͕̘̥̥T͔̰̝̣̠̼̰A̦̳̠̭̰̤͢BL͖E͏͙̪̰͈͎̘ ͍̼̝̲͇̲͜S̯͎̖ͅṬ̙̺̠̮͇̦A̺̳͖T̘̳̬E̹̖̜͓̯̲̼ O̤̺͈̝̕F̷͚̹̪͓͙̗ ̴͕͓͖͖̩ͅA̦͈̖̣̘̗̥F̞̪̤̞͔͚̮͟FAI͢R̟S҉̫̺͇̦͖̰̹.̦̹̟̮͍̬ ̫͠Y͍̲͖̼̠OU̩̻̥̜̱̲̠ ͙̣̳͔̬̝̲͟W͏̥͔̜̹̬I̖̞̙̣̫̙͔Ḽ̙̱̠̖̯ͅL̛͉̭̬̘ ̴͚̼̟̹̺Ḅ̩E̩̙̤̜ ͅS̵̘͔P̢A̗̝̫̞Ŗ̻E̬̙͓̥Ḑ̤̗̗̜̝̫̼ ̞̼̲͍̰̮M͏ͅY̟͚̤̳ ̖̪̮̖̣̝W̪̞RA̯̩T̲̫̲͔̠̰̘H͖͓͚͉ ̺̹̣̤͘F̸͚O͎R̡̫͈͔ ͔͔̮̙͖͙̦T̶̩̪̮̩̝H̨̜̣̺̗IȘ̣͙̰̟ ҉͕S̠͍̘̤̳ͅE͍R̛͉̪̖̤͇ͅV͏̗IC̼͘Ę͈̫̹̲̫̫͈,̯̭̥͔̦̖ ̞B̥ͅU͔̪͝T̢̟̗͚̼ ͏̞̤D̠̭͟O͝ ̢̖N̤͓O̮͙̜̱T͏̞̣̼̠̥ ̲̹̟̥̦T̡͖̣H̴̻̺I̺̤͍͇̹̭ͅN͓̯͎̬̞͍K̼̝͇͍ ̧̣̫̘̣͕Y̤͈̝͙͞O̹͍̹͚͙ͅU͔̯̹̣̰̠̥͠R̴̼͈̘͕̫̫S͠E̶̥L̫̦̯̩F̡̱͖̗͕̝ ̖͈̗̮͔̼̮S͚̼͘A͇͍̗͙̼̟̳F̣͉̱̹̠E̗̝ ̻FO̟̼̭̻̤R ̻̣̥ͅT̷̯͙̝̱͚͎H̵͙IS̞̼͔ ̳̞̟̀I̲̮̥S̮̺̲̰͎ ̠͓̺͙̝̣̬B̧̪̥Ù̺T̺͖ ̖̰̯͓̫̜͓A̳̲̭͎͚̮ͅ ̨T͉̤̹̭͞Ḙ̡̻̺̝M̜P̝͍̹O̖̥̦̞̜̹̪R͚͓̣̣A͖͓̜͝R̳̥̩Y̝̭̫̻̱ ͉̞̤͝R͍E͇̗P̗͉͍̤͔̱̜͡R̟͈̳͠I̛̝̻̠̙̘͉E̖V̸̟E͏̘̻̼̟.̡̺̺̜̱̜ͅ”

“Alright, I’ll email him to confirm.” She walks out and back to her desk and finishes typing the email before hitting Send.

All in all, pretty cosy job.